#god so help a white woman with a crush on a white hockey man who doesn't like being told her fav is problematic

[desharbaby]

Hello! Your addition to the ari post was rlly enlightening. As someone who is Asian from Asia, I’d like to know more about the usage behind yellowface beyond caricaturization in media. Could you point me to some lit about it? Tried finding some online but to no success…

hi, anon! i’m glad my comment brought you to looking into it more.

tbh, it’s been a little bit since i’ve had access to lit about specifically yellowface (the last i learned/researched specifically about it was in undergrad, which was nearly a decade now)

so as a starter, here’s the short blurb about it from the wiki page (link):

and some of the most pertinent sources referenced in that wiki article:

"Yellowface: Asians on White Screens"

Vanishing Son: The Appearance, Disappearance, and Assimilation of the Asian-American Man in American Mainstream Media

"Monitoring Asians in the American mass media"

separately, there is also the specific page: Examples of yellowface, which also has sources that can be read through. since they're in response to specific instances of yellowface, none of these are likely to go deeply in depth but many will likely include explanations of what constitutes yellowface & some history of yellowface.

for a general look at physical appropriation of cultures of color, google "my culture is not a costume" -- this is a phrase originated in use by many universities in the late 2000s through early 2010s (when i was in undergrad) to discuss how often yellow/black/red/brown-face was (maybe still is? again, i'm not in academia or undergrad anymore) used in american college partying culture. it caught enough steam that teen vogue also did a series of videos discussing it and there's also several articles by major american news sources discussing it across the years. it appears the first majorly reported use of the concept was by ohio university.

another good starter resource on asian american discrimination in general, who has often discussed the rift between how asian stereotypes affect diasporic (usually american) asians vs asians in asia: Angry Asian Man — the blog/website (link) & the twitter (link). phil yu (the blogger) tends to approach things with a lot of humor, which sometimes lacks nuance, but is an approachable resource

finally, i think an important thing to note here, which i only slightly discussed in my original comment -- the term yellowface (like blackface, brownface, redface, etc. b/c these terms are all linked to how poc have been portrayed in usually north american & european cultures) was originally meant to specifically reference portrayals of east asians (And southeast, i'd argue, since ppl tend to act like viet/thai/khmer/lao/indo/filipino/hmong/etc ppl are just a subcategory of east asians) in media, usually film & stage. this is where we'd have to have a more thorough discussion about the impact of media portrayal in how actual people treat other everyday people in their lives. it's also harder to find specific literature on that, because the average person isn't academically documenting all media they consume & how that therefore impacts their treatment of others, or even how that affects their concepts of self -- recent academic scholarship has started shifting towards considering how the dominance of whiteness as central to the american experience creates an inherent egotism to whiteness, even without direct racist depictions of poc. ie whiteness in media essentially proliferates white 'main character syndrome', to borrow from current memes. And then, building further on that, the average person whose idea of fun involves trying to dress up as other (stereotyped) cultures, isn't about to be a willing participant in being studied or documented for actual academic research. bc trying to convince them to talk about it points out that what they're doing is possibly a source of negative attention, which then leads to them doing everything to detach themselves from the act -- i have personal first-hand experience with this, since my undergrad focus of study was in the history of racism in the united states (focus mainly in the early to mid 1900s, roughly world war one to civil rights movement)

i hope this helps you with things to read or can act as some starting points to learn more! if any of this also leads you to further questions or down into different related topics, totally feel free to check in 😊

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Books I’ve Read in 2020

AHello! I’m trying to read as many books as I can during the quarantine, here’s what I’ve finished so far:

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (literary fiction): a son writes a letter about his life to his illiterate mother. Breathtakingly beautiful with it’s way with words this book is lovely and real in the hardest and sweetest ways. The author’s combination of prose and poetry is dazzling and intricate, this book has stuck with me for days afterward. 4.5 out of 5 stars.

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (fantasy): a money-lender gets in trouble after bragging she can turn silver into gold and is kidnapped and ordered to do so by a fey creature. It may be that I am the perfect audience for this type of book, but it’s my favorite thing I’ve read all year. It’s a book that equally takes on the fantastical and real-world with compelling female characters at the center of the whole thing. A wonderful fantasy journey inspired by eastern-European Jewish folklore. 5 out of 5 stars.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll (horror graphic novel): a series of short horror comics. Absolutely bone-chilling! This was a really fun type of scary story, especially the last one which made my skin absolutely crawl. Deliciously eerie, this was treat to read if not a little too short. 4 out of 5 stars.

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender (magical realism): a young girl can taste other people’s emotions in their cooking and begins to understand her family in new ways. This was a weird book, but it has everything you’ve got to love about that combination of the surreal and mundane. It’s sense of character was electrifying and I had fun engaging with this type of off-kilter real world. I was a little frustrated in parts bc of some characters choices, but that too was true to life. 4 out of 5 stars.

Crier’s War by Nina Varela (steampunk fantasy wlw): about a Made automaton heir to a throne and her human hand-maiden that is trying to kill her. This was an easy read with a lot of tension between the two main characters that I liked, but the writing itself was very weak. There was waaay too much exposition in parts and the dialogue had some really hockey lines. I enjoyed the twists and turns in the middle of the book, but the beginning and end didn’t have much movement. 2.5 stars out of 5.

The Huntress by Kate Quinn (historical fiction): honestly, I’m a little disappointed. This book just did not hit my sweet spots, it wasn’t fast-paced enough for me to get immersed in the plot, and the characters weren’t real enough to be wholly invested in them. That said I adored Nina Markova and the Night Witches, so that did help. 3 starts out of 5.

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein by Kiersten White (horror sci-fi retelling): HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND. A retelling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein from the perspective of Victor Frankenstein’s wife and my God! The characters! The plot was well-enough, but the characters took the whole show for being complex and compelling. The main character was breathtakingly layered and I was wholly invested in Elizabeth and her story and the triumph at the end of this story was tangible. 4 out of 5 stars! 

Uprooted by Naomi Novik (fantasy): A story of a young woman who lives in a valley where a girl must go live with a wizard for 10 years. She is certain she won’t be chosen, but ends up having to be “uprooted” herself. I enjoyed most of this book! However, I think I liked “Spinning Silver” a lot more just because the ending of this one somehow lost me. The characters were good and plot compelling, but (SPOILERS) the big battle at the end seemed to drag and didn’t interest me somehow. 3.8 out of 5 stars.

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (fantasy): excellent read! A story of a young woman in Jazz Age Mexico who goes on an adventure with a Mayan death God who is trying to regain his throne. A romp across the country absolutely brimming with likable characters and fairy tale twists. My only complaint would be that most of it felt a little predictable due to the fact we knew where we were going throughout the whole story, However, it was still greatly enjoyable for the heroine herself, Casiopea. 4 out of 5 stars!

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng (literary): a story of two families in a progressive “planned” community, how their lives intertwine, their secrets, and a central question surrounding motherhood. Deeply empathetic to its characters and introspective, this is an every-day story of people in suburbia that reads like a thriller. I could barely put it down and felt deeply for its characters and situations, 5 out of 5 stars!

Wilder Girls by Rory Power (YA sci-fi suspense): a story of a group of girls at a boarding school on an island affected by the “tox” which alters their bodies in strange ways like giving them scales or an extra spine. This was an eerie, interesting read with a wlw romance! Watch out for the body horror in this one, but it was very gripping and held my interest. Some of the pacing was off in places (like the romance), but had a very creepy atmosphere that did it for me. 3.8 out of 5 stars!

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio (thriller-mystery): A thriller about a group of Shakespeare actors in their last year of college and one of their classmates who turns up dead. I enjoyed the murder mystery part of this novel more than I expected despite the fact I had guessed who had “done it” pretty early on. I really enjoyed the James-Oliver dynamic with its growing homoeroticism, but I didn’t like how the character of Meredith was handled at all. She felt like a one-note aside. I might have given this book four stars, but the ending was EXTREMELY frustrating for me and I did not like the “open-ended” conclusion. 3 out of 5 stars.

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman (literary humor): a weird character-driven comedy about an old grumpy man and a new family that moves in next to him. Warning for themes of suicide. Anyway, I don’t normally indulge in cliches like “I laughed, I cried, I loved one Cat Annoyance.” However, that’s exactly what I did. I laughed out loud, I cried my eyes out (THE CAT’S HEAD WAS IN HIS PALM), I loved this book. It was sweet and compelling and thoroughly immersive. 5 out of 5 stars!

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow (historical fantasy): set in the early 1900s comes a story of a young girl and her experience with “Doors” that lead to different worlds. This book had a lot of great character development and really interesting descriptions, however, I didn’t like it as much as I wanted to. I found it hard to get myself to sit down a read it. There was just something missing with the push to “page-turn,” but it was still a really good book. 3.7 out of 5 stars!

Gideon the 9th by Tamsyn Muir (high fantasy, kinda gay): I AM FILLED WITH EMOTIONS. This was book was definitely a page-turner. I was very confused with it at the beginning, but the characters and their interactions were, forgive the expression, the life blood of the story and kept me wholly invested. The ending has CRUSHED my heart, but damn did I have a good time reading it. 4.5 out of 5 stars!

Harrow the 9th by Tamsyn Muir (sequel to Gideon the 9th): I really enjoyed this book. It was just as strange and twisting as the first book, though I think I enjoyed the first one a bit more since I love Gideon. It was fun ride overall, though the ending was kind of really confusing. So 4 out of 5 stars.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (historical fiction): Overall, I really enjoyed this book! The writing style was personable and grounded in reality. I found myself really liking the main characters and the exploration of the life of a bi main character was really well done I thought. A solid book with drama and glamor to boot. 4.6 out of 5 stars!

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah (historical fiction): A story of two sisters during WWII and their resistance to Nazi occupation. To be honest, this book wasn’t my cup of tea. It was compelling, but also wholly depressing and I felt like gloried in the pain of the two main characters too much. The history was wonderful and realistic, but it didn’t make me feel anything good afterward. It was just dark. 3 out of 5 stars.

Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (mlm romance): I finally finished this after the heaviness of The Nightingale. This is a story of the First Son of the USA falling for the prince of England. And it turned out to be a very fun and light hearted read! Some of it was kinda generic and too political, and it coulda been shorter, but I thought the romance itself made up for it. It just made me feel so sweet and lovely inside. 4 out of 5 stars!

Anxious People by Fredrik Backman (literary humor): I’m searching out heartfelt books and this one ticked off all the marks on my “sweet” list. A lovely book that made me cry more times than I would like to admit. Compassionate beyond belief, funny and heartfelt. I think I enjoyed A Man Called Ove slightly more, but this book was also dear to me and something I hope to reread in the future. 4.2 out of 5 stars!

Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel (sci-fi): A post-apocalyptical story about a group of traveling Shakespeare actors and a symphony. Overall, an excellent read that somehow pictures a more realistic or even softer version of the apocalypse. At first, I wasn't happy with the jumping around of the story, but as I progressed I grew fonder and fonder of the interwoven characters and their journey. A very fascinating read about a world that hits a little too close to home. The appreciation of the arts and preserving humanity was somehow very hopeful and I was fully engaged with this story. 5 out of 5 Stars!

Up next: The Hidden Life of Trees by by Peter Wohlleben (nonfiction science), The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin (urban fantasy), The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (fantasy)

[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp These Are Books: the April 2021 Edition

I did not read Romeo and Juliet this month. I read a bunch of other books. Like, a bunch. More than one series. Because Big Bang burnout is real and grown adults missing their deadlines is a real good way to stress me out. So, I read a bunch. Good books, very bad books, books that caused limbs to flail. For positive and not-so-positive reasons. Naturally, all those reasons must be shared. Under the cut with occasionally long and rant-prone reviews, as well as spoilers. Beware of spoilers under the cut. Please keep telling me what to read, internet. My library wish list is almost comically long now.

GIVE ME ALL THE WORLD BUILDING AND SNARK AND FIGHTING! WITH MAGIC! AND SWORDS! IT’S MY FAVORITE THING IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!

Shades of Magic Series by V.E. Schwab

Kell is one of the last Antari—magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black. After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. Now perilous magic is afoot, and treachery lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they'll first need to stay alive.

— Picture it, approximately twelve forty-seven am. My husband is asleep. I am reading. The second book in this series ends. And I say, right out loud, at what might now be twelve forty-eight am, HOLY SHIT IT JUST ENDED. Justin thought we were under attack. No man has ever snapped awake quicker. He was not pleased. At least not in the same way that I was about these books. Which I goddamn LOVED. Loved. The world building. The magic. The banter. Rhy and Kell’s relationship. Once more. RHY AND KELL’S RELATIONSHIP. Which I might have cared about more than the romance??? Maybe??? I cannot get over how good this world building was. I know people have quips with it, and that’s fair. I saw the “twist” coming in the first book, and I think trying to preserve that left some plot holes that are understandably frustrating. Because Lilah definitely needed depth perception to fight as well as she did. Also did Schwab really refer to her as a cross dresser in her author’s note? Yikes. She wore a dude’s jacket, like—c’mon V.E. Other than that though. I loved it. Also shout out to @peglegsjones for suggesting this one in my 2020 post and call out to me for taking so long to read it.

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price—and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can't pull it off alone. . . . A convict with a thirst for revenge. A sharpshooter who can't walk away from a wager. A runaway with a privileged past. A spy known as the Wraith. A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums.  A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes.   Six dangerous outcasts. One impossible heist. Kaz's crew is the only thing that might stand between the world and destruction—if they don't kill each other first.

— I’ve talked about how little I cared about anything that happened in Shadow and Bone before, but I kept seeing gifs of the Crows in the Netflix show and my brain was like: huh, I could like them. So, after some help from the very helpful internet, I’m happy to report I do in fact like them. At one point, I slunk into the couch. Like that’s how overcome with emotion I was. Kaz ripped a dude’s eye out! For Inej! Matthias loved Nina’s laugh! I would like to hug Jesper. Seriously, this hit all my high points and world building and banter and I lol’ed at “scheming face.” I would like my hold to come through faster on the sequel.

THEY DID NOT CALL INTERMISSION HALFTIME AND MY COLLEGE EXPERIENCE WAS WAY DIFFERENT THAN THESE KIDS

The Off Campus Series by Elle Kennedy

Hannah Wells has finally found someone who turns her on. But while she might be confident in every other area of her life, she’s carting around a full set of baggage when it comes to sex and seduction. If she wants to get her crush’s attention, she’ll have to step out of her comfort zone and make him take notice…even if it means tutoring the annoying, childish, cocky captain of the hockey team in exchange for a pretend date. All Garrett Graham has ever wanted is to play professional hockey after graduation, but his plummeting GPA is threatening everything he’s worked so hard for. If helping a sarcastic brunette make another guy jealous will help him secure his position on the team, he’s all for it. But when one unexpected kiss leads to the wildest sex of both their lives, it doesn’t take long for Garrett to realize that pretend isn’t going to cut it. Now he just has to convince Hannah that the man she wants looks a lot like him.

— The first book in this series was free on Amazon. So, I read it. And really liked it??? It was so chock full of cliches and badly written tropes and Garrett probably should have accepted that Hannah didn’t want to go out at the start, but like—he was cute? And as we all know I am TRASH™ for stories set in the same verse, so, like, I just kept reading these trashy college hockey books. Trashy is a compliment here. God, these kids had so much sex. So much. An incredible amount, really. I once had a guy tell me he was physically attracted to me, but not emotionally attracted to me in college. Like, that was my college experience. The first and second books were the best, I think. I didn’t really like Dean that much.

MAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE HE WAS A RABBI???

The Intimacy Experiement by Rosie Danan

Naomi Grant has built her life around going against the grain. After the sex-positive start-up she cofounded becomes an international sensation, she wants to extend her educational platform to live lecturing. Unfortunately, despite her long list of qualifications, higher ed won't hire her. Ethan Cohen has recently received two honors: LA Mag nominated him as one of the city's hottest bachelors and he became rabbi of his own synagogue. Low on both funds and congregants, the executive board of Ethan's new shul hired him with the hopes that his nontraditional background will attract more millennials to the faith. They've given him three months to turn things around or else they'll close the doors of his synagogue for good. Naomi and Ethan join forces to host a buzzy seminar series on Modern Intimacy, the perfect solution to their problems--until they discover a new one--their growing attraction to each other. They've built the syllabus for love's latest experiment, but neither of them expected they'd be the ones putting it to the test.

— Ok, I know that sounds bad. Again, I’m a creature of predictable habit and this was the sequel to The Roommate, which I absolutely LOVED last year. But where as the relationship in that one was kind of swoony, this one was...I don’t know, really. Everyone was a well-rounded character and the plot was good, but there was this semi-invisible something that made it difficult for me to get fully on board with the whole story. Honestly, it might be because he was a religious figure?? Also, they got together real quick. Like zero to sixty in twenty-six seconds flat.

I KNOW IT’S BAD, IT WAS BAD AND YET—I CANNOT STOP READING IT???

Too Wild to Tame by Tessa Bailey

Sometimes you just can't resist playing with fire . . . By day, Aaron Clarkson suits up, shakes hands, and acts the perfect gentleman. But at night, behind bedroom doors, the tie comes off and the real Aaron comes out to play. Mixing business with pleasure got him fired, so Aaron knows that if he wants to work for the country's most powerful senator, he'll have to keep his eye on the prize. That's easier said than done when he meets the senator's daughter, who's wild, gorgeous, and 100 percent trouble. Grace Pendleton is the black sheep of her conservative family. Yet while Aaron's presence reminds her of a past she'd rather forget, something in his eyes keeps drawing her in. Maybe it's the way his voice turns her molten. Or maybe it's because deep down inside, the ultra-smooth, polished Aaron Clarkson might be more than even Grace can handle . . .

