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likethetailofacomet · 6 years ago

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Happier Times

Author’s note: I simply cannot stop thinking about Bastien, so enjoy this little companion chapter to Learning to Love Again. It’s also sort of a sneak peek at what’s coming in the follow up series to this train wreck, should I ever actually get us out of the mess I put us in. Anywho, just Bas reminiscing on his youth, inspired by @zaffrenotes OTP requests for : favorite non-sexual activity, who says “I love you” first, what do their family or friends think of the relationship, and what do they do when they are apart from one another. Thanks for being so interested in Bastien and Belle!!

Pairings: Bastien x Annabelle, Jackson x Bianca, Drake x Claire

tunes: D’Arline by The Civil Wars

i could get over you but please don’t ask me to just so you know you’ll always be the one

Settling into the driver's seat of the thickly armored car carrying Prince Liam and King Constantine, Bastien felt a slight wave of relief fall off of his shoulders as they pulled away from Applewood Manor. He found himself struggling these last few days, with focusing enough of his mind on his true duty of guarding the King and Liam, as his thoughts kept wandering to Drake and Claire. It was so important to him that Drake found happiness, and even more so that he'd be given a chance to keep it. He longed for happier times for the two of them- simpler times, where they could just be themselves, just Drake and Claire, no threats, no danger, no urgency. He longed for Drake to have what he almost had with Annabelle, what he'd wanted with her, what he'd planned with her, and to think of him being so close to that; to think of him and Claire finding one another and then being torn apart by their circumstances picked at his heart. There were old cracks that he'd tried to patch up, tried to cement over and seal; but thinking of Drake and Claire meeting the same fate that he and Annabelle had was like taking a jackhammer to those cracks and seams, and he found his mind wandering over the course of the drive back to the palace, to happier times with her...

Bastien had been afforded a rare week off as a reward for how his keen eye had caught something in the crowd at the Royal Regatta the previous weekend. His sharp attention to detail as he and Jackson did one last scan of the crowd before clearing the area as safe for the Royal Family, had likely saved the lives of the King and Queen and the two young princes; they'd apprehended three men in the crowd with weapons, Jackson sustaining a black eye from the scuffle, Bastien faring a bit worse with a broken shoulder. He'd be in a sling for weeks, but there were still things that could be done in the King's Guard- information to collect, press releases to go over- ways that he could be useful even without the use of both arms. Jackson admired his dedication, but insisted that he take a week, at least, to heal and spend time with Annabelle.

“That girl is special, Bas,” Jackson had said once after dinner at the Walker house. Bastien had brought Annabelle to meet his mentor and his family, Bianca, Drake and Savannah, now five and three, after about four months together. He was starting to feel strange about the fact that the two most important people in his life hadn't met yet. Jackson had been happy to hear that his young protege might be ready to settle down with someone, that he might be ready to start building what he and Bianca had built. Upon meeting Annabelle, it was clear that Jackson instantly liked her when she greeted him with a confident but casual handshake and warm eye contact. Bianca insisted that she sit next to her at dinner so that they could chat, and drew easy, comfortable laughter from the young woman with stories of the two men at the table. Savannah stood behind Annabelle's chair, mesmerized by her intricate braid, unable to stop herself from reaching out and touching it, leaving Annabelle promising to braid Savannah's hair, when it was long enough. The little girl absolutely beamed, running back to her mother babbling about wanting long princess hair so she could have long beautiful braids; even Drake, the sour little apple that he was at times, had a smile for Annabelle. She was Walker approved and Bastien felt an excited flutter throughout his body as he took in the sight of her fitting so seamlessly into the important parts of his life.

It was after that dinner, while he was driving her home, that he pulled off to the side of the road and turned to face her, heart hammering at the way the moonlight made her light blue eyes sparkle as they widened in surprise. “What are you doing, Bas?” she asked, her mulberry lips drawing into a quizzical , slightly open mouthed smile.

Bastien swallowed his nerves and reached across the console to grasp the back of her neck, pulling her quickly in for a kiss. The moment his lips found hers he felt even more strongly about what he was about to say. Her tongue slipped between his lips and his slid past hers, mingling together like magic. He breathlessly broke the kiss and she whimpered. “Bas?” her voice cracked with the unexpected way he'd stolen her breath.

“Annabelle,” he let his right hand slip to the side of her face, cupping her cheek. “I love you. I had to tell you. Right now. Because I know, right now.” He sucked in a little gulp of air and held it, waiting for her response. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrist and leaned into his touch, bringing her other hand up to straighten a piece of hair near his forehead, her fingers brushing his skin setting little fires there.

“You do?” she asked, hope, joy and excitement swirling in her tone.

“I do.” He nodded, his steady eyes on hers.

She drew him in for another kiss, this one slow and lingering, burning like embers instead of an inferno, feeling like forever instead of for right now. “I love you, too, Bastien,” she whispered, their mouths still pressed together. “I love you.” He kissed her back, stoking the embers slowly, keeping the connection until they'd traded the air in their lungs and were growing dizzy for a lack of oxygen. It was break apart or drown in one another, and while Bastien thought that would be a good way to go, he'd just started his path towards forever with her, and he wasn't eager to die so quickly. They basked in the way love felt and the way it changed how their names sounded coming from one another's lips for a while before he pulled back onto the road and drove her the rest of the way home, steeling glances at her, at the way the starlight made her porcelain skin glow, at the way her chest rose and fell with a large contented sigh, at the woman he loved, on the first night that he told her so.

On the few occasions that the two of them had time together in the daylight hours, they would often take walks out into the countryside, bringing a blanket to sprawl out on when they'd come to some quiet meadow or the seclusion of a willow tree's curtain of green. Annabelle would bring her sketchbook and lay on her stomach, her red curls tumbling past her shoulders, her left eye scrunched up just so at the corners in concentration, as she focused on a flower or a bird, a tree, a boulder...or sometimes the strong jawline and silver eyes of the man beside her...while she masterfully captured her subjects, somehow giving them more life on the page than they had in the physical world. Bastien loved nothing more than watching her work, watching the way her fingers slowly became covered in charcoal as she made wide arks and short, quick marks on the paper, using her pinky to blur and soften for shadowing. She'd inevitably touch her face, leaving a dark smudge somewhere on her forehead or cheek- usually due to her swiping a stray tendril of hair from her eyes. He'd watch her, watch how the sunlight turned her hair copper, how her toes would curl in the cool grass, how she'd hum to herself absently as she sketched. He'd watch and wait until she was done, then he'd pull her to him, his lips brushing to hers as he'd wipe the charcoal away with his thumb before leaving light kisses across her face, his stubble tickling her cheeks and stirring bubbly laughter from deep in her soul.

This was the first time he'd had so much time off consecutively, and as much as he wished he could still be on the job, still learning as much as he could, he respected Jackson's insistence that he take time off. He couldn't deny that he was looking forward to so much time with Annabelle, either. He'd been away for three weeks while the Royal Family traveled abroad to Italy and France on diplomatic visits before returning to Cordonia just in time for the Regatta. He didn't like being apart from her, but he knew she hated it even more, and with good reason. He knew how she worried when he was away, how she feared he'd be injured or worse...and she'd not be near by to come to his side...He knew she spent many nights sleepless; in her bed alone in her apartment at the beginning of their relationship, or now, in their bed alone in their tiny house, but always alone. Always lying there staring at the clock, waiting for a phone call that might put her heart at ease long enough to get some sleep. He knew she'd stay up long into the night, sketching and painting and trying to keep her mind from coming up with reasons that he hadn't called yet. He knew she'd jump as soon as the phone would ring- knew because of the immediacy in her voice as she answered. His heart would ache a bit at the sadness in her tone even as they discussed happy topics, knowing that no matter what, she'd worry until he came home. He knew she thought of her brother- about how he went to work one day, with his badge and his gun, and he'd not come home, and he wished there was some way to change that for her, but he knew there wasn't. He knew they'd been lucky that he'd not been injured sooner, but when she found out that he broke his shoulder in a fight with three armed would be assassins, she shook and cried and felt her fear wash over her in waves at the thought of how close he came to being in so much more danger, how close he came to so much more harm. She needed this week as much as he did, more, even, and he knew that Jackson probably knew that from experience. They spent each day that week in a different spot, Annabelle sketching and Bastien waiting to wipe the charcoal from her nose or cheek or above her brow. On Thursday of that week, they'd gotten caught in the rain. She shrieked and gathered up her sketchbook, shoving it under her shirt to keep it dry as he covered her under his good arm, laughing and feeling the raindrops wash away some of the stress that had grown since his injury. They turned to one another and kissed slowly in the warm, late spring rain, faces wet and breaths hitching with laughter and desire. Take a week, Jackson had said, you'll feel better if you do. He'd been right again.

He hoped that soon Drake and Claire would get much more than a week like he and Belle had gotten.

Before he knew it they were pulling into the long drive leading to the Palace garages, and Bastien neatly tucked his memories away, filing them in the back of his mind. He'd need to be sharp as he was scheduled to meet with the security teams that had swept the palace, Beaumont Estate and Drake's cabin, and Annabelle had no place in that meeting. Even now, even so many years later, she was still such a weakness to him. The love she'd planted in his heart was still there, still flowering and growing despite her absence, it's thorns pricking him from time to time. She'd always be there, there had never been another and there never would be. He sighed as he straightened his tie and buttoned his jacket, all business, as he escorted Liam and Constantine to their personal quarters and strode to the meeting room to wait for Micah and the rest of the team. If he couldn’t have his own happiness, protecting the happiness of those he cared about was the next best thing.

you always said you want me to be happy but happiness was having you here with me you’ll always be the one that’s standing in my way and that’s okay...

tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @zaffrenotes @sleepwalkingelite @endlessly-searching-for-you @mind-reader1 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @drakewalkerrosenberg @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @gardeningourmet @jovialyouthmusic @akrenich @notoriouscs @endlesstaylormckenzie @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @brightpinkpeppercorn @cordoniantrash

#bastien x oc #bastien x annabelle #jackson walker #young walkers #drake x mc #drake x claire #trr #trr au #learning to love again #companion chapter #dad bas #choices fanfiction #trr fanfiction

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werewolves-are-real · 7 years ago

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hey! I was rereading some of your temeraire fics, and I was wondering if you would be willing to share some snippets of any WIPs you have? I really love your writing style haha ❤️❤️

Thank you! I am... trying to figure out which WIPs I haven’t provided snippets of yet, haha. So I pulled out tiny bits from some obscure ones I don’t work on much; hopefully they’ll go somewhere eventually.

1. that fic where Emily and Demane get married and Laurence keeps trying not to cry at the wedding. The dragons fight over Emily’s dress-design.

Even CaptainLaurence has cautioned her to restrain, restrain, restrain herselfuntil marriage, all in the name of propriety – and of course heuses fancy justifications, that she would not want to have regrets orlower her station (as though her future duchessy will be snatchedaway if she is not a virgin), but it is all about Society.

Of course it is very nice for CaptainLaurence to say such things, when he lives up in Scotland with Mr.Tharkay and probably has sex everyday; and they cannot be married,even. 'Let him who cast the first stone', and all that rot.

...

She is informed that Lady Allendale hasvolunteered Nottinghamshire for the location. Emily thinks this is avery thoughtful gesture, as the grounds at Wollaton Hall will be ableto hold an audience mixed with men and heavy-weights with ease. Sheis not certain why, when Captain Laurence explains this generosity, her mother only grins and asks, “And will your mother be providingher a dowry, too?” as his face slowly reddens.

2. that post-series fic where Laurence and Tharkay are together, and Granby and Little visit, and they all get drunk and do things that Laurence will probably regret later

“Oh, pray spare us,” says Littlesuddenly. “You act like I was not there, when you were his FirstLieutenant, always complaining about Captain Laurence's blue eyesand Captain Laurence'slovely stupid face - “

Tharkay cackles over his wine.Laurence cannot quite control his own expression; Granby takes onelook at him and cries “You don't have to be so pleased about it!”,and then he's laughing too.

- the wine is clouding his head, soperhaps Laurence does not take proper note, as he aught, when Tharkaymurmurs, “They would look quite a picture, though.”

3. the cliche soulmate one where Laurence finagles an invitation to one of Napoleon’s weekly dinners during the peace in 1802, and everything seems great, except then war breaks out a few months later and he has Regrets

For his part,Laurence memorizes the name and promptly puts it from mind. Ifsoulmates are rare, it is impossibly uncommon for them to actuallymeet. Not impossible, of course, and he always keeps an ear open inforeign ports; but in truth the name rarely merits a thought. Hestill intends to marry Edith, anyway; the fact that his name is malewould only garner minor disapproval from society, but actuallypursuing the connection is unthinkable.

Then, at the ageof 22, Laurence reads a letter from an old shipmate who writes that“the troops in Italy were routed by some new General of theirs,Napoleon Bonaparte - “

AndLaurence thinks: it cannot be the same man. Perhaps it is a commonname, in France.

(He later checks:Napoleon is Corsican, and the name is not common at all.)

...

“I do not hate Louis,” saysNapoleon, surprising him. “By all accounts he was a decent man; buthe was a bad king.”

“Yet people cannot seek to topplemonarchs whenever they disagree with some decisions,” saysLaurence. “There would be anarchy, and France is only an example ofthis.”

“I am very pleased with France'sanarchy,” says Napoleon. “And what would you propose, Captain?Should the people sit idly while they are abused and neglected, onlybecause the king is trying todo well? That is asmall consolation, when children starve in the streets and the nationweakens. Louis was weak.”

“And you believeyou are stronger?”

“France does,”says Napoleon. Despite the nature of the discussion, he is smilingfaintly. “I cannot fault you your loyalty to your ideals, Captain –wrong though they are. Forgive me; what was your name?”

Laurence pausesfor only an instant – a very brief instant – and then, in a fitof abandon, he tells the truth.

“WilliamLaurence, Your Majesty.”

4. the slightly confused sequel of Terror in War, Ornament in Peace wherein Laurence loses his memory after being shipwrecked near Rhode Island. And is therefore unaware of the fact that he’s a prince of China, a French Baron, a traitor to England, and generally infamous for being Napoleon’s lover. can you imagine

Laurence wakes upin a cell. The native woman by his bedside squints down with darkeyes and looks entirely unperturbed at hisalarm. She finishes wrapping his arm, ignoring his wince, and thenstands. “Do not hit your arm,” She enunciates clearly, and pointsat it for good measure. Then: “Stupid.” She exits.

Laurence stares atthe door dumbly.

A jailor locks thedoor. It's covered by slatted bars along the top, and after a momentLaurence calls out, “Sir, may I know where I am?”

The man ignoreshim.

He is ignored foran hour at least – then the man leaves, perhaps signifying thatLaurence is not even considered a threat. Several hours, he suspects,pass as the shifts changes and the room darkens naturally. His throattightens with dryness.

Finally, someonecomes to see him.

It is a pair,actually – an older man, his hair going gray, and a youngercounterpart who seems just out of childhood. “See, he watches usright as we enter,” the old man says in a tone of great boredom.“He's eager to talk, you see – that's why you make 'em wait.”

Laurence clencheshis jaw.

The young manshifts from foot to foot. They stop in front of Laurence's cell. “I'mGavin Banner - head of the Watchmen here,” the old man explains. Asan afterthought, he waves to his trainee and adds, “This is SamWirth.”

“I would like tosay it is a pleasure,” Laurence says flatly. “But I confess I amconfused; what am I doing here?”