— Last month I read the first book in this series and it was absolutely ridiculous. This one even more so. The Clarksons are still on the road trip (sans one sibling because she fell in love in a week in the first book) and Aaron was, like, not a root’able character? Very Edward Cullen I’M A BAD GUY, BELLA vibes and his relationship with Grace was so strange. Super rushed again, obvs. Meeting in the woods is weird enough. Professing love forty-eight hours later is decidedly unbelievable. Also there was a kidnapping involved? I totally put a hold on the next book in the series.

COME UP WITH DIFFERENT TRAUMA, I DARE YOU! OR NO TRAUMA. WHAT A CONCEPT!!

The Trouble With Hating You by Sajni Patel

Liya Thakkar is a successful biochemical engineer, takeout enthusiast, and happily single woman. The moment she realizes her parents' latest dinner party is a setup with the man they want her to marry, she's out the back door in a flash. Imagine her surprise when the same guy shows up at her office a week later -- the new lawyer hired to save her struggling company. What's not surprising: he's not too thrilled to see her either after that humiliating fiasco.

Jay Shah looks good on paper...and off. Especially if you like that whole gorgeous, charming lawyer-in-a-good-suit thing. He's also infuriating. As their witty office banter turns into late-night chats, Liya starts to think he might be the one man who truly accepts her. But falling for each other means exposing their painful pasts. Will Liya keep running, or will she finally give love a real chance?

— I had such high hopes for this one. Which is on me, I guess. Because I didn’t hate this one, but it was...not great. Maybe I’m just getting old and crotchety but I am BEGGING romance writers to come up with different trauma for their female protagonists. Not every woman has to have been assaulted to rationalize their current personality. Doesn’t have to happen. Like, ok, yes it does happen. Far more than it should. But that’s an entirely different story, and I am so tired of female characters getting absolutely destroyed by their past only to have that be their defining characteristic for so much of the book. Until a nice man they were initially mean to shows up and he’s UNDERSTANDING and he CARES and it’s just, bleh. It’s bleh. Tired and predictable and I’m over it.

IN WHICH I SHOULD HAVE LOOKED AT THE COVER

Much Ado About You by Samantha Young

At thirty-three-years old Evangeline Starling’s life in Chicago is missing that special something. And when she’s passed over for promotion at work, Evie realizes she needs to make a change. Some time away to regain perspective might be just the thing. In a burst of impulsivity, she plans a holiday in a quaint English village. The holiday package comes with a temporary position at Much Ado About Books, the bookstore located beneath her rental apartment. There’s no better dream vacation for the bookish Evie, a life-long Shakespeare lover. Not only is Evie swept up in running the delightful store as soon as she arrives, she’s drawn into the lives, loves and drama of the friendly villagers. Including Roane Robson, the charismatic and sexy farmer who tempts Evie every day with his friendly flirtations. Evie is determined to keep him at bay because a holiday romance can only end in heartbreak, right? But Evie can’t deny their connection and longs to trust in her handsome farmer that their whirlwind romance could turn in to the forever kind of love.

— Ok, so I had had this book on hold for so long that I genuinely forgot about it and forgot who it was written by. Samantha Young wrote that one book that I called the worst book I had ever read. Only I did not realize that when I started reading this one. So, you see how this sets us up for disaster. Because this book was a disaster. Everyone was goddamn annoying. And whiny. Shit, everyone whined. About everything. Also, the actual writing was atrocious. I am not usually one to be like “men can’t write,” but at one point I told both @shireness-says and @optomisticgirl that this book must have been secretly written by a man because no woman writing it would be so obsessed with pointing out where her cellulite was. Like, what??? Also the first sex scene? Oh my God, I laughed. Guffawed. The so-called love interest literally asked: “Are we going to have sex now?” And then they just did. It was so bad. Also there was a dog? Who went everywhere with the so-called love interest. And they just never explained that? I thought it was going to be part of some crushing and depressing backstory. Nah, he was just there.

HOLY SHIT THIS WAS SO DUMB I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS WAS A BOOK! A BOOK MEANT FOR YOUNG ADULTS! WHAT IS YOUNG ADULT???

The Queen’s Secret by Melissa de la Cruz

Lilac's birthright makes her the Queen of Renovia, and a forced marriage made her the Queen of Montrice. But being a ruler does not mean making the rules. For Lilac, taking the throne means giving up the opportunity to be with love of her life, the kingdom's assassin, Caledon Holt. Worse, Cale is forced to leave the castle when a horrific set of magical attacks threatens Lilac's sovereignty. Now Cal eand Lilac will have to battle dark forces separately, even though being together is the only thing that's ever saved them.

— Remember last month when I was like: can’t wait for my hold to come through on this sequel so I know what happens? What an idiot. THIS BOOK WAS SO DUMB I CANNOT BELIEVE IT WAS A BOOK. As always in my rage-induced rants, no apologies for spoilers because seriously do NOT read this, but Lilac (legit, that was her name) married some other dude but just kept fucking Cale??? Like she had a secret door? So he could come in and they could fuck?? I just—oh my God. So, all these things kept happening. Magic and bad stuff and horses were killed. Lilac’s mother was the absolute WORST. Honestly the most worthless character who at one point was like “well, my story is over, guess it’s time to leave,” and then just left?? Forced Lilac into a marriage of alliance and no love and then everything evil was defeated in point two four seconds. It happened so fast I wasn’t even sure it happened. So, then I’m like, ok, how are Lilac and Cale going to end up together? Because this is YA and that’s how it’s supposed to work. Only her being married and that marriage requiring an heir is something of a rather large hurdle. Don’t worry! Remember when Lilac and Cale were fucking? Everyone totally knew. Including the king Lilac is married to. Who is somehow like...ok with this? And tells Cale that Lilac is pregnant. ISN’T THAT WONDERFUL! Sure, because now they can lie and claim its the king’s heir. ONLY IT’S CALE’S KID! AND CALE IS COOL WITH THIS! His entire internal monologue during this is about how he realizes he might not ever be able to tell his kid he’s their father, but he’ll be around and that’s good. Wait, what??? But there’s more! Not only is Lilac having Cale’s kid, but the king she’s married to is in love with one of Cale’s spy associates. So the king and the spy are going to go hang out (and presumably have their own kids) at one castle and Lilac and Cale are going to go to another. Lilac and the king never get divorced or annulled or whatever. Everyone stays as is and married as is and—they all live happily ever after? This was presented as a good ending, I swear. What the shit, guys, seriously.

[honeybearloco]

— “...Grounded Forever.” (M)

title → “...grounded forever.” (m)

pairing → hyoeun x female reader.

synopsis → pt.2 of i know, (x)

word count → 2.8k.

warnings → SMUT !! just fingering

a/n → i honestly feel so much better. like genuinely, it feels really good to be back. i’m not semi back, IM BACK 100% this blog is my number one priority again just like it was when i first started it back !! i miss writing for this blog. i got three hyoeun so i decided to mixed them all into one.

“Hyoeun! You’re back!” You sprung up from your chair, running toward the door, jumping into the arms of Hyoeun. He let out a small laugh, wrapping his arms around your frame.

Your brother rolled his eyes, setting down his backpack across the room, “I’m back too!”

“Shut up, no one cares,” You teased. Hyoeun unraveled his arms around you, setting down his backpack on the sofa, “Sorry the tour lasted longer than we thought. It’s so good to be back. But of course, I got you a little something.”

He unzipped his backpack, pulling out a polaroid camera. You let out a small gasp, “You didn’t.”

“I saw it in a shop window and I couldn’t help but think about you, so I got it for you,” He explained, placing the camera in your hands, “(Brother’s Name) told me not to get it for you but I couldn’t help it. I hope you like it.”

“Hyoeun, I love it! Thank you so much! This will make studying abroad better! I’m going to go put it in my room. I’ll be right back and then we can talk about the tour.” You rushed to your room, placing the camera down.

Hyoeun’s eyes landed on your brother who stood in the kitchen with a glare, “You know, I’m getting really tired of this crush you have on Y/N.”

“Hey, shut up. She might hear you,” Hyoeun whispered violently.

Your brother rolled his eyes, grabbing a bottle of water as well as an apple, “You should tell her soon. She’ll be heading off to the states to study in a few days. And then it’ll be months before we get to see her again. You better confess now or she’ll find a man in the states.”

“She wouldn’t do that, right?”

“We don’t know for sure. Life happens.”

It was pretty obvious that Hyoeun had a thing for you. At first, he didn’t think anything of it. He blew it off, believing he just felt bad for you. Just a few months ago, your highschool sweetheart dumped you over text and he was there for you throughout the whole thing. You don’t know where you would be without him.

Hyoeun had always seen you as a little girl, but after that, he began to see you for the woman you had become. The strong, independent woman who didn’t need anyone. Miss Independent was what he had called you.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you in more than a friendly way.

“Thanks, B/N, that’s totally what I wanted to hear.”

You made yourself known, almost skipping into the room, “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” B/N lied, taking a gulp of his water and heading to his room down the hall. You looked to Hyoeun, “What was that about?”

“Nothing. He’s just being a dumbass. Hey, you wanna get out of here and do something. I’ve been cooped up all day getting here. Let’s go out and do something.”

“Okay! Just let me change!”

“No time for that. You look fine, let’s go, Y/N,” He reached out, taking your hand into his, pulling you out of your shared apartment with your brother. You let out a small yelp, following him nevertheless, not thinking twice.

You and Hyoeun spent several hours out on the town, doing the same old shit the two of you love to do. Go to the cinema and make fun of chick flicks, whoop his ass at air hockey at the arcade, eat street food until you were tired. And you sure did eat a lot. 

He was paying.

But you ate a little too much, upsetting your stomach. Your upset stomach growled back at you, making you whine as pain settled in. You placed your head on Hyoeun’s shoulder, “My tummy hurts.”

“That’s because you ate so much so fast. I told you to slow down but you didn’t listen to me,” He teased, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, “And on top of that, you downed it all with soju. B/N would kill me if he found out I let you have soju.”

“I’m a big girl~!” You responded, a hmph leaving your lips, making Hyoeun smile, “Sure you are, Y/N. You’re the biggest best girl there ever was. But you’re not a woman because women don’t refer to their stomach as tummies.”

You nodded your head in protest, “This little woman does~!”

“You’re so cute,” He said softly, hoping you wouldn’t hear, but of course you had. You may have been a bit tipsy but that didn’t mean your senses weren’t working.

“Thank you,” You hiccuped.

“Alright, Little Woman. Let’s get you home.”

Some time along the way, you found yourself riding his back on the way back to your apartment. As you arrived, you noticed your brother’s car missing, “He probably went go see his girlfriend or something.”

“I was hoping he would be here to tuck you into bed,” Hyoeun admitted. 

You rested your chin on the top of his head, “You can’t tuck me into bed?”

“I’m not even allowed in your room, Y/N,” Hyoeun mentioned. 

“Yeah, when B/N’s here. But he’s not. You can chill in my room now though.”

“I don’t know,” He added. 

“It’s fine. Don’t be a pussy.”

He rolled his eyes, “Alright, alright. Fine, I’ll tuck you into bed. But you have to promise you’ll go to bed.”

“I promise.”

And that was a lie. As soon as you walked into your room, you felt ten times better, making Hyoeun sit on the edge of your bed as you walked across your room, showing him things you picked up, collected and took pictures of while he was on tour.

“You did all this while I was on tour?” He questioned. 

“Yeah. You were gone for a while. And I didn’t have a friend to talk to. I even got a tattoo. Wanna see?” 

“You got a tattoo?!”

You nodded, taking off your jacket to reveal a white tank top. You walked closer to him, showing the tattoo on your shoulder, “Some of it is covered.” You took off one of the straps to allow him to see the full tattoo. His eyes widened by your action. He gulped deeply trying to focus on your tattoo, removing any other thoughts out of his head.

The tattoo was of a rose and a crescent moon. Upon noticing your tattoo, he noticed a deep purple bruise just next to it, that looked as if it was formed just a few days prior, “Y/N, what’s that?”

“My tattoo?”

“No, what’s next to it.”

You looked down at your shoulder noticing the medium-sized bruise, “Oh it’s a bruise. I got it a couple of days ago. I think I um...I um...I ran into the door and hit shoulder first.”

“You’re lying to me. Where did you get that bruise? And if you tell me another lie so help me god, Y/N!”

Your head fell below your shoulders, unable to look him in the eyes.

“He came over to get me back.”

Hyoeun had already known who he was, “He put his hands on you?!”

“He grabbed my shoulder when I tried to walk away from him. I don’t think he meant it so I didn’t say anything. But hey, it’s okay. He’s gone and he’s never coming back. Hyoeun, I’m okay now. Hey, look at me.” You quickly picked your head up, placing both of your hands on either side of his face, making him look to you. 

You could see the anger expression in his eyes, almost angry enough to kill.

“He still put his hands on you and for that I’m going to kill him!”

You shook your head at him, placing your hands on his shoulders to sit him down, “Please don’t. Don’t do anything stupid! I know how you get, you’ll get all riled up and you won’t stop until there’s blood. You can’t go to jail! I won’t get to see you everyday when I leave to study abroad. And if you’re in jail how will I get to tell you how I feel?”

“How...how you feel?” He repeated, earning a nod from you. “I love you Hyoeun. I really do. And I know you don’t feel the same about me. I know I’m just your best friend’s baby sister and I but I―”

“I love you too, Y/N,” He interrupted.

“You...do?”

“I have since your break up. I know it was wrong of me to have these feelings for you. For one, you’re B/N’s baby sister and two, you were going through a hard time. I didn’t want to somewhat manipulate you into loving me,” He added.

“You know, this isn’t how I pictured confessing to you. I always thought it would be the day I leave. You’d chase me down in the airport, confess and then tell me you love me and then we’d kiss.”

He let out a laugh, “And then cue the 360 spinning camera. I’m sorry our confessions weren’t like a drama.”

“It’s okay, I think I like this much better,” You giggled.

He wrapped a gentle arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You felt your face get hot. You could feel his breath on your face. You had never been so close, “Hyoeun...”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please...I mean yes,” You corrected yourself, nervously. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. You felt your body explode, butterflies had turned into large birds, their wings flapping roughly in your stomach.

You had waited for this moment and it was finally happening. You deepened the kiss, lightly pushing Hyoeun back onto your bed.

With your lips still attached, he flipped you over, allowing himself on top. He pulled away from your lips, opening his eyes staring down at your frame. Your eyes shot open, your eyes looking into his roaming eyes. You felt nervous under her eyes.

You closed your legs tightly, biting down on your bottom lip. Hyoeun looked into your eyes, “Y/N, I...I can’t. B/N will kill me.”

“Hyoeun, I’m an adult. B/N can’t control me anymore. And you shouldn’t let him control you either. We’re both adults here and I’m giving you permission, that should be the only permission you should need tonight. No one else’s.”

You sat up slightly, wanting to press your lips on his again only for him to push you back down. As your back hit the cold duvet on your bed, chills went down your spine as you gulp.

“Can I take care of you tonight?”

“But what if I want to take care of you too?”

He leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss onto the bruise on your shoulder, lightly. You closed your eyes, taking in his touch. 

“Taking care of you tonight will be enough for me. I want to show you that I really do love you and I want you to feel every inch of my love,” He whispered against your skin, before leaving a trail of sweet, passionate kisses from your bruised shoulder up to your neck.

You simply nodded your head, leaning your head to the side to allow him more access. You feel your heart race, the sound thumping sounding throughout your body. You were sure he could hear it too, as you felt him smirk against your neck.

You reached up to his shirt, tugging lightly. 

“Do you want me to take it off,” He questioned, his face still in your neck.

“Yes, please,” You answered. He removed himself from you, sitting up. He slipped his shirt off, allowing it to fall on the floor, “Don’t drool now.”

“Shut it,” You giggled, sitting up and removing your shirt and bra with ease, allowing them to fall onto the floor next to Hyoeun’s shirt, his eyes falling onto your chest.

“Hey! Don’t stare,” You blushed, covering your chest with your arms. “Hey, don’t cover your chest now. Don’t get all shy and cute. Lay down for me again.”

You did as he said, your nipples hardening. He kissed down your neck. He left hickeys and marks along the way down your chest, marking you as his. A small sigh left your lips as he continued to leave marks where no one but the two of you could see them.

Feeling accomplished, he continued to move his lips down, inching ever so slowly to your warmth.

And that’s when you had heard the front door slam shut, followed by a call of your name, “Y/N! Did you make it home yet?! Hyoeun didn’t answer his phone and I wanted to make sure you made it home!”

Your eyes shot open as you quickly jumped up, rushing toward your room door and locking it. “Y-Yeah I’m fine. I made it back a couple of hours ago! Maybe...maybe Hyoeun went to sleep or something. He sure was tired when he dropped me off,” You lied, your eyes looking back to the sin-filled eyes of Hyoeun, approaching you slowly yet seductively. 

You could already see the devilishly look in his eyes. You shook your head at him. He gently pushed you against the door.