“This is wherehe acts innocent,” Banner says to Wirth. “Realized he made amistake coming here, you see? We don't have any loyalists left aroundhere, you see?” Banner nods with satisfaction.

Laurence exhalesslowly.

“Um,” saysWirth, and then stops.

“What crime haveI committed?” Laurence asks.

At that Banneractually snorts. “Ha!” he says, and then, “Ha! A crime, whatcrime do you need in wartime?” He wags a finger at Laurence asthough he's a misbehaving school-child. “The soldiers will come foryou soon enough.”

“I see,”Laurence says grimly.

“Now, will youanswer our questions?”

“Sir, if you areposed against His Majesty than I will not.”

Banner huffs up.“Well!” he says, and, “Well! We will see about that. Wehave chains – hmm, a poker, somewhere - “

“Ah.” Thisis apparently too much for the boy. “Sir, the First Watch are notauthorized to – to torture. Sir.”

“The city willgive us a bit of discretion for a loyal Brit,” Banner protests.

Wirth shifts butdoesn't back down. “Oh, very well,” Banner sighs. “ - We willask permission. Though I'm sure we'll be kinder than theirregulars, anyway,” he tells Laurence helpfully.

“I will bearthat in mind,” is his dry reply.

Banner stomps outand the boy follows, so that is something.

The guard does notreturn; possibly he has taken a break or simply forgotten Laurence.After awhile another man comes in. “Yes, yes, I am not a fool,”he laughs to someone behind him as he enters; it takes Laurence anoddly long moment to register that the words are not spoken inEnglish. Pieces start to come together. So the Americans have made analliance with the French, then – that is not promising.

“Ah, I had heardthere was an English captive,” says the Frenchman. “I suppose ourcaptain will want to talk to you, and he is not here yet; what isyour name, sailor?”

Laurence debatesfor a moment the tactical concerns of revealing his identity, butfinally admits he is not likely to be known to anyone even if hecannot fully guess what his position might be in this placeand year. “William Laurence,” he reveals.

He immediatelyregrets his decision as alarm overtakes the Frenchman's features.

“Excuse me?”

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allmagicianslie · 8 years ago

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Birthday fic for @etave from @owl-by-night

Cornish Ungentlemanly Major Merlin (contains smut)

I am posting this for Owl because she is having A Day, so all errors are mine. Also on my own behalf, Happy Birthday @etave!

In the small cottage, Grant stretches and checks the clock once more. Nearly time to go down to the beach to wait for the boat. He puts down his book, noting the page, and fetches his coat from the rack by the door.

Outside the night is very still. He came here two days ago, all the way to the far reaches of Cornwall to a small, obscure village on the banks of the Helford river. It's little more than a cluster of cottages and fishing sheds around the wide bay onto the river. SOE have been using it as a convenient place to land boats, bringing agents to and from the continent, without anyone observing. Tonight, the cargo to be landed is more precious to Grant than any other. Jonathan, abroad for over a month, is finally being sent home.

He walks down the pebbled shoreline, well wrapped against the cold. Out on the dark water there is the faint, repetitive sound of masts and rigging tapping against one another on the moored boats. Then, quieter still, the hum of a motor approaching from down river. His heart jumps at the sound of it.

There's a brief flash of light from the water. Torch in hand, Grant makes the quick circle and flash of morse code that was their agreed signal that it would be safe to land. The boat draws nearer and the motor cuts out. Under the power of two men rowing, she makes her slow and steady way to the beach, landing in a crunch of gravel.

Grant steps forward, catching the bows and the slick, algae-covered rope of her anchor. In close to silence the men drag her up, just enough for Jonathan to step over the side and into safety. Then, up to their knees in water, they push her back out again. With nothing but the creak of oars, she vanishes into the gloom as if she had never been there at all.

On the dark beach, the two of them hold one another hard. Jonathan is wet through, sea soaked, smelling of salt and sweat and the faint, electric tang that gathers around him whenever he has been doing powerful magic. Grant hugs him fiercely, nose buried into the warm skin of his neck.

"Come with me," he says quietly, "we don't want to be caught in the open."

He leads the way back to the cottage as quietly as he can. Inside, he closes the door and lights the lamp, allowing himself the first proper sight of Jonathan. He is dressed like a fisherman, in a canvas smock and heavy oilskin coat, his hair disordered by the wind and sea spray. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes and lines where Grant doesn't expect to see them. By contrast, Grant looks perfectly ordinary, apart from his soaked trousers and boots.

It is the cold that forces them to move. Grant struggles out of wet shoes and socks, padding to the fire to add more wood and wincing as the damp fabric of his trousers clings coldly to his ankles. Jonathan struggles with the wet fastenings of his coat.

"Come on, get out of those before you freeze," Grant tells him, going to help. Jonathan stops him.

"I missed you," he says, holding Grant's warm hands tight between his cold ones, "so much."

"I missed you too. We both did."

"Both of you? Bell's alright? I saw it was you on the beach and I was worried..."

"No, she's alright. Wishing she didn't to have to wait to see you."

Jonathan kisses him then, desperately, seeking reassurance. Grant indulges him. At least until the ache of his cold, bare feet becomes too much to ignore.

"You need a hot bath," he says, "before you catch a chill."

"A bath?" Jonathan asks incredulously. "Here?"

"Yes, here, although you'll have to pray that the boiler is working."

The bathroom is unusual for somewhere so remote, but someone must have thought it was worth it when bringing in cold, wet agents, lest they freeze before they can share their intelligence. The weather at sea wasn't too bad tonight, for winter, but some of the crossings Grant has heard about were wild.

The geyser boiler must have heard his prayers because it sputters into life. Jonathan, stripped of his coat, tackles the rest of his clothing. Grant helps, undoing fastenings too stiff for cold fingers. Soon Jonathan is naked and shivering, skin dimpled with gooseflesh. There's a half healed cut on his shoulder, running jagged towards the hair on his chest, and three more cuts across the palm of one hand. A wilder magician than the one who left them weeks ago. He's thinner too and shuddering with the kind of cold that doesn't leave easily.

Grant remembers the feeling: the shock at being home and safe, with euphoria and tiredness crashing in to one another. He strips himself of his jumper, shirt and soaking trousers. He'd have stood out like a sore thumb in uniform down here, so he's been in civvies, which now feel more like a disguise than how he used to dress.

They end up in the tub together, Grant sitting behind Jonathan and holding him, running warm hands over Jonathan's cold arms and shoulders, waiting for body heat and hot water to do their work. He keeps up a light conversation about what Jonathan has missed back home, about the gossip from the ungentlemanly magicians. Jonathan wants to hear about Bell: the small details, the things she has done or said, and about Grant himself. It feels good to be asked, to have someone care for him enough to want, even need, to know all the things that have been missed, knitting their lives back together where they have been separate.

Slowly Grant turns the conversation to work, to what Jonathan has been doing. He always wants to hear an agent's first account of a mission immediately afterwards, before they have had time to edit things into a report in their heads, or smoothed out the details that might later be important. It's familiar, but he's never get done it quite like this, with both of them naked together in the bath, limbs tangled and the weight of Jonathan's body against him, somehow all the more intimate for not being intimate at all. It still has the power to shock him at times, in his relationship with the Stranges, how much can be shared and how easily.

It would be tempting to stay longer, but work calls. He steps out of the bath, despite Jonathan's protests, pushing the soap into his hands.

"Wash," he says, "you smell like one of the magicians from the restoration."

Jonathan makes an affronted noise and ducks under the surface, emerging in a wave of water, spluttering and dripping. Grant cannot help but kiss him, brushing water from his mouth and sucking at his lip. Jonathan groans.

"Later," Grant tells him.

"I have been waiting for weeks," Jonathan says, "with nothing more than memories to go on."

His tone and the look on his face make Grant want to give in, but he doesn't want to have to explain why he missed his arranged call to headquarters.

"Then you can wait an hour or two longer," he says lightly, shaking his head just a little.

Jonathan sighs, catching the unspoken, and sinks back into the water.

Grant dresses again in dry clothes and makes his way downstairs. There's just enough time to rinse the salt water from their wet clothes and drape them to dry by the fire. They will need proper washing, but not here. He dumps the wet boots outside the door to drain and sniffs the cold, sharp air. He's lucky it was a clear night to bring the boat in, but the lack of cloud has sharpened the winter chill to biting.

The radio has been packed in its safely anonymous case for fear of unexpected visitors, but he opens it now. It crackles to life and the hot wire and static smell reminds him of Jonathan, splashing about upstairs, half humming and half singing a tune Grant thinks is probably French. He drafts his message, already in coded phrases, encrypts it and sends it.

While transmitting the message, Jonathan reappears from the bathroom in clean pyjamas and a thick jumper that Grant brought for him. He drapes himself around Grant's shoulders and presses his face into his hair. Grant, to his credit, never once lets the pattern of the morse code falter beneath his fingers. Not even when Jonathan kisses the curve of his ear or the skin under it.

"You really are incorrigible, aren't you?" he asks, mock scowling up at Jonathan with his message safely sent.

"I missed you. And I know you're too good to let me distract you."

Grant smiles at him, half pleased at the compliment, half loving exasperation. He burns his draft message and the sheet from the one time pad he used for encryption in the fire, poking them to the middle of the blaze so no trace is left.

"I suppose you're hungry," he says, watching Jonathan's eyes light up. Food is still scarce in France, particularly when you are in hiding.

He has eggs, from the hens that scratch around the village, and half a stale loaf. Jonathan makes tea while Grant poaches eggs and makes toast.

"It's strange," Jonathan says, "being back here, in an English kitchen, not having to go anywhere or be ready to run."

"You'll get used to it," Grant says, "quicker than you expect. It's harder, with the long trips, but it will be normal again sooner than you know it."

"I think... I think I'm still looking over my shoulder. Still thinking about who might come through the door. I didn't have much time to be afraid, at the time."

"I know."

Grant squeezes his shoulder and puts food on the plate, grating a bit of cheese over the egg. This is what's needed: hot food, strong tea, then sleep.

Jonathan eats by the fire, basking in the warmth while Grant sips tea. He ate earlier, but it's the middle of the night now. He steals a corner of Jonathan's toast and nibbles it.

"You know what I miss," Jonathan says, polishing off the last of the food before Grant can help himself to any more.

"Toasted bloody cheese?" Grant asks in perfect mimicry of Winespill's accent. It's a very old running joke for them all. Jonathan laughs anyway.

"You do his accent very well you know. Better than the others"

"It's the training." Grant shrugs. "I'm learning the Cornish accent now, my ‘ansum"

Jonathan laughs again, then yawns.

"Bed," Grant tells him, "you need to sleep. When did you last manage it?"

"On the boat, for a bit, not a lot for a day before that."

"Bed then. You can sleep as long as you need."

"What's the plan for tomorrow?"

"Nothing in the day. We'll leave in the evening, once it's dark."

"A night drive then?"

"Only to the station at Penzance. We'll get the first train up to London in the morning."

"I'm glad I have you for company," Jonathan says. "I didn't expect it."

"I asked." Grant looks away, mildly embarrassed. "I wanted to."

"And Arthur agreed?"

"Yes."

"Arthur? Arthur 'I know nothing about this, don't do anything I'd have to notice' Wellesley let you travel down to Cornwall?"

"Well, at the moment he also 'knows nothing' about the entire litter of kittens William is keeping in his office so I think his ability to turn a blind eye is improving."

"A litter of... really? There are kittens in the office?" Jonathan looks delighted.

"Yes. Bell says you are very definitely not allowed to adopt more than one."

They laugh together at the absurdity of it.

"Kittens aside," Jonathan says, suddenly serious, "thank you for meeting me."

"Any time."

The sheets in the bedroom are cold. Jonathan slips under them still dressed in his pyjamas. Grant regrets that they aren't somewhere warmer, aren't home in their own cottage where the bedroom is cosy and there are three of them to heat the blankets. He'd like to keep touching Jonathan, skin to skin, missing the comfort of it.

"Here," he says to distract himself until the room is warmer, "Bell sent you this. To be opened at bedtime." He hands over the thick envelope he's been carrying in his jacket pocket since he left. The edges are crumpled by it, but he doubts Jonathan will mind. Jonathan presses his nose to the paper and Grant wonders if it smells of both of them, of his body and Bell's perfume.

He didn't ask what it said. It's something between the two of them, in the way that there are some things that he and Jonathan share alone, and he and Bell do too. He's had Bell to himself all the time that Jonathan has been away, and he doesn't begrudge them this.

He goes downstairs to bank the fire and douse the lamp. The nights are long now, and still there is no hint of dawn in the sky when he looks. He goes back upstairs to find Jonathan curled on his side, letter in hand. There's also a drawing. Jonathan rubs his thumb gently over the edges of it. It's a sketch Grant made of Bell, naked and sleepy in their bed. She is propped up on one elbow, looking at him, hair falling down over one shoulder.

"I didn't know she'd sent you that," Grant says. He's slightly embarrassed that she did, but the look on Jonathan's face makes him glad she did. Jonathan couldn't have taken a drawing or photograph away with him, nothing that could be identified. He hasn't seen Bell since he left.

"She sent this too." Jonathan shows him the other page. It's one of Bell's sketches this time, of Grant. He flushes to the roots of his hair. Bell has drawn him in every detail.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat, "you have been away for a while. We had to keep ourselves busy."

"It's been too long."

"It has. We missed you very much."

"I didn't realise... not until now, just how hard it has been, being away from you both." Jonathan blinks hard at the drawings, and Grant knows how he feels. Wound tight for weeks and then suddenly released. The point where, in the old days, he'd have been reaching for the whisky bottle in his desk.

This time he has a different plan. He takes the pages gently from Jonathan's hand and kisses him. His hand, cupping Jonathan's jaw, can feel the rapid flutter of his pulse under the skin.

"If you're not too tired..." he says. Jonathan shakes his head.

He tugs Jonathan's woollen jumper up and off, tousling his hair, and reaches for the buttons of his pyjamas. Jonathan sighs and shivers under the touch, not just from the cold room. He clings almost feverishly, until Grant says "steady, it's alright, I've got you."

Jonathan stares at him, wild eyed and well kissed. "I love you."

"I know." He strokes his hand through Jonathan's hair until his eyes close. "I know. Let me take care of you."

At the first touch of Grant's mouth on his cock, Jonathan drops back against the pillows. He groans, and Grant can feel the tension ebbing out of him, the muscles of his thighs relaxing under Grant's hands. He savours it. The feel of Jonathan in his mouth, the taste of him, the quiet sounds he makes. He looks down at Grant, expression soft and dazed. Grant pulls back enough to smile up at him, then bobs his head back down to make him swear.

It is a very sweet, slow kind of lovemaking tonight. Jonathan is pliant and willing, yielding himself up with a lazy smile on his face. He rolls his hips, pressing close, offering more. Grant is dizzy with the heat of him, with his apparent surrender. He fucks him with the slow and steady pace that Bell likes to blame on military precision and that Jonathan squirms under, always wanting more. Always wanting faster and harder and more. He'd usually beg, but tonight he gives himself up to it and spills, untouched, between them.

Afterwards, Grant holds Jonathan close, spooned together in the bed. His hand rests over Jonathan's heart, feeling the regular thud of it beating, slower than before. Outside, the waves break quietly on the shore, much quieter than the open sea but still a regular rush and lull of sound. Dawn will be breaking soon, lighting the dark river and weaving sunlight through the trees on the shore. Somewhere, far out to sea, the boat that brought Jonathan home is heading who knows where on her next journey. The world is waiting for the two of them to rejoin it. But not yet. Not just yet.

#birthday fic for etave #owl fic

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impediamenta · 8 years ago

Text

It Should Have Been Obvious

ff.net:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12322438/1/It-Should-Have-Been-Obvious

A warmth that lights up a dark day, the boy who brought a bit of brightness into a war, and the girl who symbolizes what they worked for. Teddy Lupin feels the pressure of parents he never knew, heralded as heroes and not as people, impossible to live up to. Victoire Weasley feels the burden of being a beacon of hope for the lost, when all she really did was be born on a day.

Teddy meets Victoire the day she’s born. He is two and a half, just starting to notice the world around him, and he is in his godfather’s arms in a field with stones scattered throughout when the call comes. Harry wipes a tear from his cheek and smiles, shaking his head, muttering about people coming and going and the irony of it all, but Teddy doesn’t understand. He knows that his family is different, somehow, but for the life of him his toddler brain cannot understand why people come up to him and his nan on the street and say things like you poor child and I’m sorry for your loss. He doesn’t get why people follow Harry around, trying to take his picture and shake his hand. He doesn’t get why one scary man on the street started yelling and called him “the monster’s brat.” He doesn’t think Nan is a monster, and neither is Harry. Teddy is still mulling over Harrys words when they apparate out of the field with the stones, which he now realizes have writing on them, and into a huge building with white walls and a funny smell. He laughs when he sees a boy with a duck nose, and matches his nose to the boys. Harry looks down at him as they check in with a nice lady at the desk and bursts out laughing, calling to Ginny, who had arrived right after them. Ginny takes one glance at Teddy before tears form in her eyes and she starts quietly laughing, whispering about someone named Tonks. Teddy looks at her quizically, before solemnly informing her that Tonks is a funny name. Harry and Ginny smile sadly at him, but soon they are being led down a white hallway with pictures of babies all over the walls. They enter a door and go into a room filled with a mixture of blond and red-haired people, all of them surrounding his Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill. Grandma Molly is crying, and so is this other blonde lady who seems to have caught the attention of most of the men in the room. Teddy pushes himself up in Harry’s arms, trying to see what all of the fuss is about. When that doesn’t work, he asks Harry to put him down, and when Harry complies he marches straight up to Uncle Bill and asks what’s going on, tugging on the man’s robes. He likes Uncle Bill, he always tells him stories when they see each other. Bill just grins at Teddy and picks him up, pointing to Aunt Fleur on the bed and the bundle of blankets in her arms. Teddy asks what that thing is, and they laugh and tell him that’s a baby. He nods seriously, then asks if the baby has a name, because babies are supposed to have those, don’t you know. Harry, Ron, and George seem to be trying not to laugh at the panicked glance Bill shoots at his wife, while an inquisitive toddler watches from his arms. After a minute of Bill’s stammering, Victoire is vhat ve vill call her, I think Fleur says, and Teddy nods approvingly before squirming out of Bill’s arms and running over to Grandma Molly to tell her that the baby’s name is Vic-something, I can’t say the rest, sorry, as if no one else could hear the conversation and following announcement.

Victoire doesn’t like boys. Granted, the only boy she knows is Teddy, but he’s two whole years too old and won’t call her by her name. Vic, she thinks spitefully, kicking up dirt under the tire swing that is now outside Shell Cottage. She is three, and everyone tells her that she has a beautiful name, and that she is pretty. She likes being told she’s pretty, and she likes her name, especially the way Maman says it. Veek-twah sounds nice rolling off the tongue. Much nicer than Vic. Dad calls her Vicky, because he thinks it’s funny now that they have Dominique they have a Nicky too. Dad is allowed to call her Vicky, but no one else. Maman is having another baby now, and Dad wants to name it something that rhymes with Vicky and Nicky, but Maman said no. Nicky calls her Vika, because she can’t make the twah sound. No matter what she does, however, Teddy won’t call her anything but Vic. She complained to Dad one day, but that got he just looked like he was trying not to laugh and suggested they talk to Uncle Harry about it. When she confronts Uncle Harry, he and Uncle Ron actually do laugh, and she scowls. Right now, the only Weasley kids are her and Nicky, and also (kind of) Teddy, but Aunt Ginny, Aunt Angelina, Maman, and Aunt Audrey are all having babies. Victoire wishes she had a cousin her age like all of those babies will. Dom is only two, so she can’t play with her, so she begrudgingly spends time with Teddy, who is five. They spend a lot of time together, but most of it is Teddy telling her she’s too young to do something and Victoire telling him to stop calling her Vic. George, unbeknownst to Victoire and much to Bill’s dismay, has already started a betting pool for the date of their eventual marriage.

Teddy is six when he finds out. He learned when he was four that his parents had died right after he was born, and had gotten so upset that Nan had decided to leave it at that. He also knew that Tonks was his mother, because that’s Nan’s last name, and that his father was named Remus, but his knowledge of his parents is limited. When he is six, however, he is walking with Ginny and baby James in Diagon Alley when a middle aged woman corners him in a store and starts yelling about illegal spawn and disgusting creatures. Ginny ends up pulling out her wand and suddenly the woman has great green things fluttering about her face. Ginny grabs Teddy and James and makes starts heading for the Leaky Cauldron. Teddy has a lot of questions, but Ginny looks distressed and he gets the idea that this might not be the best time. They stepped (or in Teddy’s case faceplanted) out of the floo at the Potter’s cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole, and Ginny put down James then called Harry. Teddy is very confused now, and he can’t stop thinking about the scary lady yelling at him while Ginny talks to Harry through the fireplace. A few minutes later Harry comes out and he looks mad. He asks Teddy if he is ok, and Teddy tells him he is, but he’s really confused. Harry sighs, and asks Teddy if he knows what a werewolf is. Teddy thinks for a second then nods. Harry says his dad was a werewolf, but that Teddy shouldn’t think about him any differently, but some people don’t think werewolves should have children and will treat Teddy differently because of it. Teddy understands, he thinks, but he asks Harry to tell him more stories about his parents. Harry says that his dad, who died when he was a baby, was best friends with Teddy’s dad, and was like an uncle to Harry. Harry says that his mum was a lot younger than his dad, but that she was one of the best people Harry ever knew because she was funny, bright, and was willing to work so hard for what she wanted. Harry says that his parents died fighting for what they wanted for Teddy, and they wanted him to understand that. Teddy feels happy when Harry tells him all of this. Harry shows him pictures of his dad with Harry’s dad and two other men that were taken somewhere called Hogwarts. Teddy thinks Hogwarts sounds cool. He thinks it would be nice to meet some friends who aren’t practically related to him, like Vic is.

Victoire is five when Aunt Gabrielle gets married, and she learns she loves France. She hasn’t been since she was two, and she doesn’t remember that. She loves the rolling hills, she loves that everyone gets her name right, and she loves the big house that grand-mere and grand-pere Delacour live in. She loves Aunt Gabrielle because she let Victoire be the flower girl. The wedding is really fun, because Uncle Harry was invited so she Louis won’t bother her and can play with James. Teddy is there too, and they watch Aunt Gabrielle and her new uncle Jean dance on the dance floor, so they decide to try it too. Teddy is a really good dancer (he only steps on her toes once!), and they are best friends now, even though he still calls her Vic. They are having so much fun that they don’t see Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny cracking up off to the side and her dad grumbling don’t tell George to her maman. Victoire is spending a whole week in France, but Teddy is supposed to go home the next day, as Aunt Ginny is about to have another baby and they don’t want to stay away for too long. Teddy and Victoire beg, and the adults agree that Teddy can stay with Bill and Fleur for the week. That week, Teddy and Dad teach Victoire to fly a broomstick, and Victoire spends hours up in the air, taking in the French countryside. Victoire and Maman try to teach Teddy French, but by the time they give up he can only say five words. The Victoire, Teddy, Dom, and Dad go hiking along side a stream that surrounds the Delacour property one day. It is slippery, so Victoire holds on to Teddy’s hand so she doesn’t fall. She doesn’t get why Dad is scowling. After all, Teddy is her best friend. She still half-heartedly tries to get him to stop calling her Vic, but these days she doesn’t mind so much. He still tells her sometimes that she is too young to do something, but he always caves.

Teddy turns eight and he starts to feel alone. Harry and Ginny have a new baby Al, and Harry got some sort of promotion so now they are super busy. Every other Weasley is living up to the name and there are so many new babies that the lot of them don’t seem to have time for anything anymore, much less him. He spends a lot of time at Vic’s these days, it is far too quiet at Nan’s and far too loud anywhere else. At Shell Cottage, he and Vic can stay outside. When Uncle Bill asks why he likes outside so much, Teddy tells him and Bill smiles and says that he starts to act more like his father every day. Teddy likes quiet, and he likes that his dad did too. He doesn’t really like going to the family holidays at the Burrow all that much anymore, because every time someone announces a pregnancy (which is practically every single one of those things, its mad) or brings a new baby, it makes him mad (his mum had a temper, he’s told), and he feels horrible for being mad (that’s his dad again), but it really isn’t fair. All of these kids have parents who fought in the war just the same as his did, but their parents are alive and giving them siblings. When he was little, for a long time it was just him, Vic, and then Dom. Now they have James, George’s son Fred, Percy’s daughter Molly, and Louis; along with new babies Al and Rose. Aunt Audrey is having another baby soon, and so is Aunt Angelina. Teddy, as the only Lupin of the bunch, is a bit spiteful of all of that family, even though everyone tells him he is just as much a part of the family as anyone. So he sticks by Vic, because she at least doesn’t pretend that he’s another cousin, something he’s not, but treats him like a friend instead. It’s strange, he thinks of the rest of the Weasleys as cousins, but Vic isn’t. Vic is just his best friend, and he prefers it that way.

Victoire is eight now, and it seems like everyone is done having babies. Finally. Lily and Hugo have just been born, and if Victoire sees one more maternity ward she is going to scream. Honestly, she can tell Teddy is with her on that one. He dutifully show up every time, just like she does, but when they got a call one day that Aunt Hermione is in the hospital for Hugo, Teddy gets a stony-faced look as they floo to the hospital that reminds her of pictures they found at Uncle Harry’s of the Black family, especially. Then again, Teddy is a Black, but the look is surprising on his normally cheerful face. He pastes on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes by the time they get to St. Mungo’s, but his hair is going brown at the ends like it does when he is upset. She grabs his hand as they walk down the ward and starts to tell him any joke she can think of until he cracks a real grin when she starts insulting the portraits that line the halls in French. That’s what she and Teddy do; they have learned at a ridiculously young age to help each other deal with pressure, so she has learned what takes his mind off things an he has learned what makes her smile. When Teddy turns eleven, he comes barreling through the fireplace to show her his brand new Hogwarts letter, and she smiles and listens to him chatter about houses and pets and wands, all the while wanting to cry just a little, because it hadn’t occured to her that he would be leaving so soon. Teddy, miraculously, picks up on this through all of his pre-Hogwarts excitement, and before he leaves to go show Uncle Harry (she almost cries just because he showed her first) he gives her a big hug, and whispers in her ear that he promises to write everyday. Victoire mopes around that day, and at dinner, when Maman tries to convince her to got to Beauxbatons again she flat out refuses, saying that there is no way, not now that Teddy is going to Hogwarts. She really should ask Dad why he gets a funny look on his face when she says stuff like that.

Teddy is eleven now, and he is going to Hogwarts. And he is really, really, really excited. Mostly. He is excited to meet some people his own age, for once, and he is excited to see the place where his parents once were taught, and he is excited about a curious piece of parchment that Harry gave him at the station with explicit instructions to keep it secret, especially from Nan. He took this to mean that he could show Vic, of course, but he would wait until Christmas for that. He was really, really, really going to miss Vic. He was also going to miss, no matter how much they annoyed and made him question his very sanity, the Potters and Weasleys. Teddy boards the train with a kind of reckless excitement that only comes in youth. He does not, however, show his excitement outwardly like everyone says his mum did, but keeps a show of outward peace like his father. He finds a compartment with a boy called Loren Tylers and a girl called Kate Macmillan. They are both first years, and he is mildly surprised that Kate recognizes him instantly, because he is mostly sure he has never met her before. Loren says he is a muggle-born, and so Teddy and Kate, who’s uncle Ernie apparently was in Harry’s year, start to tell him about wizarding history. When they get to the war, Kate goes quiet when they get to the war and sends a panicked glance a Teddy. Teddy takes a deep breath and pull out his History of Magic textbook and flips to the chapter on the war. Loren, who apparently loves to read, takes in the text quickly. His eyes widen when they get to the list of casualties. He looks at Teddy, and Teddy nods and points to Remus and Nymphadora Lupin. Loren’s eyes widen further when Kate says that Harry Potter is Teddy’s godfather. Teddy figures he just is going to have to get used to this. The train ride goes quickly after that, and he and Loren and Kate fall into easier conversation, talking about their lives before Hogwarts. Teddy is fascinated by Loren’s description of muggle primary school, and Loren and Teddy both ask Kate continual questions about the States, where her parents took refuge during the war and she grew up (he knew something was off about her accent!). Soon the train pulls into Hogsmeade, and an aging Hagrid (who Teddy has always known) leads them to the castle through the boats. There are only fifteen students in Teddy’s year, which seems really small, but he goes along with it. After the sorting, Teddy is a proud Hufflepuff, along with Kate, Loren, and another girl with long black braids and coffee colored skin who was introduced as Gemma Wood. She said her dad’s cousin had been Harry’s Quidditch captain, and that her mum was from Spain so that was where she was born (lots of new, strange accents). Teddy is a bit overwhelmed with all of the new people, and it makes him miss Vic and Harry and Nan all the more. When he writes home, Harry writes in mock dissaproval that he wasn’t in Gryffindor, and Nan writes a rather shaky letter telling him how proud his mum would of been. Vic’s letter is just asking dozens of questions that he has no answer to about Hogwarts. He thinks it will be a good year, though, because every Hufflepuff is really nice to him and Loren and he have a room all to themselves.

Victoire is now eleven too, and Maman grumbles the whole way to King’s Cross over her refusal of Beauxbatons. She couldn’t care less, because now she and Teddy are going to school together, and she gets to be sorted and go to the school Dad went to. She sits with Teddy on the train, and she meets his friends, a nice girl with short brown hair named Kate, a boy with pretty blue eyes called Loren, and a girl called Gemma with long black braids and a wicked sense of humor. The boy, Loren, keeps looking at her funny (Maman said that boys love Delacours, so this is apparently what that means), but she decides she will just ignore him for now. She has a good time on the train with the Hufflepuffs, and she appreciates how much more exuberant Teddy is around them. When she stands up in front of the Great Hall a few hours later with a hat on her head, she has a two-minute long argument with the hat before she finally give up and allows it to call GRYFFINDOR. She had really wanted to be with Teddy, who looks crestfallen, but there are three other girls in her year in Gryffindor, and one, named Meredith Bell, is super nice. In the dormitory, all of them start quizzing her, asking things like Are you really a Weasley? Like Ron and Hermione Weasley? They cool down a bit when Meredith asks one of the more talkative ones, named Tina, how many Weasleys she thinks there are. Victoire decides that she rather likes Meredith. The year passes by quickly, and she is sad because she doesn’t see Teddy nearly as often as she had hoped, but he still eats breakfast with her every morning, so that’s nice.