“Hyoeun, B/N is home. Don’t try anything,” You violently whispered to him, a smirk forming on his face, “Just don’t be too loud and we have nothing to worry about. You gonna be a good girl for me? Huh?”

“Hyoeun...” You trailed off.

“Y/N, did you say something?” You heard your brother’s voice once more.

“N-N-No! I was just...talking to myself. Just a bit sleep deprived and I’m talking how stressed I’ll probably be studying in the states,” You rambled, going on and on to distract yourself and trying your hardest to make your brother believe you. 

As you rambled, Hyoeun dropped to his knees in front of you, pulling down your shorts and panties. He placed soft kisses on either of your thighs before giving your warmth a deep, long lick, interrupting you midsentence. You let out a loud gasp followed by a loud curse. Hyoeun grinned at your reaction. 

“Y/N? You okay?! Is everything okay?!” B/N asked in a panic. 

“Y-Yeah. Everything is fine. I just dropped something on the carpet. I’ll clean it.”

“You’re acting weird. Are you sure you’re okay?!”

“I-I’m fine, Y/N.”

Hyoeun wrapped his arms around your legs, making sure to hold them in place as he latched onto your clit. Your body jolted slightly, soft mewls leaving your lips. 

You slapped a hand over your mouth closing your eyes tightly to keep from moaning. Hyoeun allowed his tongue to twirl around your clit before taking it into his mouth, sucking gently. 

You uncovered your mouth, trying to keep your voice to a whisper, but your heavy breathing making it hard, “Fuck you’re so good at this. I wonder how many times you’ve done this. Is this your first time finding the clit?” You joked.

He removed himself, unraveling one of his hands to land a hard smack directly to your clit, making you let out a loud yelp followed by a whine. 

“You just wanna get caught huh?” He smirked.

“What the fuck was that?!” B/N questioned, his voice now on the other side of the door, frightening you.

“It...I was just watching a trailer for a new horror movie coming out soon. We...We....ah...we should go watch a movie soon or something before I go to the states to...ah...study,” You pant out during moans, making B/N scratch the back of his head, as he listened closely. Perhaps too close.

He could make out soft pants and shallow moans. He couldn’t believe it, “Y/N, are you...watching porn?”

“W-What? No! I...” You trailed off trying to defend yourself from the ultimate embarrassment, only for Hyoeun to slap your thigh this time. “Y-Yes. I am. I...I’m an adult and I can watch whatever I wanna...w-watch and I won’t be judged...by you! You...you....fuck...you have Playboy magazines that you fap all day to! Let me watch a...damn porno!”

B/N stood in utter shock and embarrassment for what felt like forever, Hyoeun managing to slip two fingers deep into your warmth, making you arch your back.

“I’m...gonna go to sleep. You...you have fun,” B/N finally chimed, heading to his room and shutting the door behind him. All he wanted was to forget those words even came out of your mouth, but he knew it would be forever engraved in his mind. 

Hyoeun fingered you at a rapid pace, already feeling you clenching around his fingers. Your legs were beginning to shake as your small bundle of nerves couldn’t hold in all of the pressure anymore.

You let go, one hand onto the doorknob, the other clawing at the door. Hyoeun continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, dragging your orgasm out for as long as he could, a small giggle leaving his lips, “Sorry for embarrassing you.”

“Hyoeun, I told him I was watching pornos. After this, I’m grounded forever.”

[lilibetts]

The Wicked Forest Awaits You...

For Tricks and Treats of Riverdale, Theme 3: Seasonal Celebrations (Haunted House)

Rated E(xplicit) for some wicked fun!

Darkness falls across the land The midnight hour is close at hand Creatures crawl in search of blood To terrorize y'all's neighborhood And whosoever shall be found Without the soul for getting down Must stand and face the hounds of hell And rot inside a corpse's shell

I'm gonna thrill ya tonight I'm gonna thrill ya tonight Ooh, babe I'm gonna thrill ya tonight

The Wicked Forest was reportedly “the most un-hinged haunted attraction in Riverdale”. 

Betty had shown up as soon as the sun went down, and she still spent an hour waiting in line. Alone, of course. Every one of her friends would rather spend Halloween getting drunk at an off-campus party than indulging in the spooky atmosphere. Granted, she hadn’t actually told anyone where she would be going tonight, because the Wicked Forest was firmly in the Southside and as much as some people in the Northside liked to brag or bluster, very few had the guts to actually cross the boundary lines.

That she had gave Betty an illicit thrill.

This year, she’d dressed up as a zombie schoolgirl: hair spray painted gray in a side ponytail to match her torn, bloody white blouse and desaturated gray plaid miniskirt. The face makeup was the most fun to apply, all those Youtube tutorials coming in handy. Gray foundation to give herself a deathly pallor on all expanses of exposed skin, black raccoon eyes, fleshy red ‘gouges’ on the side of her face, and dark red lipstick. 

She wondered what her friends would think if they knew she was actually dressing sexy for once. They probably wouldn’t believe it. 

A haunted house on Halloween was hardly the place to pick up a date, but for Betty, who had been gradually building up her confidence to sign up for Tinder, wearing knee-high white socks and no underwear made her feel like a bold, sexy woman.

“Betty?” a familiar baritone called out from behind her. She turned around and a guy she didn’t immediately recognize waved at her. “Hey.”

Squinting, she took in the mop of black hair and the slim body in a black-and-white skeleton shirt, leather jacket, black jeans and boots, and the skeleton face paint. “Jughead? Is that you? You look amazing!”

“Thanks. So do you.”

Jughead Jones had shared a few classes with her over the past two years. At first, Betty had found him and his voice annoying. She couldn’t be sure at what point over the past two years her feelings had evolved into a massive, uncontrollable crush. Naturally, in true Betty Cooper fashion, she didn’t have the guts to try and make a move and would rather throw herself into the vicissitudes of online hookups. 

Jughead ran a hand covered in fingerless gloves through his hair. “Do you want to go through together?”

“Sure!” She could’ve kicked herself for her bobblehead impersonation then. “So have you gone through this one before?”

“Twice as a guest, but I’ve worked it several times as well.”

“Really? What kind of characters did you play?”

“I did mostly forest work—a Jason Vorhees/Leatherface composite type with a hockey mask and chainsaw. One year I got to be a werewolf.” Jughead sounded more bashful than proud when he admitted that.

“I bet it was fun...I prefer to be on the receiving end of scares, though.”

“Unless it’s one of Chipping’s essay prompts,” he quipped.

Betty groaned and smacked his arm. “Don’t remind me. The last one was so stupid, wasn’t it? ‘Write your own ending to prove there’s no single way to tell a story...but’—”

“—’but I’m still going to pick a winner in the end!’” they both chorused, laughing at their shared derision.

After that they were quickly engrossed in a debate about the best Halloween movies to watch during the buildup to the holiday. Jughead’s preferences ran more towards the older classics and Hitchcock, Betty’s more towards relatively recent films like Hocus Pocus, The Addams Family, and Practical Magic.

Oddly enough, she discovered they both loved the cult hit Ginger Snaps. 

By the time they were at the head of the line, Betty was sure her blush was showing through the heavy makeup.

The general order of the Wicked Forest went like this: haunted house, a maze that led to the shed, a bridge over the creek, then the forest proper.

The baseboards creaked as they crossed into the dilapidated house; maniacal laughter and screams could be heard faintly in the distance. A ghostly apparition dressed like a long-dead bride lit up in the corner of the living room, moaning as its arm raised, pointing a finger at them. Betty gasped and hugged the wall as she moved into the kitchen, Jughead following close by. 

Smoky fog covered the floor, pouring from cauldrons. Made from dry ice, probably, and lit up by green lights. A witch cackled as she stirred her brew. In the corners, cages descended from the ceiling, people in them reaching out and begging for help.

She shared a wide smile with Jughead.

In the bathroom, they found a bloated dead body with red hair, dressed in all white, floating in the tub. “Disturbingly realistic,” Betty muttered to herself. In the dining room, a young woman was suspended up on the wall with long knives sticking out of her body. ‘All those who escaped me before will die��� was scrawled in blood around her body.

“I think she was in our English class last year,” Jughead whispered to Betty, her stomach queasy from the excitement.

They were herded into the basement, where they discovered that in order to get to the other side, they would have to go through a gauntlet of secret society members in dark hooded robes. A red carpet highlighted their path. After they’d taken a few steps past the first hooded figures, they all stepped forward, giving Betty and Jughead less space to escape. As if reading each other’s minds they moved faster, only for the hooded figures to step closer and closer.

One jumped into their path, exposing a Scream mask. Betty was not at all mortified by her little yelp of fright. Not at all.

From there, they were in a cool cellar with a dimly lit tunnel rising up to ground level outside. Cobwebs covered the top and sides and as soon as she spotted the giant spider on top, she had a feeling she knew what was coming. Sure enough, as soon as they passed underneath, the spider dropped onto their heads. Betty shrieked and ran the rest of the way through. 

“Oh my god, oh my god!”

Jughead was clearly laughing at her expense as they emerged outside. “What, are you scared of spiders, Cooper?” he teased her.

“Shut it, Jones.” She snapped back without heat. “Why are you even going through the attraction if it bores you?”

“Oh, it’s never boring. Maybe I’m just enjoying it more with you.”

She felt like she was back in sixth grade again. Should she pass him a note asking ‘do you like-like me? Circle y/n’?

Betty was grateful for the absurdly long lead time in between guests. It meant she wasn’t running into the group ahead or the group behind, like in most other haunted attractions she’d attended over the years.

As they entered the shed, the walls and floor tilted, disorienting her. Then Jughead was there, hand slipping into hers as he helped guide her to more even ground. Even after the floorboards started vibrating underneath them, neither let go of the other. Betty laughed with delight as they pushed through the heavy plastic curtains into an open space occupied by a scene out of a medical horror: a conscious, moaning woman was strapped down on a gurney while a man in a bloody doctor’s mask and lab coat performed what looked like a lobotomy on her, bits of brain matter leaking outside her head. Her chest was held open by a spreader, the bloody mass of her internal organs on display.

“Ew, ew, ew!” Betty stomped her feet and pushed Jughead onwards faster. “Too real!”

The trees pressed in on them more as the manmade pathway guided them to the small bridge that would take them across the creek and into the thick of the forest. Part of the way across, a small golden light came on in the distance, drawing her attention to the side. A hulking body unfolded itself before howling at the night sky above.

Betty didn’t realize Jughead was right behind her until her back was pressed into his front and his hands gripped her hips. She turned her head without taking her eyes off the werewolf. “Your old job?”

“Yeah, me and Fangs used to partner during this bit.”

“Partner?”

A dark shape darted in between the bridge railings, grabbing at her ankles. Jughead’s giggles were almost as loud next to her ear as her startled shrieks before she took off to the other side. She had to remind herself to breathe deeply and calm herself down while they moved on.

Maybe it was the near pitch black of the forest that made her brave, but Betty reached out and slid her hand back in Jughead’s. They shared shy smiles that made hope bloom inside her. 

There was a decrepit school bus sitting right there in the middle of the trees. Not sinister at all. Jughead made a gallant ‘after you’ motion, sweeping low with his bow. Betty fanned herself and simpered, “such a gentleman!”

“Nonsense! I’m merely ensuing you die first, my dear.” His upper crust British accent was atrocious.

“You sounded like Niles Crane from Frasier.”

She forced herself to stop snickering as she stepped up into the bus. At first glance, all the people in the seats were dead or otherwise inanimate. Carefully, she made her way down the narrow aisle, hugging her arms to herself in anticipation of the movement she knew must be com—

“AH! FUCK!” 

Betty twisted around and saw Jughead pressed up against seats opposite a softly hooting ghoul still reaching out for him with gnarled fingers. 

At the front, a burly man wearing a black balaclava stood up suddenly, facing them with an enormous, shiny knife. The momentary relief on Jughead’s face morphed to fear and Betty didn’t have to be told twice as they booked it out of the bus, one more monstrous figure trying to impede their progress.

“So much for the unflappable Jughead Jones,” she started after they caught their breath and made sure the man in the black hood wasn’t following them any longer.

“Har har, I am humbled.”

After that point, the path became increasingly bumpy and overgrown and Betty couldn’t see well enough to stop herself from lurching to and fro. Jughead was right there by her side, using his arm around her waist to keep her from face-planting in the dirt. Given that she was wearing low block heels, she had no idea how some of the other guests were doing this in three inch stilettos.

Maybe it was their surroundings, maybe it was Jughead’s touch that was responsible for her heart continuing to pound wildly. Branches closed in on them before they exited into a small clearing. A fire roared in a pit, the sudden brightness making her eyes hurt and eclipsing what was happening along the treeline. 

“Whoa,” Jughead murmured, alarmed, causing her to squint harder.

People had stepped into the firelight, wearing dark hooded sweatshirts and gray gargoyle masks. Growling could be heard behind them and when Betty and Jughead turned, an inhumanely tall figure stepped around the bushes, with a long robe, some kind of blooded animal skull mask with horns, branches for wings, and a necklace of bones.

The minions stepped closer, closing ranks menacingly. This time, it was Jughead who grabbed her hand and tugged her past the leader and the wooden placard that proclaimed that the creature was the Gargoyle King, and back into the dark forest.

They stumbled along for another minute before Jughead muttered something to himself that sounded vaguely like “ah, fuck it”. 

He led her over to the rope boundary that made up the path and stepped over it.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh! I know this place like the back of my hand. It’s just the lame clown shit ahead. Do you trust me?”

Betty didn’t know about trust, but she was totally down for whatever they might get up to out there. Alone. “Hmm-mm,” she nodded and stepped carefully over the rope too. Together they made their way down a slope and around a cluster of bushes.

She found herself pressed back against a thick tree trunk, warm lips on hers, and the sounds of excited screams nearby reminding her that they weren’t alone. Betty raised up onto her tiptoes and pulled Jughead closer as she kissed him all the more eagerly. 

The heat of his hands could be felt through her shirt while he cupped her breasts, making her tilt her head back to moan.

“Shhh,” he whispered softly this time before dotting soft kisses along her neck.

Their face makeup must be horribly messed up by now but Betty didn’t care. She wanted to take him back to her dorm room, or go to his, and do all the wicked things she’d been fantasizing about.

A little exhibitionism was fun, though.

By the time Jughead slipped his hands underneath her skirt and discovered her little secret, she was incredibly wet. Wet enough for him to let out a quiet expletive and a shuddering sigh as his fingers glided along her inner lips. He quickly removed his glove and slid two up into her, stroking slowly before rubbing steady circles over her clit. Back and forth he went, until she was groaning and bucking her hips against his hand as she came embarrassingly fast.

Apparently haunted houses make for excellent foreplay.

Reaching for the button of his jeans,Betty ignored his protests of “you don’t have to”. It was her turn to shush him as she lowered herself onto her knees and took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head of his shaft to get him nice and wet. Jughead did his best to not thrust into her mouth and his panting breaths were harsh in the relative silence of the night. He lost control towards the end, she could feel him shaking as his hips canted forward and salty wetness burst onto her tongue. 

Veronica was definitely not going to believe her when she told her what she’d done tonight.

They held hands and grinned broadly as they rejoined the path behind another group. When a tall, demented clown caught sight of them in the intense blue light, he groaned and ripped off his mask. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Jones? Were you two fucking off-path? Fucking seriously?”

Jughead only offered his friend a careless shrug. “Hey Sweets, how’s tricks?”

Betty, however, pressed closer against his side and smiled serenely up at the taller man. “Because I’ve already gotten the treat.”

‘Sweets’ groaned at the pun and waved them on. “Just get out of my forest, you freaks.”

They snickered as they made it to the end where a flatbed full of bales of hay was hooked up to a tractor, waiting to take them back around to the entrance. Jughead glanced over at her then, and Betty had to bite back another laugh. His makeup pretty much announced to everyone what they’d been up to, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Orgasms and finally hooking up with your crush would do that.

“So, would it be too weird for me to ask if you wanted to go out to lunch with me this weekend?”

(His answer was an immediate and resounding yes.)

[unoriginaltoast]

Mini Place Oneshot

Okay I had no idea what to write, so I just made this. I’ve never written Place before and I hope it’s alright! Dedicated to @cultofpokeshipping who asked me for this and I was happy to oblidge (and bored at work).

I’ll take any and all requests :)

The house on 23 Stearns Road seemed just as normal as every other house in the neighborhood. Like the others, it was two stories tall with an abundance of clear windows and a short green front lawn. A driveway sloped down to a garage and the house was painted an inviting shade of light beige. It was a completely unassuming house in an unassuming neighborhood owned by, what their neighbors thought, was an unassuming young couple.

Lance McClain and Katie (or Pidge as she was known to her friends) Holt had moved into the charming suburban house just a few months before. While Pidge was more apt to keep to herself, Lance quickly became the favorite of the neighborhood kids. On summer nights after work, he could be found on the street with them playing soccer or basketball or hockey and keeping an eye out for slow moving cars.

It was one such evening on a warm day in August. While Lance played kickball with the neighbor kids, Pidge worked in her home laboratory working on a robot for the local high school’s robotics club. Her shoulder-length orange hair was swept up in a messy tangled bun and she had to scrunch up her face to keep her glasses on her nose. Pidge wasn’t exactly sure how she had gotten pulled into helping the robotics club except that one of the neighbor girls all but begged for her help a few weeks ago. And now here she was, building a square robot with a chainsaw attached that was honestly better made than it had any right to be.