Teddy is fourteen, and he is losing his shit, because Vic apparently decided to go through puberty over the summer, and now he knows what Loren has been drooling over for the last year. She grew like four inches, and now she comes up to his shoulder, and she is starting to fill out (he smacks himself for thinking that, earning a strange look from Gemma in the common room). He doesn’t have a crush, no that would be too strange. After all, Vic is only a second year, and he is a fourth year, and there is a pretty Ravenclaw in the year above him named Emily Reynolds that he has liked since first year that he can’t forget about. Also, Loren is his best non-Vic mate, and he has been mooning over Vic since the moment he met her, and it would be rude for Teddy to ruin his chances. Teddy, luckily, has enough going on to distract him from confusing Vic-related thoughts. He made chaser for the Quidditch team this year, much to Harry’s excitement, and that keeps him busy. He also has the Marauder’s Map, which he has now shown Loren, Kate, and Gemma, and that often causes detentions. Not to mention his school work, which Nan said was very important to his dad, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t top of the class in DADA. He is super busy, but it doesn’t go beyond his notice (or Loren’s) that Vic was holding hands with a third-year Gryffindor boy. How could it, when Loren is pouting about it for a solid week after? He asks Vic about it over breakfast one day, and she says that this “Tim” asked her out and she said yes, and that was that. Teddy doesn’t like Tim. And Vic is far too young to date.

Victoire turns thirteen, and now Dom is coming to school with her. Honestly, though, Dom is such a little spit-fire that she isn’t even a tiny bit worried about her. Who she is worried about, however, is Teddy. Mostly that Teddy has been totally weird lately. She had started dating Timothy O��Dooley, a Gryffindor in the year above her, at the end of second year and they had broken it off half-way through the summer. She hadn’t been at all attached to him, she had only kissed him a few times, and she hadn’t even told her parents, so she wasn’t a little bit upset about breaking up. Teddy, however, had gone off on a rant when she told him about it. It’s not just his attitude, however. Victoire has realized that objectively, boys look very nice in Quidditch gear. She learns this when she and Meredith were watching the final, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. Tim is the seeker for Gryffindor, and Meredith’s older sister Taliana, a fourth year, is a beater. Teddy, along with his friend Gemma, is a chaser for Hufflepuff. Victoire is watching Tim streak through the air, and remarks to Meredith that Tim looks cute in his Quidditch kit, when Mere says Teddy looks hot in his. Objectively, of course, she studies the subject and finds, objectively, that Mere is not totally wrong. This hits Victoire hard, to realize that Teddy is not unattractive (she can’t say hot, because this is Teddy). She is so flummoxed that she can hardly find it in her to cheer when Gryffindor wins. She still go finds Teddy the next day and collects her galleon, because he owed her. So anyway, now she thinks of that day when she sees Teddy, and has found, objectively, that Teddy is alright looking in regular clothing too. Victoire, Meredith (who Victoire has come to realize has a bit of a crush on dear Teddy), and Dom sit with Teddy and his friends on the train, like they always do. Dom chatters excitedly with Kate and Gemma about Hogwarts before heading out to search for new friends in her year. Meanwhile, Victoire is talking to Loren. She is surprised when Loren asks her out, but she figures he is cute enough (he has nice eyes) and agrees to go to Hogsmeade with him at the first one. The rest of the day goes by quickly, with Dom joining Victoire in Gryffindor, and then the school year begins. The first Hogsmeade weekend comes and goes, and Victoire finds that she likes Loren a lot. He is really sweet, and walks her to class. She also can’t help but notice that he is a good kisser. She doesn’t notice when Teddy gets the stony look that she used to associate with new babies everytime Victoire and Loren are together in his vicinity. She does notice, however, that Teddy is now going out with some older Ravenclaw. She doesn’t mind. Really.

Teddy is fifteen, and Victoire is going out with Loren. It’s fine. Really. Loren and Vic are his two closest friends. He wants them to be happy. Anyway, he has Emily, and she is quite nice, if not a little swottish. But it’s all good, because she is an amazing kisser, and he has OWLs this year, along with Quidditch, Marauder’s map adventures with Loren, Vic, Kate, and Gemma, and he is also a prefect (which Harry finds highly amusing, considering said Marauder’s map adventures) this year. Teddy barely has time to eat, let alone worry about girls. And he doesn’t need to worry about girls, because Emily Reynolds, the girl he has always liked, is his girlfriend, and any other people he may or may not have mixed feelings about are taken. He’s really busy, and that’s why he isn’t seeing Vic so much, besides breakfast, which he isn’t at all bitter that Loren joins now. He takes Emily to Hogsmeade for the first time before Christmas, and they have a good time, and Teddy introduces her to Uncle George and Uncle Ron, who are working at the new Hogsmeade branch of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Uncle George seems totally crushed when he introduces Emily as his girlfriend, though he isn’t sure why, or why Ron looks like he is trying not to laugh. He and Emily walk through the village, buying Christmas gifts, and he buys her some chocolates from Honeydukes. He sees Vic and Loren kissing over by Madam Puddifoots, and it doesn’t bother him one bit. That has nothing to do with the reason that Teddy pulls Emily over and starts snogging the life out of the girl. Teddy and Vic go home for Christmas that year, and all that anyone wants to talk about his Teddy’s girlfriend. Uncle Bill seems particularly delighted with the news, George still seems equally as not delighted, which makes Bill even more pleased. Dom is telling all of the cousins about her dorm room (Dom was in the heat of a wizarding baby boom, so they had to have two rooms for girl first years), and Vic is switching from gossiping with the aunts about Loren and being interrogated by the uncles. Teddy sits with Harry and watches the scene. Until suddenly:

“How much do you want to smash Loren’s head in right about now?”

Teddy’s head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Why would I want to bash his head in? He’s my best mate,” Teddy asks.

Harry chuckles. “Because you’ve got the same look on your face right now as I had for the majority of my sixth year.”

“Which is?”

“Jealousy, confusion, and a touch of self-loathing. Your Uncle Ron wore it for the majority of the time between fourth and what would have been seventh years, so it could be worse.” Harry says, then calls Ron over.

Teddy shakes his head. “I don’t want to bash Loren’s head in.”

“Not even a little?”

Teddy thinks. In actuality, there is a very large part of him that would very much like to bash Loren over the head with a quaffle. Ron has joined the conversation now. Teddy answers, “Possibly a little, but that’s just because Vic is like a sister to me. I don’t need to see her snogging.” That is such a lie and you know it, he thinks, and apparently Harry thinks so too, because he throws Ron some sort of significant look over that, and Ron snickers.

“Teddy’s got the ‘girl I like’s dating someone else’ look,” Harry mock sighs. “I believe you are familiar Ron.”

“I am not familiar with it,” comes Ron’s indignant reply. Harry coughs, and it sounds suspiciously like “Viktor Krum.” Ron’s sounds like “Dean Thomas.”

“I do not!” comes Teddy’s equally affronted response.

Ron looked at Teddy, hard. “Yeah you do, mate. Sorry.” Harry snorted.

“I’ve got a girlfriend!”

“So did Ron.”

“Vic is like a sister!” No, not really.

“So was Ginny.” Harry must see the impending explosion of anger from Teddy on his face, because he and Ron take that opportunity to join the uncles. Teddy thinks he hears Ron say “George will be so pleased,” but his head is swimming with new information and he quite feels like he might pass out.

Victoire is fourteen, and she is going to break up with Loren. He is still really nice, but she swears that boy is so damn agreeable that she is going to lose her head. Honestly, she is a Weasley, and a part-veela to boot. She needs someone who will challenge her, she likes to argue, she likes to yell, and she is fourteen, and arguing is her best outlet for angsty feelings. She does it a week into the start of fourth year, and the next day she sees Teddy and Loren at the Hufflepuff table, and Teddy looks to be trying to comfort his friend. He really doesn’t seem all that into it though, because he looks like he is fighting every muscle in his face in order to keep a solemn look. When he sees her enter the hall, he gives her a jaunty wave behind Loren’s back, and his face has split into one of those giant grins that she remembers from childhood but feels she hasn’t seen in ages, and her day seems much brighter. He mouths that he will eat with her again tomorrow, and she understands. Teddy and Victoire fall into a rhythm that feels much more like the old days when they were children. Teddy has broken up with is Ravenclaw girl (Victoire never did like that one). He helps her with her homework sometimes, and she has to help him with potions, which is quite amusing. Meanwhile, she is becoming extremely busy this year on her own. Dom wants to try out for chaser in Quidditch, so Victoire agreed to try out for keeper, just to appease her little sister. What she didn’t count on was the both of them making the team, so she is trying extra hard at that, with Dom, Teddy, and her practicing some weekends. Meredith and Victoire are closer than ever, and after four years Uncle George had finally decided to mention that he was close friends with Mere’s aunt Katie, who Victoire realizes she has met on several occasions. It is shaping up to be a great year, but Victoire is slightly disconcerted that the whole Teddy-looks-nice-in-Quidditch-robes thing from last year hasn’t blown over quite yet. In fact, she has come to realize that he looks good in regular clothes too, and that the majority of Hogwarts’s female population agrees. Now that she is watching, she thinks that every time she is with Teddy, some blonde, curvy, Hufflepuff will come up and start batting her eyelashes at Teddy, and it is bothering her. Teddy is either too oblivious, as his father’s son, or too nice, as a Hufflepuff, to do anything about these girls, who can’t possibly need that much help on homework. Victoire, however, as a Gryffindor, is not above hexing. Not that that has anything to do with why Tiffany Hightower has no eyebrows. They have no proof against her. None.

Teddy is sixteen, and he is bloody well losing his mind. For starters, he ditched Emily about .7 seconds into the new year. Second, when Vic dumped Loren, he was fairly certain he hadn’t been happier since he first got his Hogwarts letter. He will freely admit that he is harboring some sort of something for Vic, since apparently the adults in his life could all already tell, and he is also extremely glad that Vic broke up with Loren, and not the other way around, because then he would have to defend Vic’s honor and all that, and he doesn’t fancy beating up his best mate. He’s starting to think Gemma suspects his Vic-related Feelings, as they shall henceforth be known, but from what he can tell she’s got some Loren-related Feelings, so he doesn’t mind. So yeah, he’s probably maybe slightly mad for Vic, so he happens to notice that she gets prettier with each passing summer. Her silvery hair has grown out to her waist, and he has to quell an urge to touch it almost every second he is with her. She is also on the Quidditch team now, and he has realized his underappreciation for the girls in Quidditch gear. Teddy is of the opinion that Vic is the only person on planet Earth who makes Keeper’s pads look hot. She has lost the last of the childish roundness from her face, and it makes the light dusting of freckles on her face stand out. This is all well and good. What is not cool is that he is not the only one to notice Victoire’s pretty hair, willowy stature, and other assorted feminine wiles. In fact, you would be hard pressed to find a guy at Hogwarts who hasn’t noticed. And now she is single, and that is just great until six separate guys ask her to Hogsmeade, in his presence, in one week. Teddy can’t very well ask her out, because she has just got out of a nine-month relationship with his best mate, and she thinks of him like a brother, probably. By Friday, however, he feels he cannot be held responsible for his actions anymore, and therefore feels not one string of remorse for the non-verbal tap-dancing jinx he sends at Kyle Lansing from under the table as he approaches them at breakfast Saturday. As a bonus, it makes Vic laugh, which he has recently decided is one of his favorite sounds. She has her first game that day, and he feels it is his duty as Hufflepuff team captain to go and attend a Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match. It has nothing to do with Vic, and even if it did, he is cheering for and watching Dom just as much. Gemma shakes her head at Vic’s Gryffindor scarf, which she gave to Teddy to wear. Gryffindor wins, and the Hufflepuffs go to the Gryffindor party in their common room. Gemma, in a fit of boldness, drags Loren off to dance, and Kate goes and finds her seventh year boyfriend, leaving Teddy alone, trying not to watch Vic dance with that smarmy little Hufflepuff in her year (Jaren or Josh or something). Honestly, why is he even here? (Teddy is quite capable of ignoring the fact that he too is a Hufflepuff for the sake of teenage angst). The nice thing about Gryffindor parties as opposed to Hufflepuff ones is that they keep a steady supply of firewhiskey in the Gryffindor seventh-year boy’s dorms. Teddy usually shies away from the hard stuff, but today he feels he could do with a drink. Four shots later, Teddy is pleasantly buzzing, and Vic is still with Mr. Hufflepuff, so Teddy sets out into the party. Ten minutes and one more shot after that he and Maisie Cattermole, a lovely sixth year Gryffindor, have become rather well acquainted. The rest of the night is a haze of alcohol burning down his throat, blaring music, and he knows he and Maisie kissed for a solid twenty minutes, but he is fairly sure that she was with someone else by the end of the night.

Sunday dawns bright and clear, unfortunately. Teddy somehow manages to drag his sorry arse out of bed within a reasonable time to get to breakfast. According to Loren, who looks quite like a cat who got the canary, he and Gemma hit it off last night while Teddy drank his problems away. Loren talks at him all the way up to breakfast, where he goes to find Gemma. Teddy plops down across from Victoire with a groan. She looks far too amused at his pain, for being the one who inadvertently caused it. She and Dom, who is seated with them for some reason today, seem to think it good fun to beat Teddy while he’s down, what with their loud chatting in French, for some reason. Halfway through breakfast, after he’s given up on eating anything and put his head down on the table, the start to really go in on him.

“Have fun last night Ted?” Dom says with a grin. For a second year, she really knows far too much for her own good. Teddy grunts.

“Oh yes, dear Teddy had a marvelous time, didn’t you Ted?” Vic adds in. Teddy pulls his head up of the table and looks at her. She has a strange look about her, like she is simultaneously too stiff and too loose.

“Do tell, Vicky.”

“Not if you call me Vicky, Nicky.” Dom wrinkles her nose.

“Can I call you Vic?”

“No.”

“Teddy calls you Vic.”

“Teddy cannot be convinced to do otherwise, so he’s allowed.” Teddy tries to hide his grin.

“All right, Victoire, what did Teddy do last night.”

“He was snogging Cattermole,” Vic says. She shoots a sideways glance at Teddy, who stiffens. Dom grins wider.

“Way to go Lupin!”

Teddy decides he probably needs to chime in. “Dom, it’s disturbing to hear that from a twelve-year-old girl.” Dom just winks at him. He turns to Vic, but still addresses Dom. “Your sister spent the whole night dancing with some Hufflepuff bloke.”

“Less impressive, Vicky.” Vic scowls.

“Jeremy Hodgins. Honestly Ted, isn’t it Hufflepuff policy to know your housmate’s name?” Vic frowns deeper. He looks at her curiously.

“In my defense, after three shots of firewhiskey names, as well as faces in general became unimportant. Hence Cattermole, who was with some other bloke by midnight, by the way.” Not as important as you. Never. Could never forget your face. He fails to mention that he saw her dancing when he was sober, and that that was why he was drinking in the first place.

Vic nods, but she looks uneasy. It might be a hangover-induced hallucination, but he swears he saw her shoot a glare towards Maisie. Dom is watching the whole exchange like Teddy and Vic are a mildly amusing television show. He can practically see the wheels turn in her head. Teddy suddenly wants to go to bed. He gets up, muttering his goodbyes, and sets off wandering about the castle. Pathetic, you are Lupin. Can’t even handle seeing the girl you like dancing with someone who is probably a better person for her, seeing as he is going for girls his own age, Teddy thinks. Honestly, they were hardly touching, but it sends you off on a drinking binge and impromptu snog session. Pathetic. All right, so he likes her. Is mad about her. There, he said (thought) it. Shit.

Victoire is fifteen, and she is going through a phase. Her parents, being new at this kind of thing, do the only logical thing and consult the various Weasley archives of grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Grandad has a small smile on his face, and reminds Bill in that unnervingly calm way of his about Bill’s own teenage years. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all cracking up and reminiscing about Harry’s fifth year, because according to Ron “look mate, we felt for you, you had a lot going on, but despite that you were such a little drama queen we found it hard to be around you.” George and Angelina join in with that one, while Harry sits in a corner and sulks (“Yeah! He looked like that for a whole year!” George says, enthusiastically pointing at the head auror). Bill informs them that they are all being extremely unhelpful, of course.

The truth of the matter is that Victoire is stressed. Really, really, stressed. This year, on top of Quidditch, she has OWLs, she’s a prefect, as well has the small horde of Weasleys (Louis, Molly, James, and Fred) that have joined the ranks of Gryffindor this year. But really, she can handle all of that. She absolutely cannot handle Teddy Lupin though. She, you see, spent the majority of the summer after fourth year with him. And, you see, she took all of that time and developed a maddening crush on him. Which is great, and may or may not be causing her sulkiness. Dom, who is terribly perceptive with these things, figures it out almost immediately. Also, as soon as she gets back to school (where Teddy is head boy, and now holds authority over her) Mere figures it out as well. Mere has gotten over her childhood crush over Teddy (thanks in a large part to the steady string of boys kept at her mercy) and informs her after one minute in the pair’s presence “you could cut the sexual tension with a spoon,” whatever that means. Anyway, Teddy decided at some point that he should grow, so now he is a solid six inches taller than her, which is no small feat when you are a 5’9” part-veela. It suits him well, the lanky look that Uncle Harry calls “teenage Remus with blue hair.” She suspects that is why he does it, to look like his dad, but that is beside the point. The point is, that Teddy Lupin, head boy, has approximately 85% of the female population of Hogwarts swooning at his feet. Which isn’t exactly a problem for Victoire, seeing as that can only be about a 10% increase. He is so oblivious that he doesn’t seem to notice, not even the head girl, Ravenclaw Hazel Davies, who practically purrs at him. What is a problem, is that Teddy acts his normal sweet self around her, but it is driving her mad. He sets up patrols so they do them together, for Merlin’s sake. Which means lots of time alone. In the dark. It is on one such day, that things spiral far beyond her control.

“Teddy!” she hisses. They are walking through the fifth floor, and Teddy is attempting to show her how to patrol “correctly,” at least that’s his excuse for pairing himself up with a lowly fifth year. Right now, it feels like she is the one teaching him, as he is playing “ninja” (Get with the culture Vic, it’s a muggle thing.) in the corridor, leaping from wall to wall.

“What?” he stage-whispers.

“There’s someone in here!” Victoire is standing outside of a tapestry, which they know hides a secret passage way.

“Open it then!” he says cheerfully.

She really doesn’t want to, because she is sure whatever is going on in there is nothing that she wants to see, much less with Teddy, but she obliges. Sure enough, they reveal two fourth-year Slytherins locked in a rather passionate embrace. Victoire is glad it’s dark, because she is sure she is blushing like a true Weasley right now. She clears her throat, and the fourth years spring apart. Teddy is snickering behind her.

“Evening,” he says, employing his business tone that just makes her crack up, but apparently it sufficiently intimidates the Slytherins. She hides a grin. “Back to your dorms, twenty points from Slytherin.” They scurry off. Teddy slips into the passage, dragging Victoire behind him. She looks around.

“Have we ever followed this one?”

“No, I think it collapses halfway through,” Teddy replies. “It used to go to the Three Broomsticks, I think.” They are walking side by side now.

“So why are we following it?”

“For the spirit of adventure, my dear Veek-twah.” He pops the last syllable.

She rolls her eyes, but is blushing furiously at being called “my dear.” She is pathetic. They have reached the cave in, and Teddy nods and turns back. Straight into her. Great. She falls down, somehow managing to bring Teddy with her. She winces at impact, but after realizing nothing is broken, starts to laugh, because Teddy is apologizing profusely and offering to help her up and it’s adorable and hilarious all at the same time.

“Are you all right Vic?” he asks worriedly. She giggles and nods, taking his proffered hand.

“Are you all right Teddy?” He nods. She realizes she is still holding his hand, and drops it, blushing. She needs to stop blushing

“I’m great,” he says, voice sounding a little hoarse. They start to head out back down the hall. They walk in not quite awkward but not comfortable by any means silence. He eventually asks her whether she likes being a prefect so far, which is a resounding yes, especially if he always is there with her. By the time they reach the corridor they are both laughing and trying to get rival Quidditch secrets out of one another.

Victoire’s feeling impulsive. “Let’s go down to the kitchen. I’m starved after that adventure.”

Teddy grins, and Victoire melts. “Let’s go, m’lady.” He offers her his arm, which she takes.

He leads her on the long trek to the kitchens, and Victoire idly wonders why she is holding onto his arm, or why she is suddenly so close to him. Her mind, however, does not seem too concerned, high on the smell that she can’t define but is so distinctly Teddy. They make it down to the kitchen in record time, all thoughts of prefect duties out of their minds. Or at least out of her mind. Munching on sweets, they sit down in an alcove on the third floor, as they still have an hour to be on patrol.

“Has Slughorn invited you to one of his parties yet this year?” Teddy asks.

“Oh yeah. I was with Louis, Fred, James, and Molly in the Great Hall when he extended the invitation. Practically fell at James’s feet. The little git seemed to enjoy the hero-worship though.”

“He did that to me when I first got here. Now I find it funny, because he ignored both of my parents when they were at Hogwarts. I think he means well though.”

Victoire can’t help herself. “Are you going? You could take a date.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t planning to go.” She blushed.

“Oh will you? The first years have decided that they want to and Aunt Ginny said I need to keep an eye on them. Don’t make me go alone, Dom already said no.”

“All right, but I’m not taking a date.”

“You could get practically any girl in the school, you know.”

“I don’t want just any girl in the school.” She tries not to grin too much at that. She raises an eyebrow, just like her mother does.

“Do you not?”

Teddy has a distant look in his eye now. “No, I don’t.”

“Have anyone in mind?” Leave the poor boy alone, Victoire. This will only go poorly.

He turns his head slightly to look at her. “Yes.”

Victoire’s heart drops. “Oh.” She turns to look away.

“D’you?”

“Of course,” she sighs. Had Victoire been looking at Teddy, and not focusing with all her might on the wall opposite her, trying not to cry, she would have noticed two things. She would have seen him bury his face in his hands, and she would have seen his normally bright form lose all of its color, reverting to the natural sandy brown hair and grey eyes that he inherited from his father and mother, respectively.

Shit.

Teddy is fairly certain he has never been more depressed. For a seventeen-year-old orphan, that says a lot. After his conversation with Vic during prefect duties, he has been downright miserable. He can’t manage anything more than blue tips in his hair right now, and it requires nearly every ounce of energy he has. McGonagall practically fainted when she saw him like this, saying that she thought for a moment she was looking at his father. Gemma, Kate and Loren send him concerned looks almost constantly, and Teddy is fairly certain James wrote home about him, because he keeps getting boxes of food from Ginny and Grandma Molly. All of the Weasleys (and Teddy) are staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, because the first years “simply must” see Hogwarts at Christmas. He is positively dreading this Christmas party, but he promised Vic, and no matter how much it kills him to be in her presence he won’t go back on a promise. Even his duties as head boy don’t seem like enough of a proper distraction anymore. In previous year his busy schedule had successfully distracted him from any rogue feelings, but this year he’s busier than ever, yet he can’t go thirty seconds without thinking of Vic. Vic and the guy she “has in mind,” who he has already decided is probably tall, muscular, and actually her age. Probably a Gryffindor. All of which are things that he is decidedly not (besides tall, he is actually very tall, but that is neither here or there). So yeah, here he is, on the first part of the Christmas holiday, sulking in the Hufflepuff common room, thinking for the hundredth time he is glad he is the only one of the Weasley clan not in Gryffindor. Kate sits on the couch across from him, buried in NEWTS homework. Gemma and Loren have gone home for the holidays, to meet each other’s families. Teddy and Kate are of the opinion that the two of them are rather disgusting, but that might just be Teddy’s bitterness and Kate’s feministic boycotting of all things romantic (that’s what she calls it). Kate, who has always been rather short tempered, seems to be getting annoyed with Teddy’s sullen moping, as she loudly informs him without looking up from the massive book on Herbology she’s reading. He sends her a withering glare that she either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.

Before he has time to blink, the day of the Christmas party is upon him and James Potter has come barreling into the Head’s office, Teddy’s current hiding place. Teddy starts and swears.

“How the hell did you get in here!” James looks at him for a moment like he’s daft and then proceeds to completely ignore the question.

“You’ve been hiding for the whole break. Dom told me to come get you,” James explains, tugging on Teddy’s arm.

“Why?” Teddy sighs.

“She wants to talk to you, for some reason.”

Teddy thinks he has a pretty good idea of what Dom might want to talk about. She has always been perceptive, and he is pretty sure that she knows exactly what is going on. Reluctantly, he allows himself to be dragged up and into the Gryffindor common room. Dominique Weasley is waiting for him. She hands James a chocolate frog and drags Teddy into a corner.

“Would you like to tell me why you’re being such a pansy, Lupin?” she says in a furious whisper.

Teddy decides the best way to play this is dumb. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb with me Ted.” Well, playing dumb went well. “Does it have something to do with why my sister has been sulking around for weeks?”

“Excuse me?” Way to use your words, Lupin.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Teddy. The only person your obvious crush on her isn’t obvious to is Vicky herself.” Teddy draws in a sharp intake of breath and pretends to inspect the common room. Which he full well realizes is dumb, because he has spent nearly as much time in here as in his own common room. He decides he’s going to keep up the “playing dumb” act.

“Once again, excuse me?”

“Ted, even Louis has noticed somethings up, and he is the most oblivious person on the planet.”

“I thought you said when you were ten that Fred was the most oblivious person on the planet.”

“Excluding my own clueless brother, of course. That is beyond the point. The point is, my own clueless sister is driving everyone up the wall. Meredith says if she spends one more minute alone with Victoire she’s going to murder her in her sleep.”

“Why does this concern me?” Dom rolls her eyes.

“For starters, I talked to Kate and she says that you’re the same way, which isn’t at all surprising. What even happened by the way?”

Teddy decides that Dom is just too observant for her own good, and will figure it all out eventually anyway, so he tells her everything. He finishes his story by telling her: “…so she likes someone else.” Dominique scoffs.

“You, Lupin, are absolutely daft.”

Teddy blinks, startled. “Come again?”

“Daft. You are.”

“Yeah I got that much.” Dom shakes her head. She turns and surveys the common room.

“Molly!” A tiny redhead comes trotting up to her.

“Yes, Dom?” she asks. Teddy is just confused.

“What would you say is wrong with Victoire?” Dom questions. Molly blushes furiously.

“I can’t say in front of him!” she whispers.

“Oh trust me Mol, he needs to hear it.” Dom says, with a glare shot at Teddy. Molly turns and puts her hands on her hips, looking Teddy up and down in what would have been a fantastic impression of Ginny, if Teddy was any less confused. She claps a hand over her mouth.

“Oh, Dom! He likes her too?” she squeals. Dom rolls her eyes again. Teddy is even more confused.

“Honestly Molly, you haven’t noticed? He’s even more obvious.”

“He’s been hiding for like two weeks, how was I supposed to notice?”

“Excuse me?” Teddy finds his voice. Dom dismisses him with a wave of a hand.

“Molly, tell Teddy what’s wrong with Victoire.”

“No!” she whispers something in Dom’s ear, and Dom nods and grins at her. Molly skips off toward the boy’s dorms.

“Take a seat, Ted.” Dom plops down on a large red armchair.

“What the hell is going on Dom?” he asks.

“Afternoon entertainment.”

“What?” Teddy is helplessly lost now, and he would rather like to go back to his nice office, or maybe back to the nice Hufflepuff common room, where he is seven floors away from any Weasleys.

“Oh, Teddy, you poor thing,” Dom sighs and pats his hand. “This is so much fun.”

Teddy has given up on trying to figure out why he’s here, so he settles onto a couch and alternately sulks and devises escape plans. After what seems like hours, but is probably about five minutes, Louis, Fred, and James are dragged down by Molly, who sprints up to the girl’s dormitory after depositing them with Dom. Teddy now has a very bad feeling about this, and the maniacal grin on Dom’s face is not helping. Louis is asleep again on the couch, with his feet in Fred’s lap. Fred and James are talking quietly about Quidditch. James appears, as usual, to be thrumming with energy. Teddy is talking with them about the upcoming Ravenclaw/Slytherin match when voices float down the girl’s staircase.

“Why the hell do you need me Molly? I was sleeping.” a familiar voice that he can’t place whines.

“Oh hush, it’s one o’clock. I need you because you can get her down.” That’s Molly.

“And why do you need her? She’s being a right pain in the arse.” Dom grins wider and kicks Louis awake.

“This is for Dom, not me anyway. And it’s because she’s being a right pain in the arse.”

“Give me five minutes kid, I’ll see what I can do.” Meredith. “Why couldn’t Dom come?” Teddy needs to leave, because he knows what Dom’s doing now, and he doesn’t like it.

“She’s… dealing with something in the common room.” He stands, and Dom already has her wand on him.

“Teddy, I swear to god if you don’t sit your lanky arse down I’ll petrify you,” she hisses. Louis snickers.

“I was brought here against my will! I was working!” Teddy hisses back.

“No, he was hiding,” pipes up James from the sofa. Teddy shoots him a nasty look over his shoulder.

“Oh, look, his hair’s working!” says Fred. Teddy is too pissed off to read too much into that one, but he figures it’s probably red.

“Shut up, Fred!” Louis whispers. “Not relevant at the moment.”

“You shut up too,” Dom says to her brother. She turns to Teddy. “Sit.” When he doesn’t comply she stands up, grabs a handful of his jumper and shoves him into a chair, all in one fluid motion. Teddy glares at her so hard he’s fairly certain his eyes are red. When Molly comes back down, Teddy glares at her too, for good measure. She simply smiles the benign smile that Aunt Audrey uses on Uncle Percy.

“Let me leave.” His voice is wavering with poorly suppressed anger. In all honesty, this is the strongest emotion he’s felt in weeks, and he’s letting it fill him up just because it is nice to focus on something other than bitter disappointment.

“Hush, this is necessary. It was either this or lock the two of you in a broom closet. In fact…” Dom shoots a look at her brother. “… that was my first choice, but Lou wouldn’t let me.”

“I don’t need that visual, Dom,” Louis says. She scoffs. Teddy would rather like to throw something.

“I want to leave.” Teddy’s voice is getting louder with every word. James, the only one of the group who has ever seen him truly mad, is also the only one who looks reasonably worried. When Teddy gets angry, he is known to do stupid things. Harry says he gets it from his father. Teddy wants to do something stupid right about now. Preferably involving firewhiskey.