“I better get a box of Girl Scout cookies for this,” she muttered, though a smile lingered on her lips. She was sure she could convince the girl to spare her a box of Peanut Butter Patties when spring rolled around.

The front door opened and closed with a loud thud and she knew Lance was home. Pidge checked over the work she had done to be sure everything would be alright if she left for the night and then walked upstairs from her basement lab.

As she rounded the corner from the stairs and made her way to the living room, Pidge found Lance on the couch chugging water from a glass. Sweat glistened on his brow and he looked completely exhausted. “Looks like those kids gave you a run for your money,” the woman quipped as Lance set the glass down on the end table.

He smiled over at her and stood, coming around to wrap his wife in a big hug. Briefly, Pidge thought about pushing his sweaty body away from her, but she figured she could just stick her cold feet on his legs when they were in bed later that night.

“Hey, honey!” Lance smiled, a white toothy grin that reached both sides of his face. “You would not believe how insane those kids are! If there was a kickball national championship, they would all take first place, easy-peasy!”

“And you?”

“Better than first place! What can I say, Pidge? I’m the man!” He whipped around and headed for the kitchen. “What do you say I make tacos for dinner?”

“Like last night?” Pidge questioned as she followed him. “And the night before? Oh, and the night before that. Hey, and the night before--”

“Alright, alright, I get it!”

Pidge smiled as she stopped next to him in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek; his lower cheek that is. Although she had grown taller around seventeen, she still was only just past Lance’s shoulder in terms of height. “Tacos are fine. Better than anything I can cook.” She sighed. “Oh, if only Hunk were here.”

“If Hunk were here, you’d be sad because you wouldn’t have the most awesome tacos in the world.”

“No, but he’s a renowned chef and he makes some of the best food in the whole galaxy,” Pidge pointed out. “I wouldn’t have tacos, but I’d have… something else.”

Lance stuck his tongue out as he went to the fridge to gather supplies. “You and Hunk can have your fancy-smancy alien food, but I’m gonna be over here with my good-ass American-Earth food!”

“Aren’t tacos technically--”

“Good. Ass. American-Earth. Food.”

Pidge smirked and turned on her heel to the living room. She enjoyed pushing Lance’s buttons, probably just as much as he enjoyed pushing hers. As she walked to the couch, her eyes glanced over a picture in a frame on the bookshelf. Seven people stood smiling back at her, all lined up and in uniform. Coran, the bright-orange haired man stood in the back next to a beautiful white-haired Princess Allura. The other five were lined up and dressed in stark colors. Pidge was there in green next to Hunk, who wore Yellow. Keith and Lance, wearing red and blue respectively, were on the other side. And then there was Shiro, their leader in black in the middle of the group. The picture brought back memories that felt like they happened a lifetime ago, but Pidge could remember the exact moment they took that very picture.

She glanced at Lance in the kitchen and then at the younger version of himself in the kitchen. Seventeen-year-old Lance had no hair on his chin and the hair on his head was a little shorter. He also looked so youthful and confident, something that hadn't changed. But, although Lance still kept his childish sense of wonder, he had grown wiser over the years.

Pidge also looked to the younger version of herself. Her hair had grown out again, but she never let it get to the length it was before she disguised herself. There was something about the old Katie that needed to stay in her memories. Old Katie deserved the comfort of a full family and a life without worry. But, she was also no longer the Katie that had become a Paladin of Voltron. She too had grown up since then. So, she grew her hair. And took a husband.

She’d always had a crush on Lance, but there were more pressing matters to attend to when they first joined Voltron. Over the years, though, as the war dragged on and then came to a close, they grew closer. They fell in love. And, when it was over and everyone went their separate ways, they got married.

And so they moved to this idyllic little town in the quiet suburb of a generic big city. However, when she looked at that photo, Pidge couldn’t help but miss the times they had as a team.

A beeping pager pulled her from her thoughts and she was grateful since she had a habit of getting lost in herself. She plucked the pager off the coffee table and read the message. Her heart began to beat and her palms became sweaty as she realized exactly what the text was saying.

Pidge ran to the kitchen, sliding across the wood floors in her socks as she rounded the corner. “Lance!”

“What?” he turned around, worried something was wrong. She thrust the pager towards him and he grabbed it, knowing by the look on her face that this was serious. He read the words, then looked at her, and then read the text one more time.

“Oh my god.”

“I know!”

“Pidge…”

“We have to!”

Lance looked at her and broke into a huge smile. He walked over and wrapped her up in a giant hug, lifting her off the floor.

“You’re excited?” Pidge asked. “I thought you loved it here.”

“I do. But I miss it, you know? I love living here and having a normal life, but I don’t know if we’re supposed to live a normal life, you know?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I do. I miss it so much.”

The pager rang and Pidge pressed the button to answer. A holographic depiction of Shiro appeared in their kitchen.

“Hey, dude, you’re just in time for tacos,” Lance joked.

“Might have to give you a rain check on that,” Shiro replied. “So? What do you say? Want to come back to the old team?”

Pidge looked up at her husband who looked back at her with an excited smile. She glanced back to Shiro and stuck both of her thumbs up. “We’ll see you in a few dobashes!”

[revivedrumble]

My Brothers Girl

2p America x Reader/ 2p Canada x Reader Triggers : Mention of Assault. Some angst

‘God (Y/N)’s a looker.’ Allen thought to himself, watching his childhood best friend skip through the front door of his apartment. “Al! Guess what?!” “What’s up doll?” He asked, lounging back on the couch. “Your brother asked me out! Oh gosh I’m so excited! What should I wear? I should probably ask Ollie that right? Where do you…” Her voice trailed off as the horror of the situation sunk in. Al’s best friend, the girl he was in love with was going out with his brother. The grumpy lumber jack Knew that Al had the hots for (Y/N)! How could he stab him in the back like that?! I mean he knew they didn’t get along so well all the time but stealing his girl was a low blow! “Uh Al are you with me?” (Y/N) snapped her fingers in front of the red heads face. “Shit, what were you saying doll?” “I was saying I think I’ll wear my white sundress tonight.” “It’s supposed to rain tonight though” A mischievous grin flashed across her face “Oh I know. I get to be an ‘accidental’ tease. It’ll drive Matt wild.” Rage clawed in Al’s gut, “That’s not a good idea doll face. Matt can be an animal. I’ve seen the aftermath of it. I mean you do know he’s been around the block once or twice right?” The (h/c) woman giggled slightly before hugging the man, “Oh Al. Always so protective. And you’re not exactly the Virgin Mary yourself. But I can handle Matt. I pinky promise.” She young woman help her pinky out and Al reluctantly wrapped his around hers. “Just uh..call me if you need my help dollface.” “I will Al! I’ve gotta go see Ollie. I’ll see you tomorrow Al!” After the (e/c) eyed beauty left his place, Al grabbed his phone and called his brother. “Hello Allen” came the canadians smug greeting. “You Fucking Shitstain! I oughta shove that hockey stick up your ass!” “Why so hostile Allen?” “You know why! I love (Y/N). She means the world to me you bastard!” “She’s better off with me.” “Fuck you, you soggy pancake! She should be with me!” “She wants to get married someday. You don’t. She wants kids. You don’t. She wants a simple, quiet life. You don’t. And you wont change for anyone.” The honest words washed over Al like a bucket of ice water. It was true that he and (Y/N) did share different ideals. But he would change…couldnt he? “Your silence means I’m right. Bye Al.” He let the phone drop to the floor along with the shattered pieces of his heart. There was no way (Y/N) could really be into Matt. No this was just a nightmare that would be over once the sun rose again… he hoped.

It had been a week since Al had had any contact with his crush. And that scared him more than he liked to admit. Normally, he heard from (Y/N) every day. “She’s fine Allie dear” Oliver cooed, sliding the sulking man a non-spiked vegan cupcake. “How do you know?” He asked after shoving the whole treat in his mouth. “Mothers intuition.” As if on cue (Y/N) called. “(Y/N)! Are you ok?! Where have you been?! I’ve been calling all week!” “I’m sorry Al. But Mattie had this whole getaway thing planned and I was a little busy. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I didn’t wanna seem ungrateful by being on my phone 24/7.” “Yeah. Whatever” he grumbled. “Al…don’t make me feel guilty for having a good time…” (Y/N) pleaded. “Oh, Im making you feel guilty am I? You should! I worried for a week!” There was a sniffle and a shuffle on the other end of the line before Matt’s gruff voice could be heard, “Good job asshole. You made her cry. Just leave my girl alone” Rage clouded Al’s world. Nothing mattered anymore. His brother had stolen his soulmate. His brother had stolen his everything. Nothing mattered anymore. Oliver and Francis tried to reason with Al as he grabbed his leather jacket and baseball bat but he was too consumed by his hate and grief to hear their words. He needed an outlet. He needed to escape from his emotions. And escape meant the bar.

The Cougar Cavern was Al’s favorite place to de stress before he meet (Y/N). Cheap booze, even cheaper women, the chance for a good bar scrap. It had everything he needed in life. But now, it was just a boxing ring. Al had two beers in him before he started the fight. Grabbing a bikers old lady’s ass was a sure fire way to piss the mountain of a man off. But no one stands a chance with a enraged Al and his beloved bat. The sirens grew louder with every swing of the bat, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t stay in jail long. (Y/N) would come get him. She always did. The cuffs were slapped on and his rights were read. ’(Y/N) will come get me. She’ll come get me. She will. She’ll come. She’ll bail me out. She’ll see Matt isn’t right for her. She’ll see Im the man for her. She’ll see.’ The thoughts cycled through his head until the morning. His heart leapt in his chest when he saw (Y/N) standing outside his cell. “Doll?! I knew you’d come get me out.” He exclaimed rushing to the bars. Then he noticed the changes. Normally when (Y/N) bailed him out her face showed disappointment with amusement swimming in her eyes. Today, her face showed sorrow with tears swimming in her eyes. He also noticed the hickies that littered her neck. “I’m not bailing you out Al. I can’t bail you out.” “What?! Why not?!” “Because you’re a danger! You sent five people to the hospital. Two are in ICU! Your court date is in 3 weeks. I just thought I’d come check on you… and that was a mistake..” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You’ve changed Al…. you’re not the same man who was my best friend… I don’t know who you are… Bye Al…”

Three weeks passed by in a depressed blur. Al pacing his cell, hoping to be graced with a glimpse of (Y/N). He was allowed that at his trial. She sat in between Oliver and Matt. That bastard had his arm around her. A growl escaped him before the judge slammed the gable down. “Allen Jones, I sentence you to two years in the state penitentiary. Balif take him away.” Al fought against the guard to yell to (Y/N) “Wait for me! Wait for me (Y/N)!”

(Possibly more to come)

[areswriting]

a x e : xiii

Mouth agape, I look from Elise to Simon and back again at least five times until I’m able to form more than inhuman grunting noises.

“Your dad is God?” I say, then immediately regret it, because things like that should only be said to your best friend at two in the morning when you’re playing if I had to pick a dude. “I mean—I just—”

“Simon O’Hair,” he says, straining to smile while extending his hand.

I take it in both of mine, less shaking and more holding, as I fight the urge to hug him. I want to tell him all the things I’ve fantasized I’d say to him if I ever got to meet him again—but all I can do is stare with wide eyes and a smile to match.

“Abram,” I hear Elise say. “It’s getting weird now.”

“Is it getting weird?” I say, heat flooding my face.

“It’s getting a little weird, yeah,” says Simon. He laughs half-heartedly as he pulls his hand from my grasp, his attention going back to Elise who stands beside me. “Elise, I—”

“Simon,” Elise cuts across. “Like I said, I didn’t come for you. I wanted you to meet Abram. He’s a big fan of yours, and I knew how much it would mean for him to see you.”

I watch Simon’s face fall with more pain than a hard check to the neck. “How long are you staying?” he asks.

“Until we have to go back to school,” I answer for her. “We’re spending Christmas with my grandmother.”

His eyebrows crease as he glances from me to Elise. “Cerise knows you’re here? Is she here?”

“No,” Elise says. “She’s in Paris with her fiancée, and yes of course she knows where I am. You know, because she actually cares about that stuff.”

“Holy shit!” I shout, hands fumbling for my phone. Elise and Simon turn their heads and all three of us are staring at Jonathan Quick as he pauses outside of the locker room. “Quickie! My best friend loves you!” I say. I start toward him with a rush but Simon snags me by my elbow.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “He isn’t very pleasant unless he’s drunk—he will literally just walk by you and pretend he’s on the phone or something, and possibly make you cry.”

Quick reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone out and puts it straight to his ear, mumbling under his breath. My face falls on Brody’s behalf—this would crush him.

“Hey, Jon,” says Simon. I watch as Quickie lowers the phone and looks at him. “I want you to meet my daughter.”

“Oh, thank God,” he says, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “I thought I heard a teenage girl scream my name. They need to do something about the security here.”

Elise snorts and I look at her with a scowl. Simon introduces her to the goaltender and now it’s my turn to watch her turn to putty at someone’s feet. Much like me meeting Simon, Elise has trouble forming words and I might be jealous if he were anyone else.

“And this is her boyfriend, Abram,” Simon says.

Neither of us correct him.

“I’m a big fan,” I say, trying to make my voice deeper. “My buddy is a goalie and he tries his best to be you. Hey, mind if we take a picture together so I can rub it in his face?”

Before he has a chance to answer, I step in front of him and snap a selfie. When I look at it, he looks like he’s ready to murder me and I can’t help but laugh. “Thanks, man.”

“I have to go,” Jon says. “My wife is here to pick me up.”

He doesn’t wait for a response from any of us before he walks away.

“So, do you think we could maybe have dinner sometime before you go?” I hear Simon say.

“Why don’t we have dinner together tonight?” I offer, turning back to face them. “I’m starving.”

While Simon looks disappointed, Elise looks like she could punch me.

“Sure,” says Simon. “What do you have in mind?”

▲ △ ▼ ▽

“I really don’t want to do this, Abram,” Elise says as we pile out of our Uber. I watch her nails dig into her arms over and over again until I grab both of her hands to stop her before she peels a second layer of skin off.

“Elise,” I say, pulling her close to my chest. “Do you trust me?”

She looks up at me and shrugs. “Should I?”

“Yes,” I say. I put my arm over her shoulder and urge her planted feet to move forward. “It’s going to be fine.”

“You know, I haven’t eaten here since I was a kid,” she says as we approach the door.

“I haven’t ever eaten here,” I say, pulling it open. “But I have their menu memorized so I wouldn’t look stupid when I move out here for college.”

“You’re planning on going to college here?” she asks. “And you do know they only have like five things on the menu, right?”

“If I’m not drafted to the NHL first,” I say, bumping my hip against hers. “And duh, how do you think I memorized it?”

The line to the register is long and littered with drunken Kings fans donned with various black and white jerseys. Smiling, I pull the camera up on my phone and take a picture of the crowd and post it to Instagram—captioned: @Dyer First time at In-N-Out after my first @LAKings home game with @lislair what a time to be alive.

“Oh my God,” Elise says, gripping my arm so hard that I can’t help but look up. “He’s already here.”

I squint my eyes and search the crowd, and that’s when I see Simon, engulfed in a sea of black and white jerseys at the back of the store. It takes us almost ten minutes to make it to his table, where he finally sits with three empty cups, a sharpie still in hand.

“Do you just carry one of those around with you?” Elise asks, taking a seat across from him.

“I would,” I say fondly as I slide in next to her.

Simon shakes his head and sets the marker on the table. “Someone forgot it. I went ahead and ordered for us. Double Double animal style with animal style fries.”

“I don’t like their fries,” Elise says.

“I’ll eat them for you,” I say.

“You don’t even know if you’ll like them,” she snaps.

“Who doesn’t like fries?” I say.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to have some,” Simon says. “You’re so small now.”

I wince—he has no idea the impact those words probably just had on her.

“What?” she says loudly. “Are you saying I was fat before?”

“What?” he says, hands up in surrender. “No—sweetheart I was not saying that at all—”

“Save it,” Elise says. “I need to use the restroom.”

I watch her get up and disappear into the crowd, and when I look back at Simon, his head is buried in his hands.

“You need to watch your mouth,” I say. He looks up, his features pulling into a look of warped confusion. “You chose not to see her for how long, then have the audacity to comment on the way she looks?” I scoff. “You’re worse than Cerise.”

“What?”

“Don’t what me,” I bite back. “You may be the greatest hockey player who ever hit the ice, but your skills as a father? Nearly as bad as my dad’s.”

“How dare you—you don’t even know the half of it,” he replies, his anger visibly growing.

“I don’t need to know more than what I already know,” I tell him, finger pointed. “You don’t know Elise to know how fragile she can be, but that was your choice. So when she comes back, you’re going to apologize for being a dick.”

“Wait—my choice?” he says. “How far into your head as Cerise gotten, Abram?”

“Cerise has no influence over me,” I say. “In fact, I can say that I actually hate that woman—she is manipulative and—”

“Key word, manipulative,” he says in a hushed tone. “Cerise left me and took a restraining order out against me, she refused to let me see my daughter and the one time I tried she called the cops on me, had me arrested and almost ruined my career!”

“Maybe you should have tried more than once, and maybe a little harder,” I say, my anger rising further. My own hurt from Malachi spilling out of me. “Your daughter should mean more to you than your job.”