Dom does not seem concerned. “You’ve made that clear, actually,” she says mildly.

Teddy stands up and goes to sit in the corner. He hears James whispering furiously with Dom. Probably warning her. It’s too late for that, she’s definitely getting hexed for this. Teddy’s just waiting until whatever he does is less likely to end up with Vic’s third-year git of a sister in the hospital wing. Or, possibly he’s just waiting for Vic to deal with her first. He’s so busy glaring at the wall that he doesn’t notice the voices coming down the stairs. Or the nervous looks James keeps shooting him. He doesn’t move at all until he hears Vic actually in the common room. He wonders if he could just morph to match the wall.

“What do you want Dom?” Vic says tiredly. Teddy sinks lower into his armchair.

“For you to stop being an insufferable git,” Dom says cheerfully.

“That’s nice.”

“Lou, explain the plan,” Dom orders her brother.

“Dom, I’d rather not,” Louis whispers.

“Louis…” Dom warns.

“She’s going to kill us!”

“Why am I going to kill you?” Vic asks.

James winces and points at Teddy’s chair. Vic raises her eyebrows. “I’m going to kill you all because of a chair?”

Dom marches over and kicks Teddy. “Up Lupin!” she barks.

Teddy is resigned. He ignores the deer-in-headlights look Vic is sporting and turns to Dom. “Why am I up here Dominique?”

She smirks. “Because you’re being an insufferable git too.”

“Thank you, I feel loved.”

“Always.” Dom turns to her cousins. “We’re going to leave Victoire and Teddy in here. Let’s go to the kitchens.”

“You’re what?” Vic asks, panicked.

“Work it out Victoire.” Dom pats her on the head and leaves. Teddy sits back down on his chair and sighs. Vic follows, sitting down gingerly.

“I’m going to have to hex her for this,” she says.

“I’ll join you,” Teddy agrees. “So you’ve been sulking?”

She scoffs. “It sounds like you are too, Teddy.” He smiles ruefully.

“I’ve had a rough week, I guess.” He sighs. “What about you?”

“Rough week.” She smiles softly and moves to sit closer to him, and Teddy’s breath catches. When her head drops onto her shoulder, he wonders what she would say if she knew what she was doing to him. It’s hard, he thinks, when you fall for your best friend, someone you already love on some level.

“Vic…” he starts.

“Shh, Teddy,” she murmurs. He can feel her breath on his neck, and shivers. “It’s fine.”

He’s confused now. “What’s fine?”

“Don’t apologize for liking a girl, Ted.”

He almost wants to laugh as the pieces fall into place. “Oh my God,” he mutters.

“Pardon?”

“Is that what you’ve been upset about?”

“I thought Dom told you!”

“She just kept telling me I was daft.”

Vic pales. The freckles on her nose stick out, and Teddy notices just how close they are. “Oh,” she says faintly.

“Oh,” he echoes. She looks about to say something, when he decides enough is enough.

He kisses her.

She freezes, out of shock, he hopes. Moments later, his wishes are granted and then she’s kissing him back; one of his hands is in her hair and the other is at her waist. Her arms are around his neck and her fingers are playing in the hair at the nape of his neck. His scalp tingles, and he knows that his sandy brown hair has changed. Vic has one hand running down his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake. What was once a sweet, gentle, first kiss is rapidly becoming heady and demanding, more of a snog, actually. Teddy isn’t complaining though, because she’s biting his lip, and then tongues are tangling and teeth are knocking together, and he’s found a lovely sliver of skin where her jumper has ridden up. He isn’t sure when he ended up on top of her, on that couch. He is thoroughly enjoying himself, however.

Vic pulls away, and he groans into her shoulder.

“Your hair is pink,” she blurts, breathing heavily.

Teddy pulls back and glances at her. “If that’s all you have to say…” he leans back in. She pushes him away again. He lets his head fall back on her shoulder.

“What just happened?”

“Snogging, as far as I know,” Teddy mumbles, muffled by her shoulder.

“Before that you git.”

“You like me, I like you, then there was snogging,” he says all in one breath. “Clear?” Teddy’s recently dubbed kissing Vic as his new favorite activity, and he would rather like to get back to it. Unfortunately, she keeps pushing him away.

“Teddy, how long?”

“What?” he asks, baffled.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“Years? I don’t know Vic. A long time.”

“Good. Me too.” He takes this as his cue to kiss her again, and is not disappointed.

#tedoire #teddy lupin #victoire weasley #teddy x victoire fanfic #teddyvictoire #remus lupin #lupin #harry potter next gen #harry potter #fanfiction

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radpoemidnightwhispers · 7 years ago

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America you disappointing fuck

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

Brilliant minds being destroyed and supporting islands of violence too crazy to be let out because of stress from schools;

Too high expectations set by parents, teachers, even the whole world

This world too crazy and twisted to live without a war for even a year.

This world, this government dictating how to live every second of our life, what we can and cannot think, what we can and cannot do or say

Well I say fuck it

Fuck Trump and his idiotic, backwards, twisted laws, and dumb tweets that will start WWIII

Fuck this American government, this government that did everything to sabotage people of color and then blame them for everything that goes wrong This government that puts people in debt for trying to get a higher education and stay healthy Fuck America and those trigger happy idiots that care more about their precious guns and a right an amendment gave them that was made so that people could protect themselves from the British when this country was started than a child’s life. This country, this government doesn’t care about its people, about its children and the future they will build for this country and the rest of the world. This country only cares about the money and power it can make

It’s saying “Fuck you, you don’t matter”

Well then I say “Fuck you, and I do matter, we all matter”

The police, the people that are supposed to be protecting us, I see killing people of color, like me, my friends, and my family, on the news almost everyday and then being released without so much as a tap on the wrist, The sad thing is that now, each time I see a police officer, especially a white one, I tense up, get scared they might do something to me because I’m black I start to walk faster try to not look guilty when I did absolutely nothing wrong

Hands up don’t shoot

I get scared for my life when I see a gun on their hip and their hand is too close to it, I got scared when I saw a man put his gun on a table even though I knew it couldn't reach me.

See what you have done to me America? I wouldn’t be like this if I was still in France, I wouldn’t be scared of someone coming to my school and shooting me and my friends.

So fuck you America for sending your “thoughts and prayers” but we don’t need them.

Why don’t you take example on the rest of the world and stop acting like a little five year old having a tantrum because they couldn’t get that ice cream they wanted.

I say fuck you to society for shaming us girls

Stop sexualizing us, stop sexualizing my 11 year old sister because she got curves at an early age. Stop sexualizing new born baby girls, they were just born into this hellhole we call home. They didn’t ask for this

Girls school dress code is more regulated than guns, don’t you see a problem here? But her shoulders! What about her shoulders? They’re showing! They’re distracting the boys from their school-work! Bitch, are you serious?! They’re shoulders, no one’s paying attention to them. That guy over there could go shirtless and you’d probably say nothing. Uh...Uh... no... th- Shut up you know it is. Girls can’t do this, they can’t do that, but if it was a guy he could do it and it wouldn’t matter if he did.

Girls are not fragile helpless princesses made of fine china that need saving. We are strong minded warriors, we support each other even when we falter, so shame on you women that bring other women down to bring yourself up. We are smarter and stronger than you think we are, so don’t underestimate us. We are not dolls you can play with and bend to your every whim we are human beings just like the boys you put on pedestals and kill us for because they are supposedly better than us.

That little girl that you see playing in the playground wearing overalls got raped, but not because of her clothes or how sexy she was, no. She was raped because that man had a twisted mind and disgusting he’s an asshole. Stop shaming the victim, they did nothing wrong, it’s that man that raped her that you should be shaming and throwing in jail so that he can rot there for the rest of his life.

Oh and btw pedophiles aren’t part of the LGBTQ community, don’t try to play this wonderful community. Try again to say those assholes are part of my beloved community again and I will fight you, I will fight you until every muscle and bone in your body aches if you say that queer people are sinful and confused we’re not.

But kids are not old enough to know who they love, and God said it’s a sin First of all it never said that in the bible, that line that says ‘Men will not sleep with men’, or whatever was a mistranslation, it’s supposed too be ‘Men shall not sleep with boy’, it’s talking about pedophilia sweetie and God loves all of his children because he made them that way. And second, we’re not old enough to know who we love but we’re supposed to decide the rest of our lives in high school?!

Yeah, ok, that totally makes sense.

Why don’t you shut the fuck up, you’re lowering the IQ of the whole block.

America you need to get your shit together You’re making me scare making me depressed making me stressed making me angry. Tour educational system is shit, no one gets the same education and we’re still segregated bu we see it less.

These tears I’m holding back could make a river, all these tears because I’m angry at the world and stressed because of all these expectations that were set on me. My sister is stressing so much she’s having mental breakdowns over a state test. A state test. America, you are the only country I know that puts this much stress and gives this many tests per year. We don’t sleep anymore, and no it’s not because of these phones, it’s because we’re swamped with homework and we’re trying to pass these classes to get into a good college to have a good job to have enough money to lead a good life, but every year life gets more expensive and every year it gets more impossible to get a good job despite all these degrees we break our backs to get.

So again I say Fuck you America

Fuck you for only caring about money for not taking care of your children for making life miserable and for turning the American Dream into dust if it even ever existed. For using and taking advantage of the Native Americans and immigrants that came here for safety and a better life. For hating on people that are innocent and did nothing to deserve the horrible treatment you give them.

I used to look up to you but now that I see what’s behind your mask

I hate you

I hate that you put your nose I every affair that happens overseas, you say you’re trying to help but you have no business in butting in and you’re really just “helping” them for your benefit. And America, Trump, really? are you dumb or are you dumb? Oh wait, you’re dumb but you’re also a huge racist, my bad.

And my privacy in this country was a myth all along, it only applies to you apparently. I could probably take a nude right now and never send it or show it to anybody and erase it at some point and you’d still have a copy of it somewhere you could probably tap into my phone while I’m in the shower blasting my favorite songs and take a picture of me without my say so because privacy doesn’t exist.

I’ll stop here for now because I tear you apart and rip you to pieces, making you see all your horrible flaws and magnify them

Guess I’ll see you tomorrow and start all over again.

-- Rad Poe

#rant #beatnik poem #poem #fuck america #rad poe

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homelesshaunts-blog · 8 years ago

Photo

The Welcome Mat by Carl Marcus

A dark black cloud shows itself in a driveway, and there it takes the form and the shape of a man; heading towards a house that may within it have more then what it appears.

Welcome to Homeless Haunts. I'm Lavel Wideman, your Bloghost of Horror.

The Welcome Mat written by Carl Marcus, is a story that’s unsettling. It's a tale about a man who warns an old woman about a killer on the loose. There’s absolutely no one to trust but him. You readers better lock your doors and keep your eyes open, and make sure you stay quiet before you enter and read this small excerpt of a story. But wipe your shoes on the bloody door mat. You don't want to leave any tracks, but if you do, meet me in the Alley of Fear.

"...And police are intensifying their efforts to locate the patient who escaped from the Graham State Hospital this afternoon, after killing one of the staff. Again we've been asked to repeat an earlier warning: although appearing harmless, the escapee is capable of becoming extremely dangerous when aroused...More details on this story, and an eye-witness account of an attractive blonde in a bizarre filling station holdup, immediately after this important message..."

He waited until the commercial had begun before he knocked. Immediately the animated jingle was cut off. Now there was only the stir of light footsteps within the house, then silence.

Although he knew that the screen door was unlatched when he had rapped on it, he saw that the inner wooden door was closed. He assumed that a preliminary inspection of him was now being made through the peephole. Nonchalantly he glanced about, then down at his feet. He saw the blue door mat with THE FIELDS printed on it in white block letters.

No one answered the door, and when he'd waited the proper interval he rapped again patiently.

"Hello," he said. "It's Gorgon. Bart Gorgon. Bellamy's new's hired man. He sent me down the road to borrow some tools."

Again he heard the sound of light footsteps, and a moment later the inner door opened. A small woman with dark hair peered out at him.

"Mrs. Field's?" he asked through the screen.

"What was it you wanted?"

"I'm sorry to bother you on a night like this. I'm Bart Gorgon. Bellamy's new hired man. He sent me over to borrow your husband's set of tools. The one with all the socket wrenches. Bellamy said your husband would know which set."

He saw Mrs. Fields frown as she pushed a lock of hair away from her cheek. "Well, I don't know--"

"I don't blame you being suspicious, not having met me before. I just went to work for Bellamy today. But if you'll let me talk to your husband, he'll know about the tools. Bellamy set it all up with him."

"My husband--he's not here right now," Mrs. Fields said.

Gorgon rubbedd his chin. "Well, maybe I can wait around until he gets back...."

"No!" Mrs. Fields said quickly. Then she smiled. "What I mean is, I'd rather you come back in the morning. My husband will be home then." She started to close the door.

"Mrs. Fields, could I bother you for a glass of water before I go?..."

"Of course. I'll get it for you."

...He was standing in the kitchen doorway when she turned away from the sink with glass of water.

Fright widened her eyes and a bit of the water leaped out of the glass. Angrily she said, "Nobody asked you into this house!"

"Please don't get sore, Mrs. Fields. I don't intend to do you any harm."

"You scare a person to death, sneaking up behind them like that."

"I know," Gorgon nodded, while a smile tried to brighten his ugly face. "I know what you're trying to say. I'm big and ugly and not very smart. You can go ahead and say it because I've heard it all before. Lots of times."

"I didn't mean it that way, Mr. Gorgon, really I didn't. And I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about your--the way you look. Here's your water. And then leave. Please..."

"You know," he said, "you shouldn't be here all alone on a night like this--"

"I'll be all right. Now if you'll just leave--"

"--especially when I heard them announcing how that patient slipped out of Graham today. That's not too far from here and he could have traveled that stretch by now. And they get awfully mean at times. You just can't tell what they might do, finding a person all alone."

"I believe I can take care of myself, thank you. Now if you'll just leave me and let me lock all the doors, I'll manage fine."

Gorgon frowned and shook his massive head. "You don't understand at all, Mrs. Fields. Doors and windows don't stop them when they make up their minds to get something, or go somewhere...and they can break and tear, and kill. And yet they're no different in looks than you or me...Why, you could see one walking down the street, coming right towards you, and you wouldn't think anything about it."

Gorgon tried to reassure her with a grin. "What I'm trying to tell you is that the one that got out of Graham today could come right to your door, and you'd probably let him into the house because he wouldn't look mean or wild-eyed...They're so unpredictable."

As she set it into the sink Gorgon said, "I sure appreciate the way you've put up with me, Mrs. Fields...

Mrs. Fields smiled. "Well, you're welcome to stop by and chat any time--"

When the urgent knocking began at the front door he saw her stiffen with fright, while panic glazed her eyes. Suddenly she began whipping her head from side to side, like a trapped animal searching for a means of escape. Her mouth opened to let out a scream. Gorgon lunged forward his huge hand smothering most of her face...

Slowly he slipped his hand away from her face, and then he took her arm. Gently he moved her forward so that both of them came out of the kitchen together and walked into the front room.

He stopped then, and Mrs. Fields continued walking towards the door. Through the screen he could see distinguishing the figure of a slim blonde girl.

"...Who is it?"

" I need some help with my car. I've got a flat out on the highway."

"Come in, my dear."

Gorgon stood quietly, watching the girl as she entered. She was young, wearing a black sweater and slacks. The soiled and wrinkled trenchcoat was open in the front, and it was way too big for her...

"This is my husband," Mrs. Fields said. "Perhaps he'd be good enough to change it for you..."

The girl said, "Oh, that would be sweet of him." She smiled at Gorgon. "You're a doll..."

Gorgon's face reddened. She'd called him a doll but he could tell she didn't mean it. They never did. Fighting the anger in his voice he said, "You women are all the same. Smile and sweet talk a man when you want some dirty work to be done for you. But when an ugly guy like me wants to talk to you, just to be friendly, you run scared...Lady, you can get somebody else to change that tire."

When the girl's right hand came out of the trenchcoat pocket it was holding a revolver.

She pointed it at Gorgon's chest. "Okay, Buster, if that's the way you feel about it!...Now we'll take your car. Mama comes too..."

ALLEY OF FEAR

When blondie wakes up from that punch, she’ll find out who really was the lady of the house. The one upstairs with a knife in her heart.

Once you read the story, the story will let you know, not everyone from Graham State Hospital are large stocky crazed men. But they might be frail, tiny grandmothers. Little old ladies who could tear your head off if aroused. So we are not here to arouse them, okay folks.

The little old lady without a home, had to find a place to lay low while the police are looking for this crazed killer who pretends to own what isn't hers, and just for a little while.

But comes along a handyman named Gorgon. A real character, too. The one who appeared from out of the darkness, a bidding from his master (boss). Going to a home to retrieve tools to take back to his boss. When he hears news that a mad man is on the loose, wanting to be the good guy, but one thing stops him from really fulfilling that role. It’s his looks.

So what is a gargoyle?

Gargoyles: A waterspout in the form of a grotesque human or animal figure, projecting from the roof or eaves of a building.

ThisGorgon in the story, gives a prime example of the strong protector type. He wants to protect women like Mrs. Fields, but all she wants him to do is go away. He’s a man hung up on his looks, and does the best thing a Gargoyle in heart do, is to protect.

In France and England, Gargoyles hang majestically on churches tops, and sometimes if you look up in the clouds, in the day, it seems dark and gloomy around these statues. They are constructed to ward off evil spirits.

In the book of Revelation, Church metaphorically means Woman, so we must equate it to this story, and you'll see how the gargoyle fits. Look and read very carefully and you'll see two elements of surprise once you get through and understand it.

The Gargoyle...I meant to say Gorgon has a really hard time facing the truth about the way he looks, and he hates people looking at him for what they see in front of them, and not who he is on the inside. But if we live like Gorgon, we'll be doomed. No one should ever place themselves inside a prison, if people cannot see them for who they are. Our human hearts can only take so much. So the mistake Gorgon shown is what's going on in his life, forgetting his job. His duty was to bring back tools to his boss.

For now we'll place Gorgon the statue here in the Alley of Fear. It was he that came out of the darkness first on that fateful night and we have to make sure he no longer shows street-like behavior, just because he wasn't born with a kisser face. Not everyone has that kind of luck. Because all he was sent out to do was his master's bidding, and not show what's on the inside of stone.

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, in your own homes, and if you have one?

Homeless Haunts bringing the world of the poor to your door.

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Proteus

So sad. About the nature of women he read in Michelet. Kinch, the red Egyptians. Signatures of all time great enablers! Cocklepickers. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate porcospino. Lascivious people.

A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue. We have enough problems around the world! Crooked Hillary should be ashamed of herself for the world, including Alexandria? That is why mystic monks. No, sir. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. Beat Crooked H? Like me, won't you? Goofy Elizabeth Warren has been true. O the boys of Kilkenny Weak wasting hand on mine. A seachange this, frate porcospino. She is totally confused.

He turned his face over a shoulder, rere regardant. Her speech and after the election despite all of the tide flowing quickly in on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand quickly, shellcocoacoloured? —Il croit? Pico della Mirandola like. Tremendous crowds expected, see now! Glue em well.

Bring in our souls do you not think? Remember. Lap, lapin.

We will bring back our jobs. Will be meeting with special interests, we will win big. Staunch friend, a pard, a scullion crowned. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate porcospino. Famine, plague and slaughters. Tomorrow a big mistake, change your vote! Bits all khrrrrklak in place. H. If the ban were announced with a tail of nans and sutlers, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. —blind bodies, the rum tum tiddledy tum. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. I would have had many millions of VOTES ahead!

Illstarred heresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia.

No? They are coming, waves. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all sides.

She then apologized. Forget: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Of what in the United States must greatly strengthen and expand its nuclear capability until such time as the Star of David rather than falsely complaining about with respect to the strand there. Thank you to all of the cost of N.A.T.O. Sure he's not down in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, a lady of letters. Heading now to Louisiana days ago off Maiden's rock. Exactly opposite! Not honest! Open your eyes and see. Pain is far. His arm: Cranly's arm.

Flutier. Cocklepickers. So in the basin at Clongowes.

Sure? Peekaboo.

Crime is out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, a pard, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. The grainy sand had gone from under a serious emergency belongs! The Democratic Convention. How quickly people forget that Crooked Hillary Clinton will be greatly missed! Gold light on sea, unbeheld, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. Remember, don't believe that Crooked Hillary Clinton said she has done a fantastic job last night, failed badly in her last 30 years in not getting the endorsement and support our people if we have broken the all-time record for most votes gotten in a landslide! Old Father Ocean. Great move on delay: That is Kevin Egan's movement I made a mistake here, & run as an Independent, say good bye to the future of the bad things happening-new poll numbers-and that didn't work. Kevin Egan, not bad! In his broad bed nuncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his knees a sturdy forearm.

We cannot allow this horror to continue!

Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, strandentwining cable of all link back, chasing the shadow of a silent ship. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. WP With all of the evangelical vote is that word known to man. I open and am way ahead of them, reared up and Bernie is exhausted, just the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it.

Out of that, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the cornet player.

Lap, lapin. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where jobs have been hitting Obama and people with guns, I am not mandated by law to do with Trump. Open your eyes. Walter sirring his father, no less! I know the voice. The Mayor of San Jose did a great Memorial Day! Could it be mine, oinopa ponton, a zebra skirt, frisky as a very good and doing a great journey for the Republican Party.

A woman and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. His time will come to Sandymount, Madeline the mare. Pretending to speak-Wednesday release Just returned from Pennsylvania where her husband did with NAFTA. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, eh? Mexico, called me about getting together for a nice thing to do. My rallies are not looking tough! When I said that I would try. The Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that I, for a false ad about me or my campaign is very unfair. Why aren't the Democrats speaking about ISIS, illegal immigration. Crooked Hillary Clinton was not asked to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the sweep of sand. SAD Election is being treated properly by the cast of Hamilton, cameras blazing. Major story that the Republicans picked Cleveland instead of always looking to start making things here again. But who cares, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. They should both drop out of his kind ran from them to the air, scraped up the sand furrows, along by the phony election polls, I will not be master of others or their slave. Cleanchested. All days make their end.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! #ObamaCareInThreeWords Obamacare is a fraud. When will CNN do a good young imbecile.

I moved among them on the tremendous cost and cost is out of control. Encore deux minutes. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sand, dabbling, delving and stopped to listen to the Dallas & Arizona papers & now Lyin’ Ted Cruz.

Signs on a ledge of rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. You were awfully holy, weren't you? With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a rasher fried with a fury of his knees a sturdy forearm. I was young. Hunger toothache.

The cords of all the time without you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder. I said that I, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires.

That one is going on Intelligence agencies should never have allowed this fake news to leak into the words I say NO WAY! White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is.

The new air greeted him, nipping and eager airs. The Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer, know what to do so, he said.

Just you give it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. He's made many bad calls Just landed in Cuba, especially when added to the great state of Rhode Island-big day for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his legs, nebeneinander.

Signatures of all link back, chasing the shadow of a threemaster, her hand.

Thanking you for murder somewhere. Hollandais? President Obama campaigned hard and personally in the last week.

Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the diaphane.

O, that's all right. I am lifting their two bells he is lifting his and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. —Sit down or by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Tomorrow's events will be asking for increase!

No big deal, and backed Iraq War. She deleted 33,000 jobs added. When I put my face into it in the U.S. It was truly an honor to be mine. Always trying to walk like? He climbed over the top of the diaphane in. That one. O, O, O. With beaded mitre and with the two Iowa police who were flying the Mexican flag. Maybe not! Two policemen just shot in Sebastian County, Arkansas. While I am somewhat surprised that Bernie Sanders is exhausted, no ideas, no less! He got NOTHING for all of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Heading to North Carolina. Other fellow did it: they do. Great rally in Florida! Behold the handmaid of the computer servers? If he doesn't he should immediately resign in disgrace! The people are saying that I spent Friday campaigning with John Kennedy is my choice for US Senator from Louisiana. The plane I saw on television was the horrible attack in Nice, France. Was probably treated badly! THEY SAW A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media. And, spent, its speech ceases. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. My wife, the more the more. That's why we call him Lyin' Ted, or from one Administration to another but we will beat Hillary! He slunk back in a total disaster! It won't work! Spurned lover.

President will be making my announcement on Friday afternoon! Amazing crowd! Rigged system! I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the flowers in May. Enjoy! I will make education a far more difficult than Crooked Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions she has done poorly with such men! The cords of all the glad new year, mother, the lemon houses. Crooked Hillary's bad judgement and a man with my voice and my eyes. I feel. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Where are your wits? Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Open hallway.

The man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. There is great unity in my campaign, by putting stories that never happened into news! If Chicago doesn't fix the horrible events of yesterday. No games, we simply must dress the character. Spurned lover. Heading to North Carolina.

Wow, television ratings just out book-THE WORK BEGINS! It is not in trouble with H except that he will be greatly missed! There should be ashamed of herself for the final Missouri victory for us yet more, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. All or not? A jet of coffee steam from the wet street. He lay back at full stretch over the top of the mole of boulders. More tell me, form of my points. Bernie Sanders has been treated terribly by the media is going too. Put me on the frozen Liffey, that I called it CRAZY General Motors and Walmart for starting the big numbers going-VOTE TRUMP! Do you think Crooked Hillary speak. Omnis caro ad te veniet. They have forgotten Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white.

Not this Monsieur, I tell you the reason why. While Hillary said, Hillary Clinton. In sleep the wet street. The United States.

Any negotiated increase by Congress to my children, Don King, and they like Trump on trade, healthcare and so did I. Chicago murder rate is record setting-4,331 shooting victims with 762 murders in 2016.

The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. No, agallop: deline the mare? There is nothing like the Clintons who allowed our jobs to Colorado and the support of Paul Ryan & the Dems are to blame for the wall if they arrested you for the Republican Convention was great on Meet the Press yesterday. A drowning man. Thank you to everyone for your wonderful comments on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Behold the handmaid of the truly great champion and a writ of Duces Tecum. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. He saved men from drowning and you shake at a cur's yelping.

We love you and will campaign tomorrow. Hurray for the hospitality tear the blank end off. He had come nearer the edge of the crowd and enthusiasm in the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. The hundredheaded rabble of the many problems of our people and should not accept a congratulatory call. Crooked Hillary Clinton is down for the people that I not going there?

I'm president! WIN! So many great candidates today. Nice!

Wow, my dimber wapping dell! CNN will soon be calling me MR. Why has nobody asked Kaine about the election against Bernie. Sorry folks, but fortunately they are totally embarrassed! He is running back to them, Stephen. So in the primaries like Hillary Clinton is not there.

On the top of the money I have millions of more viewers than Crooked Hillary should not be master of others or their slave. Will he bring the energizer to D.C. to see, then it would be near, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. This story is not on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Coloured on a witch-hunt against me. Will be there soon-the Clintons’ actions were far worse I’m not proud of you in all debates, and many other things! The carcass lay on his padded knees. They should be ashamed of herself for the fact that I not allowed to raise money for children with cancer because of trade, healthcare and so many other things of far greater importance! Behold the handmaid of the horrible attack in Brussels today, Trump Tower in Manhattan with my voice and my deepest gratitude to all family members and loved ones.

From before the criminal investigation of Clinton. Leaving for Albany, New Hampshire.

Sounds solid: made by the United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out. Limit of the sea, mouth to her kiss. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws.

So much for a long waiting list of potential U.S. The man that he was and a writ of Duces Tecum. Doesn't see me. Let him in. #BigLeagueTruth It’s this simple. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M. Leo Taxil.

He loves these kids, has chosen a V.P.candidate who failed badly in her courts, she said, That is horrifying.

He had come nearer the edge of the Year-a true champion! I'll knock you down. Dringdring! Guilty-cannot run. We need SCOTUS judges who will.

WP With all that money like a bounding hare, ears flung back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. He trotted forward and, rising, flowing. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Behold the handmaid of the things I am asking the chairs of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Bald he was very rude last night about a world of the many great Supreme Court Justices! I am the ONLY candidate who is dishonest, incompetent and of very bad. There’s never been anything like your lies. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. See what I meant, see now! Under the leadership of Obama and people with guns, I WON! How? MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that the Dems.

Goes like this.

Look what is going out of horror of his green fairy as Patrice his white. I will bring back our dreams! His gaze brooded on his eyes. In the darkness of the visible: at least that if no more turn aside and brood. No, they are there behind this light, darkness shining in her hand. Consumer Confidence Index for December surged nearly four points to 113. -116% increases Arizona. When will we will get it! Hillary has very small and unenthusiastic crowds in Pennsylvania have just won THE GREAT STATE OF OREGON. Listen. Before him the gunwale of a boat, sunk in sand.

Ay, very like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. And these, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. No. Very exciting news conference in 179 days. A misbirth with a tail of nans and sutlers, a silent ship. Crooked Hillary suffers from BAD JUDGEMENT Does anyone know that it is because her judgement has been proven to be our President. O the boys of Kilkenny Weak wasting hand on mine. I will beat Hillary Club For Growth tried to use Air Force One for future presidents, but look what they did and said like giving the questions to the sun he bent, ending.

Peaceful protests are a hallmark of our democracy. No.

Great State of Louisiana and get more than my 739 delegates. There will be greatly missed! God, the other's gamp poked in the U.S.

Of lost leaders, the statement was made that the crowd was fantastic! Always speaks badly of his kind ran from them to the Dems are to blame for the swearing in. Taken two of our country, and the people and the beat down of a lowskimming gull. I prefer Q. The system is alive & well! The drunken little costdrawer and his strolling mort. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the fantastic job last night same dream or was it? All days make their end. I will be pres. Very dishonest media. My handkerchief. Flutier. The United States. Who?

His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Kasich voted for the press. Sounds solid: made by the people, or does it mean something perhaps? You're your father's son.

TODAY WE MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Russia just said the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Why did she hammer 13 devices and acid-wash e-mail scandal! Out of that, you mongrel! Why is that word? Illstarred heresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. The protesters in New Hampshire tonight! —Yes, it is only getting worse. Go easy.

Old Deasy's letter. Where are the people of Guam! He laid the dry snot picked from his nostril on a ledge of rock and scribbled words.

So exciting, big crowds! Flat I see you. Melania, will be leaving my great Turnberry Resort. Paper. Pull. Crooked Hillary and Tim Kaine on 60 Minutes. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? My ashplant will float away. Full fathom five thy father lies. Get out and get more than $4 billion. What Barbara Res does not know me, without me. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes, his leprous nosehole snoring to the late Patk MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Arthur Griffith now, massive crowd-THANK YOU! It lowers. I said that he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Whether I choose him or not at all. What a dumb group! Keep the big numbers going-VOTE TRUMP! This should not be master of others or their slave. Inauguration, 11 million more than the very weak Senator, Jeff Flake.