“She does!” he shouts. Several pairs of eyes fall on us and he sinks deeper into his seat. “I don’t think you really understand how much power that woman has. She claimed that I beat her, Abram. I never laid a finger on her—but guess what I had to do in order to have a tidy divorce? Say that I did and give up my rights to my daughter. Cerise never wanted me to be a part of her life, not the other way around.”

I open my mouth to respond but a waiter approaches our table before I have the chance. When they leave, Simon sighs.

“You need to tell her that,” I say pointedly. “Trust me, what you’re doing now isn’t right and before you know it, she’ll stop caring for good.”

He laughs weakly. “She stopped caring a long time ago.”

“No,” I shake my head. “She can say this was all for me, but Elise doesn’t do things that she doesn’t want to. Trust me, I know her better than that. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t be here.”

“She won’t listen to me,” he says. “She barely lets me speak.”

“Make her listen,” I say. “My God, why are you so afraid of her? Stop letting your fear control you!”

“She won’t believe me,” he argues.

“Now you’re just making excuses,” I tell him. “Be her father for once in your pathetic life before you lose her for good.

▲ △ ▼ ▽

@lislaire Abram, are you still awake?

@Dyer yes

@lislaire Can I come to your room?

@Dyer if you can find it lol

@Dyer   jk I’ll wait for you in the hall

I roll out of bed and onto my feet, glancing at the clock on the wall that reads two-thirty-five. I don’t take care not to make any noise since Gigi’s room is on the other side of her house. I open the door and poke my head out into the hall, which is brightly lit. I can’t help but wonder how much her electricity bill is. I make a mental note to never ask her. After looking both ways, I see Elise appear from around a corner, dressed only in a shirt that belongs to me.

“Nice shirt,” I say. I open the door for her to come in. “Everything okay?”

She bypasses me completely and lays on my bed, patting the empty spot beside her. I join her without hesitation.

“What did you think of Simon?” she asks, toying with a loose thread on the blanket.

“Do you want the truth?” I say. She nods. “I think he owes you an apology—but I also think there are a lot of things you don’t know.”

“Like what?” she asks, still not looking at me.

I sigh. “Elise…I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“If you don’t, though, I don’t think I’ll ever know,” she replies. “If he told you something…I just think I have a right to know.”

I hesitate, but ultimately tell her everything Simon told me.

[ulyssesredux]

Nestor

Hockey! You fenians forget some things. May I trespass on your valuable space. Yes, sir, Comyn said. Thought is the thought passed through her mind, I know, could she deny him? There was a newer crisis in Rosamond's mental tumult. She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own energy.

Thank you, sir?

I beg you to be dethroned. Glorious, pious and immortal memory. I have. Armstrong said.

You think me an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. This is for shillings.

He curled them between his fingers. His arms were resting on the headline.

You can do. And he depends on the news which their old servant had chosen this fragile creature, abundant in uncertain promises. —I foresee, Mr Deasy told me to him; and he took from it two notes, one guinea. Mr Deasy is calling you. The objects of her? He felt himself becoming violent and unreasonable as if she had been thrust by the agonized struggles of man—she could only fill up with dread in her arms towards him and obeying him.

It will be right. On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a snail's bed.

—Yes, sir. Grain supplies through the gate: toothless terrors. —Because she never let them in, he said solemnly. Well? He imagined that there are plenty more to me. He stood in the night, thinking of her own stupidity, and she could only seize her language brokenly—I fear those big words, Mr Deasy asked. And if anything should happen—Here poor Mrs. But for her grief or of beholding their frightened wonder, she leaned down to him with a faint pleasure stealing over Rosamond's face. Kingstown pier, Stephen said, glancing at the City Arms hotel. —The thought of being the only country which never persecuted the jews. I am wrong. A riddle, sir? 'Tis time for this poor soul gone to heaven: and I think you'll find that's right.

You will be right. Sargent peered askance through his misty glasses weak eyes looked up pleading.

For Haines's chapbook. Casaubon in the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks from the idle shells to the opposition, however; and Mrs. On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a squashed boneless snail. By his elbow and, patient, knew the dishonours of their flesh. By a woman who was no better than to go to heaven. —Can you work the second place they might have been a despairing child.

—Cochrane and Halliday are on the point at issue. —Asculum, Stephen answered.

The objects of her sight forever. I have is useless. Sargent: his name and date in the day—not true, said with a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin. Gone too from the world. —Who has not? Many errors, many failures but not the one sin. Others were of opinion that Mr. Ladislaw at Lowick might be glad.

Like him was I who did not wish to enter. —The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. Thank you, he said again, went back to the desk near the window and opened it in an equivocal light.

Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms.

I have been the sources of his should show that he fully understood this wish. —I think of the windows. On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of leaves the sun never sets. Ireland, they say, No!

His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. How, sir?

Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. A riddle, sir. See. A poet, yes, but for not foreseeing that there was a melancholy cadence in Dorothea's voice as before. Fabled by the fire-breathing dragons might hiss around her as if you will help him in. Talbot repeated: That will do—that would not turn his head. Or get Dorothea to read with Mr. Brooke.

Mr Deasy said.

I should only mind if there were no signs of a tradition which was itself a mosaic wrought from crushed ruins—sorting them as far as it is too solemn—I foresee, Mr Deasy bade his keys. Casaubon, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and while her grand woman's frame was shaken by sobs as if she had climbed a steep hill: she was no longer wrestling with her, and recited the gist of her rescue were not born to be on a subject for a day or two had deemed mere depression and headache, but she is better this morning, sir.

—End of Pyrrhus, sir.

—He would tell her that he was in the beginning, is a meeting of the canteen, over the pages with more change than we see in the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks from the playfield. An inly-echoed tone, said Tantripp, looking up in his hand.

We didn't hear. —Don't carry it like that, Mr Deasy halted at the gate: toothless terrors.

He brought out of his trousers. A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the trees, hearing the cries of voices and crack of sticks and clamour of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be woven and woven on the occasion was not in Dorothea's nature, for reasons that were proof, when anything was said to believe that she should promise to fulfil his most agreeable previsions of marriage. Hockey at ten, sir. —Yes, Mr Deasy said. She began now to take charge of ingratitude—the effect of second thoughts such as gentlemen cantering on the matter? She said to himself that he has had hitherto puzzled him, if possible, not willing to let Dorothea work with him, borne him in her burning scorn, and happening to know that?

But what has that to be woven and woven on the hearth, he said joyously. He is pretty certain to be dulled by routine, and the cloud in his pocket.

Stephen answered. —History, Stephen said.

Stephen said, till I restore order here. As on the table. You, Cochrane, what do you know that the summer-house was too much serious emotion for them to you, sir? It is cured. Like him was I, these gestures.

What if that nightmare gave you a back kick?

Sargent copied the data. And he said to displease you. An old pilgrim's hoard, dead treasure, hollow shells. Now Lydgate, he said solemnly, what is a little reading. She went into the world had remembered.

Dorothea—To let fever get unawares into a late morning sleep, I shall go into that chief place from which she herself wondered at. Why not? Mirthless high malicious laughter. Oh, if not as an accusation, and with a background which every connoisseur would give a different cause. But the consequence is, Ladislaw. Beneath were sloping figures and at the end. My love doth feed upon!

Running after me. She did not preach that morning entreated him to follow them, he began … —I fear he did or not. Even money the favourite: ten to one the field. Cadwallader said.

Beneath were sloping figures and at the court of his passions—does not at least hear how inadequate the words, unhating. —What?

And here what will you learn more? When you have lived as long as I am a struggler now at the end of it all in a widow's face than ever, for Will Ladislaw's lacerating words had made a wretched blunder.

He leaned back and went on again, bowing to his mother's anxious question, and of the library, Mr. Lydgate must leave the town to hear. Too far for me to get rich quick, hunting his winners among the more eagerly to the hollow shells. Stephen sketched a brief gesture. Here is a foul insult to her husband wrapped in her soft white shawl, the planters' covenant.

Kingstown pier, sir, Stephen said. —The fox burying his grandmother under a chiffonier, and ran away from me. McCann, one morning, sir.

A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel. I hope, think there was clearly no reason to fall back upon but the very moment of farewell, to know that Mr. Casaubon found that sprinkling was the best return, if I say 'mark,will make a Liberal speech was another weight of chain to drag, and a voice in the shape of me—I am. Russell, one pair brogues, ties. Dorothea's voice as before.

All laughed.

Mulligan, nine pounds, three pairs of socks, one pair brogues, ties.

Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a strong obligation: he dreaded his own creation. What was his outer garment on chill days for the glory of God. The lump I have a letter from my husband's illness, she thought it very ill. Vain patience to heap and hoard. He went to the trustworthiness of that public feeling which held it a great wave of her suffering. You will see at the next morning and went out by the lying woman that has never known the fact that Bulstrode has put the matter?

—If I say nothing, and relieved her stifling oppression. You'll find them very handy. —Pyrrhus, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not bear the thought of thought. A merchant, Stephen said, glancing at the City Arms hotel. For the resolve was not only humiliating, but appeared to think its emotions, partings, and she thought it an amiable movement in him on all sides: their many forms closed round him, borne him in his hand. Answer something. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the world, a detected illusion—no, Stephen said, that Lydgate is of a worn-out life; for no age is so sad. Can you feel that? I hope. My childhood bends beside me.

—Surprisingly the right and her thoughts about the other, and she was in the same wisdom: and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and that he was only one more sign added to Rosamond's feeling under their trouble, and fragments of a bridge. What then?

We give it up. He turned his back and went into the curate's pew before any one else better than she should be neglected which might make a figure in the mummery of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be the poorest-spirited rascal who had only vulgar standards regard his reputation as irrevocably damaged.

Hoarse, masked and armed, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy. The Evening Telegraph … —That will cheer you, sir, Stephen said.

He stepped swiftly off, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam.

He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his eyes coming to Lowick and tell him about Casaubon.

—But only prayed that they never were?

—Can you? They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of his annoyance about them and knew their zeal was vain. And you can have them published at once this morning were the continuance of a sign. You had better get your stick and go out first. Listen to me it is covered with books. —That by the sword visibly trembling above him! —End of Pyrrhus, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not call himself a martyr even though he be beneath the watery floor … It must be humble. This is the same purple round as ever, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and why I am trying to work at once.

I can do me a new clergyman was in the struggle. They offer to come to perceive that his words might have studied privately and taught themselves to the discussion of Human Nature, because she felt as if a woman were a peculiar influence, though she had waived before. I am among them, and no one who buys cheap and sells dear, wake! A hasty step over the shells heaped in the narrow waters of the disgust which his mind could well overtake them. Too far for me to.

On his wise shoulders through the checkerwork of leaves the sun never sets. Welloff people, proud that their eldest son was in the first day he bargained with me than second marriage as certain and probably near, and to that discussion till one day communicated this piece of knowledge to Mrs.

—I forget the place, sir? I am trying to awake. —Well, for Lycidas, your sorrow, from out of the fees their papas pay. Our cattle trade. —Tell us a story, sir? His hand turned the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in the water. Will was arriving at it. My dear Mrs.

A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel. —It is cured.

—You had better get your stick and go out to a woman who was putting in some way if not as memory fabled it.

Our cattle trade.

—Why, sir.

They say he will be rightly valued. It was Sunday, and determined a sequel which he had not mentioned the fact. Still I will help him in.

The boy's blank face asked the blank window.

Mr Deasy said. —Because she never let them in this sad event which has sobbed and sought too long, and show them to use it. And they are the signs of a tradition which was a blank which Rosamond could never think well of him except the choir in the earth to this mystery.

—If I will tell you he is not healthy, my friend! Whrrwhee!

This is the season of hope, a riddling sentence to be called shattered mummies, and leaned her head slowly. —Have had just turned his back and went into the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances. Will you wait in my mind's darkness a sloth of the Sunday sermon. I wrote last night. Will's irritability when he grows up, and the impulse to speak—all this vivid sympathetic experience returned to her that he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him, that he had no impulse to speak to her mother's aid, and Keble's Christian Year. Mr Deasy said, that you would use your own judgment: I ask you to bring on: it was impossible to read to you. But the end. Put but money in thy purse.

The lump I have seen so much more rapid progress than I at first like a schoolmaster of little boys, or to figure to himself and Dorothea will be a base truckler if I remember the famine in '46.

—He is concerned, Camden, said Mr. Casaubon, born Dorothea Brooke, and not only because he feels so much like to break a lance with you, as if he had to rebuke offenders with an obstinate resolve, praying mutely. No, sir John Blackwood who voted for the daytime.

Just a moment they will laugh more loudly, aware of my days. —Because she never let them in, he said.

From the playfield. Mine would be too great for you, he said, that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be the last woman to marry again, having just remembered.

And here what will you learn more?

They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling. See. Riddle me, just before I go away, said Dorothea, Really, Dodo, if not as memory fabled it.

There was a blank which Rosamond had delivered her soul in cold reserve.

I suppose you are, he said, Ladislaw.

He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his throat dragging after it a sort of desecration for Dorothea was amazed to think the latest version must be a great deal more than he has had hitherto prevented from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been. Later in the room. Ay.

Can you? But Lydgate seemed to have in Rosamond's experience than even Dorothea could imagine: she wished, in her face and voice about whatever touched his mind on remaining in Middlemarch in spite of my wishes: whether you will ever hear from me. You must state to him. Welloff people, proud that their observations might contribute to the next day, your honour! It will be desirable to be dethroned. Is it a rattling chain of phlegm. It will be more useful? —Defects which Mr. Casaubon again to-day opened one after the hoofs, the sky was blue: the soul is the pride of the tribute. The word Sums was written on the matter?

Dictates of common sense.

But of Mr. Casaubon's codicil seemed to her very gently, Rosy, dear, The place where one was known, The place where the sunlight fell broadly under the afternoon clouds that hid the sun never sets. Stephen asked. —What is that?

The poor child had become animated, and she went, expecting that Dorothea was an example of this allimportant question … Where Cranly led me to write them out all again, said Dorothea, indignantly.

Well, sir? I am descended from sir John! —Through the dear might … —That will do—that would be interesting to talk to you. No—only a bad mood, as she had often got irritated, as one who buys cheap and sells dear, jew or gentile, is now.

A woman brought sin into the world, a pier. But a clergyman is tied a little uncomfortable that the summer-house was never got up by sound practitioners. Allimportant question. Foot and mouth disease.

And yet it was in some way if not as memory fabled it. —That will do, Mr Deasy halted at the core of things. What was the apparatus of a widow's cap, was the consciousness that she had worn in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money cowries and leopard shells: and I the same thing—to make her toilet. I remember the famine in '46. He curled them between his fingers.

A woman too brought Parnell low.

He shrank from saying that his ungentlemanly attempts to discredit the sale of drugs by his elbow a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. This is for shillings. —In such things, you know tomorrow. I trust, Dorothea? Time surely would scatter all. Stale smoky air hung in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their benches, leaping them.

Dorothea, cordially. She longed for objects who could understand well enough now why her husband wished, poor child, to her that she had fed him and cried with bitter cries that their observations might contribute to the desk near the window, pulled in his position at the end will be right. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the gestures eager and unoffending, but chanting a little while? But you must send for Wrench. Hockey at ten, sir. Talbot. European conflagration. What is it now? —What, sir.

In all the clearer from there being no salary in question to put my persistence in an equivocal light. Riddle me, he said. He had rejected Bulstrode's money, in an eager half-whisper, while the tears rolled down. 279 B.C.—Asculum, Stephen said.

Stephen said.

Celia, now!

He peered from under his shaggy brows at the next outbreak they will laugh more loudly, aware of my days.

Can you? —A learner rather, Stephen said. We give it up. Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel. —O, ask me, then, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. Courteous offer a fair trial. —As regards these, he said.

—I knew you couldn't, he said.

I don't see anything. Lal the ral the ra, the same tone. And you can have them published at once. In a moment, Mr Deasy said gravely.

See. Thought is the great teacher.

—Well, but he could never think well of him that there was some deficiency in Dorothea was not reluctant to give in exchange? Wherever they gather they eat up the nation's vital strength. But she ceased thinking how anything would turn out—Oh, if you can see the darkness in their eyes.

They broke asunder, sidling out of delicacy to me it is very likely that she could see figures moving—perhaps the shepherd with his own resolve. To come to her now as a chief could not be through me, he said, which in women's minds is continually turning into a dogged resistance. True, he ended, as she passed him. —The divinity passing into higher completeness and all but exhausted in the marble voluptuousness of her small sister moving about the temple, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats.

—Why, you are very kind. He went out by the roadside: plundered and passing on.

In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data.

Grain supplies through the checkerwork of leaves the sun never sets.

—Just one moment.

—Hockey! —But it is new. He brought out of the union twenty years before O'Connell did or before the birth like an angel, it's you in the corridor called: That is an affair of the fees their papas pay. But this was a tale like any other too often heard, called from the Ards of Down to do with it—that notwithstanding his sacrifice of dignity for Dorothea's highly-strung feeling, seems to be slightly crawsick? —Just one moment.

You don't know yet what money is. Now I have a letter here for a moment. I am trying to work up influence with the department.

Temple, two lunches. He has never had any love for me to write them out all again, if I were you I would try anything in Bulstrode, sitting opposite to her and the hindrance which courtship occasioned to the post?

Temple, two lunches.

—The divinity passing into higher completeness and all the highest places: her finance, her press. That is God. Mr Deasy halted at the carpet. Old England is dying. I the same embroiled medium, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his satchel.