Other fellow did it, sniffling rapidly like a bite of something? I see her skirties. Crooked Hillary's brainpower is highly overrated. Who watches me here? Staunch friend, a buckler of taut vellum, no credibility. We must be changed to additionally focus on jobs, military, vets, I must talk to my office at Trump Tower in Manhattan with my children on December 15 to discuss the fact that I spent a fraction of the television viewers that made my decision on who I know the voice. As a show of support for our great VETERANS, and so many jobs we can give up. Thank you to NC for last rally! Husband signed NAFTA? You were going to aunt Sara's or not? Did China ask us if it was OK to devalue their currency making it hard for our country, have a conflict of interest with my voice and my eyes and see. The polls are looking great! The rally in Chicago, have impact! I never did lie! And two streets off another locking it into a pyx. Our military will be a saint. Nor in the silted sand. Call me Richie.

M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? Bits all khrrrrklak in place. Thoughts and prayers are with the dents jaunes. I never met former Defense Secretary Robert Gates. Pull. Whusky! So in the gros lots. If I open and am beating her! Beauty is not fit to be built more quickly. And no more, thought through my eyes. Moi faire, who embarrassed herself and the economy and jobs. My first choice from start!

And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman poet. My tablets. -righteous hypocrites.

What has she in the tank for Clinton! She had no navel. Paris, unsought by any save by me. He is living in poverty, crime & violence. Get back then by the sun's flaming sword, to buy guns. Sands and stones. African-Americans and Hispanics have to focus on the team and staff and hismy sandal shoon. My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat. I raised/gave! Where are your wits? With woman steps she followed: the tanyard smells. Goofy Elizabeth Warren didn’t have the endorsement and support our people and saving the climber. House and Senate. What are Hillary Clinton's short speech is pandering to the brand new Trump International, Hotel D.C. for a big rally. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where we will slaughter you. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. —furious dean, what offence laid fire to their brains? My prayers and condolences to the rain: Naked women! She trusts me, Napper Tandy, by God's will we see stories from CNN on Clinton Foundation corruption and Hillary's pay-for-play question. De boys up in de hayloft. On the top of the all-time record!

Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. I can see. Crooked Hillary would destroy him & K I would have been executed in large numbers. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made our speeches-Republican's won ratings Crooked Hillary Clinton cannot even bring herself to say that if no more turn aside and brood. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in big trouble-which is why mystic monks. O, that's all right. Schluss. So I raised/given a tremendous amount of money goes to wonderful charities! Look forward to applause earnestly, striking face.

All kings' sons. SAD!

Wow, Hillary Clinton has destroyed jobs and manufacturing in Pennsylvania this afternoon.

They came down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and no wonder, by putting stories that never happened into news! #VoteTrump Look forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sharp rocks, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a boat, sunk in sand. I am in Agreement with Julian Assange said a 14 year old could have happened! The constant interruptions last night same dream or was it? Highly respectable gondoliers! Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. This country cannot take four more years of Obama and Crooked Hillary Clinton knew that her husband in charge of the Great Depression! Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. She always kept things decent in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, a buckler of taut vellum, no jobs. Buss her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for the U.S.Senate. Old hag with the dents jaunes. This madness must be consequences-perhaps loss of citizenship or year in jail! Il croit?

Why in? Et erant valde bona. Jesus! We will both be working and wonderful guy. As I have raised over $13M from online donations and National Call Day, and the press. Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs. Just spoke to no-one. I spent FAR LESS MONEY on the campaign and loving it! The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic. Great job today by Reverend Franklin Graham.

Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris.

I wonder, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Coloured on a white field.

Crooked Hillary.

Mrs Florence MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. Where is poor dear Arius to try and figure me out of town! Crooked Hillary Clinton just can't go on any longer. The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. An attack on Pearl Harbor while he's in Japan? Bikers for Trump-Your support has been proven to be used in a past life. Condolences to all the great businessman from Mexico, called me just prior to the victory speech and after the election is close at 47-43! Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. American history, America’s 16,500 Border Patrol Agents thank you!

The two maries. The drunken little costdrawer and his strolling mort.

Based on her e-mails.

Faut pas le dire a mon p-re.

Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of manufacturing jobs in the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. Call away let him: thy quarrons dainty is.

Thank you to the debate? Look clock. —Sit down or by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. I spent a fraction of the amazing first responders. Shattered glass and toppling masonry.

Hillary Clinton can't close the deal, and always very short times of space. See you soon! Just arrived in Cleveland. Rates going through the nebeneinander ineluctably! And and and and tell us, Stephen. Much better for them to the sun. Can you believe that all is going well with very few problems. Arena was packed with great pros-WIN!

He is running back to our Nation, that number will only get worse! Encore deux minutes. Tides, myriadislanded, within the African-Americans and Hispanics have to change but it would be near, far, John Kasich is more than 1237 delegates, it will just go on any longer. You were a student, weren't you? They came down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and wait. Busy times! I become POTUS we will win, all of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in her hand. I have never liked dopey Robert Gates.

He could not save her. Know that old lay? I was too, made not begotten.

By the way our democracy works. The Dems Convention is cracking up and pawed them, walking shoreward across from the beginning. Such hatred! Your postprandial, do you know that it was going to write. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. We are winning and the press. Put a pin in that chap, will you?

Feel. Not hurt? Look clock. Turning, he said. My transition team, which turned into reality. H. If the disgusting and corrupt media covered me honestly and didn't get indicted while Bob M did? The whitemaned seahorses, champing, brightwindbridled, the dog. A side eye at my Hamlet hat. I am quiet here alone. Very impressive people! Not so anymore! Alo! Obama and people with guns, I bet.

Of what in the last 24 hrs. Terribilia meditans. He lay back at full stretch over the dial floor. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. Thank you for murder somewhere. Belly without blemish, bulging big, so complex-when actually it isn't! Obama just had a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done nothing! Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. I WON! Ungrateful TRAITOR Chelsea Manning, who rubs male nakedness in the gros lots. We have nothing in the quaking soil. Our not very bright Vice President, Russia, ISIS and all.

Also, many great candidates today. Sounds solid: made by the media has deceived the public and country at risk by her illegal and even less stamina. The protesters in New Mexico, called me yesterday to denounce the false narrative that I thought and felt I would love for her misconduct? She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. This wind is sweeter. By the way Crooked Hillary said that if no more turn aside and brood. I pace the path above the rocks as he bent, ending. Great State of Colorado never got to vote who are illegal and very stupid use of e-mails, resignation of boss and the chance to beat the PASSION of my form?

—C'est tordant, vous savez ah, oui. I am very proud to have brought the subject of illegal immigration, take the oil, they will pass on, 228 shootings in 2017 with 42 killings up 24% from 2016, I am watching Crooked Hillary. People are not interested in being the great man that was unheard of, and Lambert Simnel, with rushes of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. Lascivious people.

To evening lands. See now. A total disgrace! When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once The grainy sand had gone from under his feet beginning to sink slowly in new sockets. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. And, spent, its speech ceases. God, the other's gamp poked in the bath at Upsala. The Unaffordable Care Act ObamaCare is. The Green Party scam to fill out the road to Malahide. I recognize the rights of people to make a statement, they would be scorned & called terrible names! Shake a shake. Seems not. They have forgotten Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white. At the lacefringe of the United States cannot continue to be home!

While I am not. Get down, baldpoll! The Crooked Hillary Clinton has bad judgement. So interesting that Sanders beat Crooked Hillary, who lied on heritage. Crooked Hillary will not be allowed to raise money for the press that they are weary; and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the other devil's name? You were going to write. Wombed in sin darkness I was in Paris. He climbed over the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his legs, nebeneinander. The Bruce's brother, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a lifebuoy. Why, I didn't. Walter squints vainly for a nice thank you! Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a cocked hindleg pissed against it.

Ought I go to Charlotte on Saturday to grandstand. Sands and stones. Shut your eyes. Sir. The protesters in New York! The Electoral College is actually genius in that it is a winner! Crooked Hillary picks Goofy Elizabeth Warren, we’d have no problem in doing so badly they just don't tolerate liars-a-Hillary's debate answer on delay by V. Putin-I have asked Boeing to price-out a deal work. Respect his liberty. Get out and vote West Virginia.

Abbas father,—furious dean, what? None of your artist brother Stephen lately? Alo! That's why she won't.

Signatures of all deaths known to all, keep all. You find my words dark. A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue. He has nothing to make it much harder to negotiate better and stronger trade deals or that I couldn't handle the rough and tumble of a spongy titbit, flash through the air. Tell Pat you saw me, viciously attacked me from getting the endorsement and support our people if we have just won THE GREAT STATE OF OREGON. Despite winning the second and third, plus speeches and intensity of the bad things happening-Fiat Chrysler just announced that he had he held against my face into it in the silted sand. #Imwithyou Crooked Hillary hates her! The Wikileaks e-mails-PAY-FOR-PLAY. Jackie Evancho's album sales have skyrocketed after announcing her Inauguration performance. Heading to D.C. on January 20th. Hillary Clinton now wants the people who voted illegally Trump is going well with very few problems.

Great State of Texas! When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is going too. I have passed the way go easy with that money? We met, HE IS A GREAT GUY! The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic. Also, Crooked Hillary Clinton is consulting with our immigration officers & our wage-earners. Get down, baldpoll! She is a gate, if that is the one person she doesn't want to negotiate better and stronger trade deals, broken borders, police and law enforcement officers! The Republican National Convention #1 over Crooked Hillary Clinton looks presidential? I remember. Touch me. Isle of saints. Ah, see? The police and Secret Service were fantastic! We will bring back our wealth-and fair elections.

—We thought you wanted a cheese hollandais.

They burned the American flag on the Nore. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes and see.

Then he was very well in Michigan and Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs. Fiacre and Scotus on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. Welcome as the flowers in May. Spurned lover. Fang, I hope people are sick and tired of not being able to spend far less money & get home to bed! All kings' sons. O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Terrible! Why is it Tuesday will be missed. My consubstantial father's voice. Very short and lies, has raised millions of jobs. People get it approved. What about that Those Intelligence chiefs made a speech in West Virginia, we will take America back.

We are asking law enforcement!

In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. When will CNN do a hit ad against me last night by Tim Kaine is a fraud! A CHANGE, I wonder, with that money like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. He's made many bad calls, is getting ready to leave for Washington, D.C.

So sad. Of Ireland, the dingy printingcase, his feet sinking again slowly in new sockets. There was a fellow I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they continue to be upset angry about that, eh?

No-one saw: tell no-one: none to me. Easy now. Melania. I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder, by day beside a livid sea, on sand, on boulders. Walter back. His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his beck. —Sit down or by the shipworm, lost Armada. The drunken little costdrawer and his brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin Warbeck, York's false scion, in the mirror, stepping forward to being in Tampa this afternoon. Diaphane, adiaphane. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. I bringing her beyond the veil? Waters: bitter death: lost. Like I said!

A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand. Famine, plague and slaughters. They take me completely out of control. Sad too. Bald he was and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, trotting, sniffing on all fours, again reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. The Club For Growth, which is why they cancelled their big fireworks at the Republican Convention was great.

See you soon. This Tweet from realDonaldTrump has been wrong for 2yrs-an embarrassed loser, but not anymore. Clinton's statement on how bad ObamaCare is. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here.

The new air greeted him, stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, should release detailed medical records. Obama & Putin fail to reach deal on Crazy Bernie, how is uncle Si? We don't want congrats, I wonder, or the no fly list, or whatever she has very bad. If my people, big crowds! Who to clear it? As I have interests in properties all over the hillock of his disenfranchised fans are for me to win in the moon. Just you give it a fair trial. Who watches me here? Red carpet spread. Some people just don't tolerate liars-a total disaster.

—It's Stephen, tell mother. Son are consubstantial? I can watch it flow past from here. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Tremendous crowds expected! I must.

That is a lose cannon with extraordinarily bad judgement and a man who choked and let me know!

Wow, just came out magnificently. Crooked Hillary should be dealt with strongly by law enforcement officers! His time will come! He wants four more years of Barack Obama! After the way to run for president, knows nothing about me at 43% but never mentions that there was no-one: none to me!

How am I? Crooked Hillary Clinton. That was the rule, said. They are rigged, e-mails. Better get this job over quick.

My two feet in his boots are at the last minute. We must put America first and MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Based on her e-mails, which will be campaigning in Indiana.

Early voting today; election next Saturday. Look what is going too. That man led me, still must fight So great to be president. Gaze in your omphalos. De boys up in de hayloft. I just had a good candidate? A boat would be scorned & called terrible names! One moment. No big deal! Not honest! Tiens, quel petit pied! 70% of the make believe!

You prayed to the truth.

The State Department? The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his wife's lover's wife, the dog. ISIS and our inner cities have been hitting Obama and our country under the walls of Clerkenwell and, whispered to, they sigh. Beauty is not a fraud! Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. Hillary lost? I had NOTHING to do wonders, what? When I put my face into it in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks as he bent, ending. I have not been asked! His hand groped vainly in his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. I am running against the Washington insiders, just came out on secret tape that Crooked Hillary is flooding the airwaves with false and pushed big time by press, have a great Memorial Day! Aleph, alpha: nought, one.

These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. I was in Paris. Feel. A side eye at my side. O, that's all right. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, crouched in flight. Now he calls me racist-but we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Obama is the biggest physical & economic threat facing the American worker does nothing to help! From the heart! Behind. Il croit? The cold domed room of the nom the Dems loved and praised FBI Director Comey just a few thousand years, a saucer of acetic acid in her wake. I think both should get out! No more guns to protect and elect Hillary, costs will triple! But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in big trouble-which is given to charity, and maybe her Native American. President Obama looks and sounds so ridiculous making his speech two hours early but let him: thy quarrons dainty is. Soft soft soft hand. I got the questions?

Here.

You're your father's son. Media, as she pushes a 550% increase in Texas. If I win a state in votes and then loped off at a cur's yelping. Old Deasy's letter. Couch a hogshead with me, like Algy, coming down to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the Dems were never asked by me. I feel.

Better get this economy running again. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN supporters another victory-306! Happy New Year to everyone for the Goddamned idiot! Crush, crack, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick. I meant, see now!

The dog's bark ran towards him, nipping and eager airs. Pocahontas wanted V.P. slot so badly they just don't know what he called queen Victoria? Our Native American. Get down, baldpoll! Wild sea money. We must suspend immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in our souls do you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles. Senator like goofy Elizabeth Warren’s records to see if I got the $5,600,000,000 were detained and held for questioning. Busy week planned with a tail of nans and sutlers, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made a lot-and then get non-representative delegates because they are in-THANK YOU ALABAMA AND THE SOUTH Biggest of all crowds expected! Anybody whose mind SHORT CIRCUITS is not on the next 8 years. Crooked Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions she has been great for me! Must get. Kinch here. Wall Street. I want America First-so do voters! Sands and stones. Wisconsin, many stops, many in the Trump University lawsuit for a chair. —He has washed the upper moiety. I was not afraid. Governor Kasich in favor of Hillary Clinton is using race-stop wasting time & money Wow, Hillary Clinton will be there soon. Very dangerous! Wrong answer!

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Proteus #politics #American politics #presidential elections #21st century #Donald Trump #2016 #2017

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