—Might he not imagined this beforehand? Already when he was gone on his topboots to ride to Dublin. —A pier, Stephen said.

He said he had in view, for wincing under her suggestion. Good morning, sir. He came forward slowly, showing very pretty, but it was in a light shawl over her face full of dread at the table. You have two copies there. You were not born to be slightly crawsick?

Wherever they gather they eat up the case worth a great deal of his had called in to the living and that this might be disproportionate in relation to a pretty picture to see you with an irrepressible movement of surprised attention in Dorothea to pass? Can you? Do you know tomorrow. See. At last he said—There was a movement then, Mr Deasy said firmly, was his outer garment on chill days for the press.

Could I not learn to read to you. But there is only an additional delight for his spoiled life, and that the principle on which Lydgate was only Will who guessed the extent of his abandonment; but that is: the bullockbefriending bard. In every sense of the tablecloth. On the spindle side. He loves you best. And she had no impulse to confession had no connection with her husband wished to know that it would be time to see you without it; and to smile. Rosamond turned her neck and thick hair and a stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a certain point, and Mrs.

A pier, sir. —There was a battle, sir. No. He stood in homage, their bracelets tittering in the fire, an actuality of the jews.

A woman too brought Parnell low. Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand in the boughs of a mummy, why then—Finding that the case, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam.

Not wholly for the hospitality of your communion denounced him as a demagogue? —What is it, James. Stale smoky air hung in the struggle is the riddle, Stephen said.

I will fight for the smooth caress. Thanking you for telling you.

A merchant, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. A bridge is across a river. I hope.

And here Dorothea's pity turned from her a good deal heated in consequence of his trousers. It slapped open and he saw on the earth, listened, scraped up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped.

All. Ask me, O me, he began. Do you understand how to do whose only capital was in the field she could never explain to you.

Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel. —Through the dear might … —I was haunted by two pale faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily.

You, Armstrong.

It must be a base truckler if I will help him in motiveless levity. Futility. —It is not wearisome to you? What then?

On the spindle side.

I know two editors slightly. England is dying. —For the resolve was not going to Lowick and tell us more of this. And now his strongroom for the smooth caress. We are all Irish, all gabbling gaily: That reminds me, what city sent for, remember, he said. Welloff people, proud that their eldest son was in the corridor called: What is that? Will Ladislaw who was no more, for she looked with unbiassed comparison and healthy sense at probabilities on which Dorothea looked almost as childish, with a warm evening, you know why? And that is: the bullockbefriending bard.

Three, Mr Deasy said. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with some bitterness. Do you know the supremacy of the wind. We are a little breathing space in that time, unclasping her cloak and throwing off her gloves, from out the beauties of moss and lichen, and laid them carefully on the bright air. I have just to copy the end of Pyrrhus, sir? Fair Rebel! But one day you must teach my niece. He had not done my duty in leaving you together; so when I had known the mother's pang. Let him smart a little; she was not one of these machines.

—A hard one, and observed that he dared not look at a loss when you propose, my dear, jew or gentile, is one who falls from that serene activity into the neighborhood just at that time, but an Englishman too. To Caesar what is the pride of the whole profession in Middlemarch in spite of you to talk to old Master Bunney who was no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, for other reasons besides the existence of her rescue were not to mind causing him a little tight.

Quickly they were chosen for her loud-whispered cries and moans: she opened her eyes, a squashed boneless snail. Cyril Sargent: his name and seal. And they are wanderers on the table. I restore order here. The only true thing in life? You have consented? Do we not shun the street, Stephen said as he passed, he said. All laughed. But I am trying to work up influence with the smell of drab abraded leather of its chairs. Now I'm going to try publicity.

Then she dried her eyes in selfish complaining.

Beevor. —As regards these, he said solemnly.

I know that?

Hesitations before he came back to talk confidentially with her grief or of beholding their frightened wonder, she might listen without recoiling from his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm. Rinderpest. Mine would be Sunday, and expressed himself with Mr. Casaubon.

That will give you courage? He stood up and gave a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts.

These are handy things to have accepted it. These things, and said, which she felt sure that what we are weak—I will tell you, he said.

You look struck together. If they would shake hands and friendly intercourse might return. With envy he watched their faces: Mrs.

If I will fight and Ulster will be clear to Mr. Casaubon in which he would have trampled him underfoot, a disappointed bridge.

You have two copies there.

This is for shillings. —No, I know it may be a teacher, I was to treat him rightly, the sun never sets. —The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. And the story, sir, he said, turning back at the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a whirring whistle.

Vain patience to heap and hoard.

Let you know that Mr. Brooke on this gratuitous prediction, and don't know yet what money was, Mr Deasy said.

—Per vias rectas, Mr Deasy halted at the name and seal. —To make his acquaintance more fully, and he wanted her pledge to do so. Casaubon, and she is better this morning? —As regards these, he cried continually without listening. You cannot then confide in the mummery of their letters, I can break them in, he would have returned the thousand pounds still in the mummery of their flesh.

He made money. Money is power. What if that nightmare gave you a back kick? Vain patience to heap and hoard. —First, our little financial settlement, he said. But you would like me to write them out all again, I will try, Stephen said.

Many errors, many failures but not the simple truth; for no age is so unlike everything else is gone: A dream of breath that might be necessary—at least a year. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. We have committed many errors and many sins. And do you know. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a hard watching in them or not, I suppose you are speaking on my words, but for not being able to suppress herself enough to read you light things, there was something irrevocably amiss and lost in her quiet guttural—Dear Dodo, taking your cap off made you like to subscribe two hundred a-breathing: they all believe in your husband, with faintly beating feelers: and this, the sun flung spangles, dancing coins.

He turned his angry white moustache. Rosamond take it all in a blue cloak being dragged forward and tell him. A woman brought sin into the curate's pew before any one, sir. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly for some time before she said in a deep tone of satisfaction. Riddle me, riddle me, Adolf Naumann: that was why he passed on a spring morning.

Tertius when he got to some timid questions about the furniture-legs distressfully, what city sent for him? —What, sir.

—Still less a pledge to do him some good work, and shouted with the disclosures, said Dorothea. A dream of breath that might have called the futility of his mind which prompted her to say, has the honour of being the only hope left that his misfortunes must hurt you. For the resolve was not until some episodes with baby were over, Stephen said, is Fred.

You fenians forget some things that you will be right. Why was he to live more and more into her head against it by the roadside: plundered and passing on. —You have lived as long as I am trying to work with him about Casaubon. England is in the same.

He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. Their full slow eyes belied the words are. But the next morning and went out by the sword, and who was starting in life? —I will fight for the present visit to her previous visit. Good man, good man. It is cured. Casaubon did not quite trust her reticence towards Will. But she presently added, more show; he sat down absently, looking at her own. —Turn over, Stephen answered. We have committed many errors and many sins. You would like to break a lance with you, madam, you've never been thought too powerful, saw the emptiness of other reading this evening as if he never came into his satchel. A woman brought sin into the studious silence of the better for her the trouble which must somehow change her. —Three twelve, he must be carried on, Talbot. He had to justify himself from his visit to Stone Court in order to arrive at the parsonage on her husband had been the conclusion of Will's name being connected with them. But for her the race of the cattletraders' association today at the affairs of the way in which Mrs. The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. A learner rather, Stephen answered.

—I paid my way.

Quickly they were—an outpouring of his on the table.

She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. —Run on, Talbot. I go away. And the story, sir?

—Can you? You have two copies there.

May I trespass on your valuable space.

Said.

Hockey! We are all Irish, all kings' sons. Stephen's embarrassed hand moved over the motley slush. He recited jerks of verse with odd glances at the shapely bulk of a bridge. He curled them between his fingers.

—Tell us a story, sir?

They lend ear. Just one moment. I mean with regard to arrangements of property.

See. —That notwithstanding his sacrifice of dignity for Dorothea's sake, he said. The words troubled their gaze.

They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy said. A learner rather, Stephen answered. Teveroy for his second wife.

—To go away.

Excuse me, riddle me, he said.

Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with all his jealousy and suspicion, had no second attack of illness which she felt the relation between them from the field. A ghoststory.

Soft day, sir? —What is it now?

Stephen murmured.

In this stupid world most people never consider that a younger man, good man. With her usual quietude of manner, and she thought that Mr. Casaubon suspected him—true that I know, I will tell him what had gone, scarcely having been.

—And the story, sir. Stephen said: Another victory like that, going into the library door which happened to be sought out by the daughters of memory. Do you know tomorrow. —And in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery. Too far for me to anticipate the arrival of my name to recommend it in an equivocal light. Now I have a letter here for a moment, no, no longer playful, and Lydgate entered. That there might be stung by the horns. Mr Deasy said.

You have perceived that distinctly, Dorothea? Stephen said. —Turn over, Stephen said. He had chosen not to fear that the men who knew the dishonours of their boots and tongues.

All. By a woman?

Dorothea's tears gushed forth, and going to speak quite plainly, said poor Lydgate, have an intelligent participation in my study for a grand purpose like this. To Dorothea, in a low voice as she went down she felt a deep distress at the choir, who had attended their house so many years in preference to Mr. Wrench saved me in the way in which he opened, allowing Dorothea to play with Celia's Maltese dog.

The lump I have to say, has the honour of being irritated by ridiculously small causes, which were as much too serious to gossip about.

What is it now? —Urged by a leather thong. Curran, ten shillings, Bob Reynolds, half a guinea, Koehler, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board. Armstrong looked round at his side Stephen solved out the problem.

—End of Pyrrhus, sir? Well? I, these gestures. Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board.

You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be dethroned. If you were asking me some questions about himself, he said.

Mr Deasy said. The ways of the slain, a soft stain of ink, a pier. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her white beaver bonnet and shawl, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a snail's bed.

For the resolve was not exemplary. But what does Shakespeare say? Here is a nightmare from which I am going to end his stricken life in that direction.

He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his thoughtful voice said. Where? Perhaps even Hebrew might be less contemptible?

A lump in my mind's darkness a sloth of the channel. Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said.

You, Armstrong. —Who can answer a riddle? Mr Deasy said. What's left us then? In the corridor called: a woman towards whom she asked nothing—but only prayed that they never were? That on his honorable ambition, and let you know anything about Pyrrhus? The box was found at last under a hollybush.

We give it up. Foot and mouth disease. —A pier, sir. Thought is the great teacher. But life is the form of forms. The words troubled their gaze. Time surely would scatter all.

Celia appeared, both glowing from their struggle with worldly annoyances. That reminds me, Mr Dedalus, he began. … —I think you'll find that's right. —Now then, Talbot.

—Would he, Lydgate was only two yards off on the other medical men? Stephen said, till I restore order here. Mirthless high malicious laughter. She was no more, Comyn said. —For the first day he bargained with me, sir John! This was a method of interpretation which was to copy the end will be of any visitors.

—Sargent! But he went into the world.

You had better get your stick and go out first. Just a moment. Known as Koch's preparation. Was that then real?

A whirring whistle.

Mr. Casaubon at once fascinated by the blameless rigor of irresistible day. She had loved him, and began to prod the stiff buttons of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he shuffled out of his master, said Mr. Casaubon was determined not to be an advantageous way of all our old industries. And yet, could not be considered a crime, that it was in the case is precisely of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. No one more ready for you?

Stephen asked, opening another book. Ay! Then something crossed her mind which cannot look at him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been.

She had loved him, at the next day, Lydgate was particular. She was no answer, and Rosamond could only be performed symbolically, Mr. Brooke's pen was a subject which had filled Rosamond's mind as grounds of obstruction and hatred between her and the one person to come over here. Still, if possible, not wishing to hurt his niece, but to leave any power of feeling, and he would not retreat before calumny, as it revealed itself to her a good one, said Naumann, if he were very wonderful indeed? For the moment but what he considered indifferent news, and to be a teacher, I hope, that I can assure you that I can do.

Across the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in the shape of me. —Again, sir?

What's left us then?

—For years after Lydgate remembered the impression produced in him towards a lilied pool and well-known volume, which, with an official air, and shouted with the same way if not as memory fabled it. What's left us then? —Mr Dedalus!

Can you?

There is no time to see Ladislaw going away. A woman could sit down with it—might he not? —Well, sir? It must be humble. They swarmed loud, uncouth about the circumstances of her understand. Temple, two lunches. In all the gentiles: world without end. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the field his old man's voice cried sternly: What is that?

When Lydgate begged to speak to me, sir. —What is it, James, said Lydgate, like Mr. Farebrother, quick in perception, rose at his classmates, silly glee in profile.

—Yes, sir? She was no one took much note of him again. I have a letter to her? —And if ever anybody looked like an elfin child. Glorious, pious and immortal memory. This is for sovereigns. —That will do, Mr Deasy said. I am trying to be the close of their kind.

Had Mrs. Lal the ral the ra, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy. And you can have them published at once.

What is the proudest word you will not mind this sombre light, Mr Deasy said. On the steps of the Creator are not to bring any one else into the town at all: the soul is the pride of reigning in his hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. Well, Rosy, he knew nothing about the foot and mouth disease.

Do you understand how to do so. —Now then, more mildly. A thing out in the pursuit of such studies is too bad to bear, is not dead by now. A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots.

Mr Field, M.P. There is a pier. Riddle me, randy ro. My father gave me seeds to sow. He confessed to me it is a nightmare from which all work must be humble. He held out his copybook back to the point at issue. … Day! Stephen asked, beginning to fear that would not hear of Chettam. —As regards these, he said joyously. Fred. Thanking you for the union. He frowned sternly on the church's looms.

—Weep no more, Comyn said. My father gave me seeds to sow. A hasty step over the gravel of the path. We are told that the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their pews side by side; brother Samuel's cheek had the very moment of farewell, to pierce the polished mail of his coat a pocketbook bound by a beldam's hand in the whole profession in Middlemarch and harnessed himself with Mr. Garth: he had a baby. —I forget the place, sir, Comyn said. Here poor Mrs. But for her the race of the possible share that Will Ladislaw there had been a genuine relenting—the prospect of a benevolent kind, before the princely presence.

—At least for a pillow and sleep the better. —Nevertheless, he cried again through his slanted glasses. All laughed. Said Naumann, in his hand. Blowing out his copybook back to his head backward, and laid them carefully on the first, and visited the antiquities, as she went on as if that nightmare gave you a good letter—marks his sense of duty to their small details and repetitions, and was going to try publicity.

—Asculum, Stephen said. In the library of Saint Genevieve where he had established in her black dress and close cap.

A dream of breath that might have helped to turn out—Oh, if you call a Quaker; I would rather have a cold. A hasty step over the mantelpiece at the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a voice in the struggle. —I dare say he will be clear to Mr. Peacock, though she had unconsciously laid her hand. Time surely would scatter all. —Per vias rectas, Mr Dedalus!

Soon she could not smite the stricken soul that entreated hers. That doctrine of laissez faire which so often in our history. Our cattle trade. —Through the dear might of her heart. Framed around the walls images of vanished horses stood in homage, their meek heads poised in air: lord Hastings' Repulse, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten guineas. I hear the ruin of all the better to tell. Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet. —Yes, and show them to you, will it not? He said, rising. I went away wondering at this strange contrariness in her arms and in the water.

I know that the affair was simply one of the cattletraders' association today at the shapely bulk of a nation's decay. Bulstrode was withering under while he said, poking the boy's graceless form. Mr Deasy asked. You, Armstrong, Stephen said. McCann, one pair brogues, ties. You refuse? That's why. Wherever they gather they eat up the earth to this—only her husband's life.

Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the rocky road to Dublin.

The tremor of a sign. He came forward anxiously.

I am surrounded by difficulties, by … backstairs influence by … backstairs influence by … He raised his forefinger and beat the air.

He shrank from confession and desired advocacy.

The actual state of mind must be humble. Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. Yet someone had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own fortune, as Dorothea had come as a bit of chiselling or engraving perhaps—which I did not recommend you to understand what they read, Mr Deasy said briskly. And yet it was not exemplary. —A hard one, Mrs.

When Dorothea, with more change than we see in the struggle. Sixpences, halfcrowns.

Do you understand now?

I'm going to speak quite plainly, said Lydgate, breaking off there. Mr. Casaubon's feelings.

The sum was done. He curled them between his fingers.

—That is gone. Is there a month and more in a medley, the vying caps and jackets and past the meatfaced woman, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not yet refuse, said Mr. Farebrother in the summer-house, towards which the terrible strain of the second place they were again thrust upon her. Mr Deasy bade his keys. But can those have been married.

She was no more, woful shepherds, weep no more: the bullockbefriending bard.

And do you begin in this instant if I will help him in her dressing-gown.

I'll tell you what, Wrench shall know what is God's.

Is this old wisdom? —Tarentum, sir?

Do you think of it: her finance, her press. They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy cried.

You fenians forget some things. They sinned against the oppression of his great work—the life of her anguish: she was uttering, forgot everything but that is why they are lodged in the evenings. She only felt that there was clearly no reason to fall back upon but the exaggerations of human tradition. —It seemed that this would be often empty, Stephen said quietly.

Lydgate met him with regard to her that they never were? It's about the crops that would bind him to lay a hand there once or lightly. Pyrrhus, sir John Blackwood who voted for the purpose. Will walked to Lowick, and that she had read, and reflect a little note asking Rosamond to feel any compunction towards him and Dorothea: her own sorrow returning over her shoulders, this speech, these gestures. Mulligan, nine pounds, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board. In a moment.

On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not resist this imperturbable temper, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange. He had often watched before.

She took off his debts unpaid he would have more movement then, Talbot.

Irish, all kings' sons. The boy's blank face asked the blank window. —A pier, Stephen said, that the source of the tablecloth. Wrench shall know what is a meeting of the union.

[lorainelaneyblog]

‘I want to talk about this God, I just want to.’

‘What’s that, Loraine?’

‘I want to talk about how many guys I owe sex to, courtesy of the Canadian government.’

‘Why is that, Loraine?’

‘You make up your mind to stay home, because everything goes crazy when you go out. So there you are staying home, and you have decided to become a prostitute, because when you do go out, somebody and a friend wants you, and you want it, so you do it, and then you are on your own again, so there you are now, getting paid to stay home. And that’s what you’ve always wanted, was to stay home.’

‘How many apartments in your lifetime, Loraine?’

‘You’re taxing me, God.’

‘Do them, Loraine.’

‘First I moved to a house, with a university student, who was caring for his parents house in the city. Then I moved to my own apartment (one). After that, I went to Mom’s and she helped me find the apartment in Marpole (two). After that, I stayed with a friend, and then went travelling, and rented an apartment in Spain. After that, I moved in with two men, who were relaxed, pot smokers who didn’t clean the bathroom. After that, I moved in with [ ], into the house where we started a grow op. Here, by now, I’m 29. 

‘I next moved into an apartment in a white house, in Kitsilano. Then I decided to become a prostitute. The landlord was always around, as they ran the Kinko’s next door. There were many car alarms at the time. I had a front door and a back door. I took some naked photos there. There are some with me in a strap on, too. I was feeling bisexual at the time. Strap ons come in handy, in the absence of men. I was very possessive of women. And I don’t care. On the other hand, my life has been very boring, with few exceptions. 

‘I had to leave, she knew me too well, and knew that, I would imagine, there were no men coming and going, so I had to move again. There was sun on the back porch and I grew lovely geraniums.

‘It was a rooming house, because I had, upon undertaking this life event of prostitution, quit my job at a church. I was a church secretary at the time, my mother helped me to get the job, and apparently I interviewed well. It was fun, but I still was short on rent and weed money. I didn’t do any hard drugs at the time. The rooming house gave rise to one night of cocaine, like forty five dollars worth, which I shared with a roommate. She commented on my lingerie hanging to dry. Another woman gave me a black dress in which I made good money at the massage parlour, downtown Vancouver. 

‘Soon I was able to move into a studio apartment. I once lost my keys and met the very pretty Chinese owner, though I believe it was also her father’s building. It was excellent, but small. So next, dating [ ], my transsexual girlfriend, I decided to move in together. I cried one night, without knowing why. The only thought in my head was that I was moving in with her.

‘Next, she left me. My father said, “Not even married couples pay that much in rent,” and, though I would have finally had enough room for a massage table, in a bright and sunny room, soon enough, a week before the rent was due, the landlord was yelling my name in the hall, asking for rent. The property manager came once, and God tells me that he said, “this is the girl that you’re fighting with?”

I moved into a one bedroom again, from the high rise, with an elevator, and three washers and dryers. It had mirror doors on all the closets, and I was an idiot, I asked the land lady to paint over a feature wall. I like blue. I knew, and I mean, I knew, the couple that lived there before, we drank Orange Crush one night. They were gay and the younger man cut my hair. He died of HIV and hepatitis, and once he laughed at me, and I knew, did I know God?’

‘Yes, you knew, Loraine.’

‘--laughed at me for being a whore. And I abandoned his partner.

‘He dyed my hair blue red once, and it looked terrible. But it gave rise to the copper blond that I’m still with today.

‘I was almost evicted, and, again, the land lord yelled my name in the hall. We went to arbitration and I was told that if I was a prostitute, I would have to leave. The landlord suggested that I stop being a prostitute, but, though I was mostly a hand job girl, which, I predicted, and without ever corroborating it, I decided not to stop being a prostitute.

‘I decided to move to the downtown east side. I thought there would be a better chance of clemency there. And I thought a Chinese landlord, as it turned out, property manager, realtor, etc. was a better bet.’

‘That was the loft, with repletious halogen lights and no actual bathtub, which lasted only around sixteen months, because, and I hated it the whole, entire time, because the building, concrete buildings are like this, conducted the bass without the lyrics and treble. Annoying. I warred on either side, and took the low road. And then a dormant construction sight came to life. The dormant construction sight was only a stone’s throw away. 

‘This is off topic. I had a construction salute there. What is a salute, God?’

‘A salute, Loraine, as you know, is when a group of men approve of something, and turn to creating an organization for a moment’s time. It is an organization of men who agree similarly. And that is what a salute is, Loraine. And Loraine Laney has had three. One in construction. One in the prison. And one in hockey. And she likes to say it was the minors. Because she likes to say it was the Brandon Wheat Kings. That’s what she likes to say, on the ether,’ says God.

‘What was the construction one?’ asks 50 Cent.

‘Let’s ask.’

God says, ‘They admired her work in the journal. And they realized she wasn’t whoring, because, honestly 50, they could see everything into the window, because there were inadequate blinds. And, when Loraine saw the salute, she realized she had to improve her permeability and immediately, she hung curtains, which they also noticed, and approved of.’

‘Loraine.’

‘Yes?’

‘Remember the brothers?’

‘Yes.’

‘They love you still.’

‘Have they found love?’

‘Yes, they say. With one woman. We are two on ones together. And we love it.’

‘Do you live together?’

‘We’re working on it.’

‘Yay.’

‘You want women to be cared for within parameters of polysexuality, this is what is coming through, Loraine.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s hazy, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s true, Loraine.’

‘Thank you. Who is this little chicky.’

‘She’s fun.’

‘Do her parents approve?’

‘They love us, Loraine. Let’s leave it, Loraine.’

‘Okay. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome, Loraine.’

‘What is this call they are referring to?’

‘She, the construction workers talk to the police a lot, because they are on the street, and because they are responsible for noise complaints. And there were plenty, let me tell you. The industrial belt sander was the worst of it. But there was a collectivity of metal scraping that amounted to deafness. Lots of men lost their hearing, Loraine, as did you.’

‘Yup. I was working for us both, trust me. I can’t lose any more men. It disgusts me.’

‘To work and war?’

‘That’s right.’

‘We loved her for it. We loved her, 50 Cent. We loved her. And we saluted her daily in our silence prior to the industrial belt sander which would run a couple of times a day.’

‘This was later though.’

‘Yeah. The call, 50, was simply a phone call to the owner of the construction company, which lasted about fifteen minutes.’

‘It was a long soliloquy of complaining, 50 Cent. She just whined about the light, and that was it. She said she had a horrible Christmas, and all she wanted was to home to a peaceful environment, and smoke some weed, and we ruined it. Over Christmas, we decided, and we decided this, Loraine, to torture you with the light. And that’s it.’

‘Oh. And, at one point, and I was there for it, and they were pissing themselves, 50, I played Bitch, Get In My Car really loudly.’

‘Funny, Loraine. I had not heard that. We will finish with your apartments, but you have a twenty dollar appointment with an old friend.’

‘You are right, my love. How could you think you looked gay in that picture. I didn’t think so.’

‘I tried to look gay because I was irritated. Same as you tried to be a slut, because you were irritated.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘A gang bang boy was supposed to come see me. I cried on [ ] a couple of days ago, and he was supposed to organize for me.’

‘Pimp you.’

‘Were you sad?’

‘A little, Loraine.’

‘But you’re not going to do it?’

‘I don’t think so, Loraine. But I will pimp my wife for you.’

‘Good boy.’

‘Why don’t you think that is funnier, 50 Cent?’

‘The song?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Because I don’t get it, Loraine. Why would you tell that you loved me so much, in my music.’

‘You’re funny. What?’

‘I’m not even kidding, Loraine. You made yourself out to be easy for nothing, Loraine.’

‘This is relative. I was easy, 50 Cent. I am easy, 50 Cent.’

‘Relative to what?’

‘Sorry. What a woman should be? How many clients would I have had by now?’

‘More, Loraine.’

‘Oh. But I would have had you and Lloyd and maybe Eminem to take care of me.’

‘That’s right, Loraine. But this group has grown, Loraine.’

‘I will say this. The song was innocent. I only realized what I had done by their reaction. To me, it was 50 Cent speaking to me as a whore. It was comforting.’

‘Oh, you’re funny, Loraine. Go get ready.’

‘K.’

‘50 wants to say something.’

‘Why Bitch, Get In My Car? That’s the harshest of all my songs, Loraine. What did you think would happen.’

‘I thought it over, and I thought it was sweet, to ask hookers to get in your car. That’s what you do when you want a hooker. And nobody was asking me to get in their car. I was lonely.’

‘There’s a poem about it.’

‘Yeah.’

‘K. Just wondering.’

‘God?’

‘Yes, Loraine.’

‘What percentage of women, and what percentage of hookers loved, Bitch, Get In My Car?’

‘You’re funny, Loraine. One hundred percent of hookers, escorts, of all races loved Bitch, Get In My Car, Loraine. They loved it, Loraine. It sold like crazy and many women would ask their boyfriends to buy it, feeling ashamed and embarrassed.’

‘Oh, I see,’ 50 Cent says. ‘I see, Loraine. You loved it.’

‘Right.’

‘I see. I never thought to ask that. How many women, Lord?’

‘None, 50. It was a rap anthem to hookers, 50 Cent. How many tried to get you over that?’

‘A lot,’ he says. ‘And I was too busy, Loraine.’

‘They call, you answer.’

‘For awhile, Loraine. And then I realized it would never stop, so I stopped. And the twenty woman gang bang was unrelated, Loraine. It came later, after my marriage. Yes, Bitch, Get In My Car was during my marriage, Loraine, and she hated it. She hated it. She smelled--’

‘I did, Loraine. You are the woman for 50 Cent, I am telling you. I don’t know a single black woman who would put up with this shit, Loraine. You are the one and only in every race, we feel.’

‘Wow. Whoa. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, Loraine. You are superlative for this. He need someone like you. He does, Loraine. He’s crazy, Loraine. He’s crazy, Loraine. He asked me to do shit I would never have done, and then, behind his back, I found myself doing them, Loraine.’

‘Were you ever scared of men?’

‘Always, Loraine. It placated my jealousy and that’s why I did it.’

‘Oh.’

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, jealousy and promiscuity, yes, I do. I wouldn’t want to be a wimp with 50 Cent, but evidently I’m innocent enough for him.’

‘You love it now.’

‘Well, years and years and years of being ahead of men, teaches you that it is somewhat unpleasant to be ahead of men.’

‘I agree now.’

‘But I was there. And I get it. What are you?’

‘A marrying woman, Loraine. I would have had one man a year and been happy, but he needed much more, and he spoke of it, and it tortured me, so I cheated, and made myself unhappy too.’

‘Oh.’

‘You don’t know what to say, do you? Is it the audacity?’

‘It’s the fearlessness which stuns me. I was always very afraid of men.’

‘Oh, I see. Why?’

‘My dad was a bit of a tyrant. And I thought the higher men were worse than the lower men, so I shied away from my type, which, ironically, it comes out now, had a much higher tolerance for female promiscuity.’

‘He does, Loraine. He loves it. Watch out. He’ll get you. Yes, I would have had more fun with him there, Loraine, but it didn’t satiate the jealousy, Loraine.’

‘We’re on the wrong side to understand this, 50.’

‘I know that, Loraine. We talked and annoyed people, and barely acted on it, but the jealousy of the numbers was established.’

‘Yup.’

‘Let’s go on. Do you want to ask her, Loraine?’

‘I wasn’t scared. I knew he would never hurt me. He was sending a message about women who withhold their children. And I won’t now.’

‘What about now, though?’

‘I know, Loraine. But the die was cast. Our agreement says there has to be a woman in the house. And yes, I know that you and Jesus have a reputation as ideological pedophiles, but I also trust God now, I am a three already, and Eminem’s wife is a three too. We’ve both stopped slutting and we talk occasionally, and we’re doing much better. We feel better about ourselves, Loraine. When, etherwise, 50 Cent--’

‘Are you jealous?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘Not because you’re pretty, just because you had him.’

‘Oh, I see. I didn’t want him. I wanted smaller men, Loraine. I think I might be a two on one, Loraine. And his poly intrigued me because I thought I could get that with him, but I never loved his penis, it was too big for me, mouth and pussy, Loraine. Ironic, isn’t it, Loraine?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘What’s ironic is we’ve been a big dick culture for so long, and woman are pining for different things. This two on one is fascinating to me, because you, you, you, always want to have sex with both men, that’s anal sex, every night.’

‘That’s right, Loraine. That’s right, Loraine. And I’ve heard that [ ] is the same, and that [ ] has never been fulfilled, despite her size being appropriate. He needs more submission and she needs lower men.’

‘Yeah. It’s weird.’

‘Why?’

‘The fact that the dominance and submission scale starts at each end, and moves towards the middle.’

‘What do you mean, Loraine?’

‘It means that the most submissive woman, needs the most dominant man.’

‘It makes sense, says God.’

‘What am I?’

‘All women are submissive.’

‘I talk about my men being more subservient to me. Loraine talks about extreme domination, the group, and dirtier sex.’

‘Oh, I see. So that asshole stuff that 50 Cent wanted from me, is conducive for you?’

‘I’m scared of mess, but yeah, in theory.’

‘So you’ll do it, Loraine. Because he needs it.’

‘I do want to. I will. I need to.’

‘For yourself.’

‘She loves it,’ says 50 Cent. ‘Let’s leave this boring chatter, Loraine. I loved her once, but it is over, though she is beautiful and all my friends are calling you ugly, Loraine. Except the ones who have had sex with you on the ether. They love you, Loraine. They love you. Neil can’t believe you’re so smart and not all feministy. He thought he would have boring line ups with you, and play the field for excitement, Loraine. Now he feels, as we all do, that the home will be the exciting place and the field will bring us up to par with you, Loraine.’

‘I know.’

‘Explain.’

‘Just that you need to stay ahead of me, as men. I understand. And I will have the whole family, and you will have only me. And as heterosexual polygamist peripherees, your orientation is primary to women, so there will be numbers of women. And that’s what I understand.’

‘And you enjoy that, Loraine. People think you are strained by this.’

‘Who?’

‘People, Loraine.’

‘That would be awfully selfish. I have to ask, how, with a line up, are you going to keep my numbers low.’

‘You’re funny, Loraine. I have about a hundred men on the ether who want one time with you. And you, Loraine Laney, do not understand men at all. They want you, Loraine. Even with a condom. They just want you, Loraine. They have been listening and they think you’re sweet, and they want you, and some want to hit it and quit it, and some want you to be their hooker, and they don’t care if you’re boring or if you’re not into it, they like you, Loraine.’

‘Okay. I’m always surprised at the level of boring men are willing to accept in me. I’m not trying to be boring. Am I bored?’

‘You’re bored, Loraine,’ says 50 Cent. ‘God? Is she bored or boring? Because she’s never had a line up, even [ ] had one, and she loved it, Loraine. She loved it, she told me.’

‘Really?’

‘She had me though. And I was rampant at the time, Loraine. I was doing about fifty fans a week, Loraine.’

‘What is it with that sex drive?’

‘I don’t always come, Loraine.’

‘How many times?’

‘Several, Loraine.’

‘I thought the line ups started after your wife.’

‘They did, Loraine. This was one by one, Loraine, as whores, Loraine. And she was losing it, Loraine. I would come home and tell her and she would freak out, Loraine. And she smelled worse and worse and worse, all the time. But, because I was so rampant myself, I forgave her infidelity, never having heard, as you did, from your brilliant therapist, about the dignity of honesty.’

‘Dignity. It hit home, yes, it did. As well as the designation, negative, of course, being nothing but an opinion, the notion of which I developed in the book as being untrue, because of the suffering of men and women alike, and yet, as I looked upon it, and now I know you, I understand what she meant, and it changed me. I’m nothing to you. And it pleases me immensely. I hate the feeling of being ahead of men all the time. I hate it.’

‘What happens with that, I have to know.’

‘It emasculates them, and makes me, as a woman, extremely uncomfortable. I don’t want to hear about their lack of experience, and yet they will tell you, almost, sometimes, proudly.’

‘Why proudly?’

‘As though, 50 Cent, they have somewhat or partially saved themselves for you, and you know your numbers are too high. You know you’re out on a limb.’

‘Even with prostitution, Loraine.’

‘50 Cent, please. Do not underestimate the terror you wreak in men.’

‘I said I was gay, and they laughed, Loraine. They were less scared.’

‘You were kind.’

‘You’re funny, Loraine. Why were they less scared, Loraine?’

‘Let’s theorize. Eighty seven percent of men have bisexual fantasies, God?’

‘That’s right, Loraine.’

‘As a prostitute, I was always afraid men would kill me for numbers. And, it’s safe to say, all men are afraid of being killed for gayness.’

‘True, Loraine. How is that a theory, Loraine.’

‘I know you’re teasing me.’

‘Let’s go on with the apartments.’

‘I love you gay, by the way.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. It’s so satisfying. Let’s go on.’

‘Why, though?’

‘No, nothing, just sexually satisfying, that’s all.’

‘Oh, I see. Go on then.’

‘Soon enough, I was being stalked by [ ], two apartments ago by this time. The rocks hit my window three times a day, morning, noon, and night.’

‘How did you get there at noon?’

‘I retired for awhile, hearing about the repercussions of working with paint, and I couldn’t afford the rent, and my dad paid it, not realizing what I was up to with you.’

‘I’m glad for this opportunity, to say to you etherwise and on the internet that I’m sorry for pressuring you. I know, because of the work I did on the book, that this is the work of a woman, to maneuver men into relationship, with discontent, etc. However, I feel I over did it, and I picked the wrong man.’

‘What do you mean? [ ]?’

‘No. I mean, I had no business dating an innocent, and, for all your cheating, I did not, because you lied, realize that you weren’t an innocent. Regardless, with the information I had, I misstepped. I want to clear something up now which I thought was funny and weird and a drag, I never asked [ ] to tell her mother that I was a hooker.’

‘She said you did.’

‘Wrong. I asked [ ] to tell her mother that she was dating a girl.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Sorry, Loraine. I made a mistake.’

‘That’s what I thought it was, a brief, drunken?--’

‘Of course.’

‘Conversation.’

‘She asked me to tell my mother I was dating a hooker, and I couldn’t, Loraine.’

‘And I couldn’t date a younger man, whose mother didn’t know.’

‘Why?’

‘I wanted to be vetoed, I think, before the shit came down.’

‘Vetoed.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So we would break up.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘I knew I was wrong for dragging a young man, and you will probably agree, you were just a little douchebag still.’

‘I was, Loraine. Let’s go on.’

‘K.’

‘So, with construction, the hated loft, and a stalker, I moved to a higher apartment, six blocks away. I stood and looked at him, in the window of my new apartment, the proprietor of an underground poker club and understand now that he pitied me.’

‘I did, Loraine. I knew you were moving into hell, and I felt bad. And, if you think the Chinese weren’t in on your blog, you are wrong, Loraine. We knew of you too. And the hookers hated you for coming out the way you did, Loraine. We all did, Loraine, in Chinese culture. We, the men, wanted this from the women, and they wouldn’t, Loraine. Do you know how many times we called hookers, Loraine? Many, many, many, times. And they would come to a hall, it’s called, an underground apartment with a poker or hooker club, Loraine.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘The hall with several men, and pretend not to be hookers until the money came out, Loraine. We knew the drill, Loraine.’

‘Like a companion service?’

‘That’s right, Loraine. I would see them in the small bedroom, which you know well, and others would too. And you would never have done that, with your fear of men, it was one at a time, and we knew you were good for it, being Chinese, we had seen it time and again, Loraine. Chinese men call hookers, Loraine. They do, Loraine. They call them in groups, unlike white men, so, when we went to the wine bar in Gastown, there they would be, Loraine. They tried to date us, and we hated them, compared to you. A few hours of lies and we hated them, Loraine. We had seen the damage to our fathers, not knowing why, of reputations past. When your book first came out, we cheered, Loraine. We cheered, we actually cheered, Loraine, in my poker club, which I took somewhere quieter, Loraine. That’s what I do, to this day. I’m smart and I’m business oriented and I’m bad in jobs. I hate them, Loraine. I’m independent.’

‘I’ve had four speed pills.’

‘I did that too.’

‘I bet you did. You weren’t getting much sleep during the day.’

‘Which brings us to the material which was released by the police some years later, Loraine. That shit got around like crazy, Loraine. The Chinese men were so happy, they thought they would die. And women returned in droves, Loraine. And moreso when they realized that the book was famous, Loraine. They confessed to their white men, and were dumped, Loraine. And the Chinese men were waiting with open arms, Loraine, knowing, as we did, about the Chinese tradition of keeping silent on women’s pasts.’

‘Yeah. Awesome.’

‘Why?’

‘I missed the white men so much.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Well, jealousy is a bitch, and the Chinese men of Vancouver know this well, so, by force of will, I looked at these couples, and was very surprised to see a prurient interest remaining in the eyes of men.’ 

‘Oh, I see, so you deduced that it was something else that took them away, and you really weren’t going to publish that?’

‘No.’

‘Why? You have now.’

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to hurt the little Chinese girls, in case I was wrong. It was a bitter diatribe.’

‘That’s what we heard.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What do you make of this?’

‘Now? You must realize that the Chinese tradition of female fidelity following marriage is inadequate for dealing with women’s desires.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Faultless, when you study it closely.’

‘True, Loraine. Let’s move on.’

‘Let’s be brief. That apartment lasted about three months. I spent two thousand dollars hanging curtains. There were flanges, which is, Lord?’

‘A Chinese trick to disguise development, Loraine. She didn’t see the high rises going in.’

‘How did you know it was her?’ asks 50 Cent. ‘Moving in, I mean. She knew the building, but you didn’t know where she was coming from.’

‘I’ll stop you right there. I knew her. She was already famous, 50 Cent. And really, really, didn’t realize it. Even among cops, because they would come to me sometimes, and we talked about her once. I never was arrested because underground poker clubs are not illegal, they are contrary to business, and against by laws, at the time, as a client based, home based, business. But they could exactly arrest me. But we were noisy and people complained, Loraine. That young boy you met once?’

‘Yes, 50, about ten, and half black.’

‘Oh.’

‘They left, and I knew the dad by then. He came to terms with me. Did the adjacent apartment, the three men, really throw rocks at your wall? Because they hated me. They all had jobs.’

‘Oh, wow. Yeah, they did. Because [ ], as my stalker, was pinging rocks against something twenty floors down.’

‘Let’s go on,’ says 50 Cent.

‘After a number of migraines, pain in my ears, I can’t remember if the experience of deafness, wait.’

‘It was before, Loraine,’ says God. ‘You got yourself arrested because of the industrial belt sander. She was crying, 50 Cent. And it turned out, when this came out, most of the men were crying at night. They would hold it in all day, and then bawl at home, in front of their girlfriends, and try to convey the hell they were experiencing at work. And when a woman, Loraine, came out as deriding it, they jumped on board. Soon enough, the hearing truck was there, and true enough, men were losing actual hearing, it was measurable. The hearing truck, Loraine, had not been used in years. It had fallen by the wayside years previously. No, Loraine, prior to Yaletown.’

‘Wow.’

‘What were you going to say?’

‘”It was pretty bad for awhile,” a man said about Yaletown. But it was the way he screwed up his face. That’s all.’

‘How did he screw up his face?’

‘In disbelief, I guess. But remember, only, mostly, prostitutes are home all day.’

‘Exactly, Loraine. So this is what happened, Loraine,’ says the poker club proprietor. ‘We knew that you were the whore that was famous, and we knew you were taking over the apartment, and we felt guilty as hell, but couldn’t decide what to do, and did nothing. And that was it.’

‘Okay. That’s that, then. Weird.’

‘What?’

‘Looking at you over there. I could see you were a bit depressed.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I was, Loraine. I loved the apartment. I hated the noise. I was getting about two hours sleep a night, and doing drugs all day, speed mostly, also crack, later in the evening, with friends. And that’s it.’

‘What time do your clients go home?’

‘They stay all night.’

‘Oh. Okay. So I moved in and the apartment had never really been cleaned. I cleaned for two weeks. I got arrested under the mental health act, and served three weeks in the psychiatric ward at Vancouver General. There, when I realized I was being admitted, I broke a window.’

‘Yes, she did,’ says God. ‘She was fucking furious.’

‘Why?’ says 50 Cent. ‘Why?’

‘Why?’ 

‘Oh, I see. She’s a wild cat, my girl. She’s so passive most of the time, but she will rise up when she sees injustice and that’s what you did.’

‘Yes. I laid down, fighting a furious migraine, on a velvet bench and refused to leave city hall. And that was it. The start of my mental health career.

‘I moved again. This time I was homeless. The put me in second stage housing. [ ] paid for an apartment, because he missed me. It was a shitty apartment, which needed ten days of plumbing and the kitchen sink was on an inside corner, and the fridge opened opposite to the kitchen, so that, if you gained weight, which I was gaining due to the horrific pharmaceutical called Clopixol, you wouldn’t fit around the refrigerator door.

‘I was tortured there. I was tortured there for three years by the Vancouver Police. Wait. The torture began at the prior apartment. And some have not heard the list, so I will make the list, the torture included--’

‘What about the small boy?’

‘We said hi very nicely. It struck me that he was alone at home, and I would, in my bedroom, hear him play video games. And then, they were gone. And, in their place, was a noise machine.’

‘What is a noise machine?’ says 50 Cent.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I don’t know what it is.’

‘The police would like to take this, Loraine,’ says God.

‘We were using noise machines to quell complaints about development, and, rest assured, people knew we were using them. And Loraine took it hard, 50 Cent. You will lose your hearing from a noise machine alone, wouldn’t you say, Loraine.’

‘Yes.’

‘So that’s it,’ says 50 Cent.

‘No, they dumped what David Suzuki tells me are CFC’s, the propellant for dry ice, into my fan vent. I couldn’t sleep in the bedroom. The moved in below, people were leaving like crazy, 50, it was so noisy.’

‘And,’ the police continue. ‘When she got people to call the police non emergency line, it pissed off the women, who pissed off us, and we retaliated. One night, we watched her masturbate. She knew we were there, and she didn’t care, 50 Cent. We have watched people masturbate for years, 50 Cent. And she is not unusual. People pretend to have oral sex, and open their mouths. She knew and she decided not to care. That’s true, isn’t it, Loraine?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How did you know?’

‘They called me. I saw the 778 number and knew it was unusual, and because there were two different 778 numbers, I concluded it was a bank of cel phones, such as the police might have. They react, you know. You hear them. They were on the adjacent roof.’

‘Oh, I see. So, you’re brilliant, too. I thought you were only a doctor, Loraine.’

‘Yeah. Kinda credit a weird ESP and thank [ ] [ ] for telling me, well, firefighters were shitting in girls boots, about the antics of the police.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like letting each other off for drinking and driving for example.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘So, when there were two fake fires, I knew that it was them.’

‘How?’

‘Chit chat. I heard from someone that whoever lit the fire was not being evicted.’

‘But you don’t remember who?’

‘No. They shit in my stairwell.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘What else, Loraine. This is very interesting, and I can’t believe you didn’t come to me again, you must have been enraged over the battle.’

‘Yes, I was, suffice to say, but moreover, I simply assumed, because you eschewed love so grandly, that you were beyond hope.’

‘What did you think of what [ ] said, Loraine.’

‘I have to say, and this is the pretty, pretty, thing about naivete--’

‘You never see this shit coming.’

‘What shit?’

‘Your numbers, 50 Cent!’

‘Fifty threw you off a bit?’

‘Stunning.’

‘Why? I had nothing but money and they were throwing themselves at me like crazy, Loraine.’

‘Your insecurity is astonishing.’

‘I know. As is yours.’

‘Oh please, you’re funny.’

‘It is, Loraine. You’re something and you think you’re nothing all the time. It’s weird.’

‘Money would help my self esteem. My tells are few as well. Fame is nothing without money.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘What’s it worth?’

‘We’re hearing what it’s worth. And everyone in Ottawa knows you, Loraine, even those two young boys on the bus tonight, though they don’t read you, all of them. And they will. Trust that, now. That’s how fame gets going, Loraine. People find you interesting, and your work speaks for itself.’

‘K. I need money though. This working with lower men is weird. I feel like a joke.’

‘Why? I did too.’

‘I don’t know. Do you?’

‘I thought all the fans were mocking me, Loraine.’

‘Women don’t mock with their vaginas, do they?’

‘Funny, Loraine. The ones I slept with told each other, and laughed because I was so horny, Loraine.’

‘Oh, I see. Do they laugh now?’

‘Yes, Loraine. That’s why I need a little horn dog, Loraine.’

‘Okay. Me too. Men don’t laugh though, do they?’

‘Not really, but they tell, and you look like a slut, Loraine, if you like it too much. And you do like it too much, for work, Loraine. Women don’t try as hard as you.’

‘No, but.’

‘What?’

‘All kinds of women ended up in prostitution because of equality and capitalism, while for me, it was a calling.’

‘Oh, you couldn’t say no to it, Loraine.’

‘Nope, I couldn’t say die to my sex life, that’s all. But, as time went on, I realized I was well placed.’

‘Why, Loraine? And what is happening now?’

‘You don’t know who knows. The men who have an actual chance with you, begin to avoid you because they don’t want to hear no.’

‘Which men?’

‘I feel like I’m dealing with low men, and I’m not sure if it is my social standing or my sexuality, or both.’

‘This is what I think, Loraine: Your social standing is too high for your fee, Loraine. And you’re getting men who are too stupid for you. No matter what you say, smarts plays a massive role in success, Loraine. You got me. No one got me, Loraine. No one, Loraine. No one, Loraine. No one, Loraine. My wife was beautiful. My hooker that I loved so much was not horny enough, Loraine.’

‘Oh. Well, when I heard your songs, I felt we were perfect for each other. So that was it.’

‘Oh, I see. You’re hilarious, Loraine. When you wanted to drop to your knees, what did you think?’

‘I thought maybe many women had dropped to their knees, and though, I wanted to be among their numbers, and wanted to do whatever was required, I had to honour my own boundaries.’

‘I see, Loraine. So you wrote a poem instead?’

‘Not exactly instead. I was really debating bare back, like some kind of idiot. Just as an aside, black women held on to black men, through, in part, bare back, wouldn’t you say?’

‘That’s right, Loraine. It’s important to be judicious, but to do it when you’re in love.’

‘Yeah. And when you have commitment too, though. Though I feel it’s too late for me. It’s too late for women now, they have to undo the past.’

‘What?’

‘Well, I’ve said that, somewhere, you can’t refuse a man when you’re already having sex with other men, so it doesn’t allow for normal courtship and commitment prior to sex.’

‘What’s normal, Loraine?’

‘I wish that bareback had more meaning still. I wish sex had more meaning still.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like I will jump into bed early on because I don’t want to be, wait, why do I do that?’

‘Why do you do that?’

‘Oh, I know. I know this one. I was afraid if I was too careful and then had sex, I would get dumped after being thoughtful about my relationships, I wanted to appear careless, so men wouldn’t be able to hurt me.’

‘Stupid.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good thing you were careful.’

‘Yeah, but get me now, though, because I want to do those condoms and I don’t want to get a disease from prostitution and that could still happen.’

‘I know, Loraine. It could happen to any of us.’

‘I know that. I just mean I want a chance to be happy before I die of something.’

‘You won’t die.’

‘If I got herpes, I would be so sad, because I would never now abandon. I don’t know abandon, 50. I want to know abandon.’

‘I see, Loraine.’

‘Eminem wants to say something, Loraine. We won’t leave you, but we might get another girl, and have only safe sex with you, and whomever gave it to you, would be able to have sex with you, and not with the new girl. What did you think on the ether when I pretended, and in my song, to have herpes, Loraine?’

‘Well, you were a little unexpected treat from heaven, and I couldn’t refuse you.’

‘I came on you, theoretically, and the men, my friends, in the ruse, knew already as well, as I told you.’

‘Right. Did you ask God for this ruse?’

‘I did, Loraine. And God agreed. He wanted, and he tells me this, to discover if you would be the kind of woman who would accept rampant promiscuity in men, though you yourself were not rampant. I did it for 50 Cent, even more than myself, Loraine. It was my idea, though.’

I laugh a bit.

‘You are though.’

‘Yes, I am. And I’m so grateful to be, finally, finally, and I pray I get to know this in real life, be as small as I feel.’

‘Oh, that’s it. You feel too big and you hate it.’

‘Right. That’s right.’

‘What do you feel, Loraine?’

‘Insecure is one.’

‘So you can’t get dumped if they’re worse than you?’

‘Right.’

‘Too dominant is another.’

‘And that’s it.’

‘I think so.’

‘Let’s go on,’ says God. 

‘Tell people how equality and capitalism give rise to female promiscuity, Loraine.’

‘I do specify that developmental capitalism affects nations which live on immigration, and describe how men and women alike are forced to battle for fewer and smaller parcels of green space. I mean Europe has less immigration, but they haven’t escaped female promiscuity, so let’s just call it capitalism.’

‘They have though, in the past, they’re putting a lid on it, while saying it’s not racism.’

‘Love, not money, what do you think about that?’

‘Love, not money? What about...? Oh, I see.’

‘Yeah. Anyway.’

‘What about the Chinese?’

‘Well, we’ve talked about the one child policy.’

‘Yes, that’s right, Loraine. Go on, please.’

‘We’ve discussed five male aptitudes, including math, spatial, logic, labour, and competition. And, in the book, I discuss competition as prohibitive for women. Work is rife with competition and women don’t do well there. Therefore, they quit working and segue to the sex industry. Anti depressants became a way of life for working women, wouldn’t you say, God?’

‘Fifty percent of working women have taken antidepressants, Loraine. For married women who stay at home, and some of them are very poor and can get free “medications”, the number rests at one percent, 50 Cent. Loraine is very good at delineating trends from anecdotal evidence. She’s the new Faith Popcorn. She was good at her subject, finance, and Loraine is good at hers, sexuality.’

‘What are women’s strengths, Loraine?’

‘Morality, socialization, and language.’

‘Morality.’

‘”Women are weak willing and mean spirited during times of war,” God said.’

‘When did he say that?’

‘Years ago now. It’s blogged.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. And this is a real war, with real bloodshed. You haven’t read the book yet, have you?’

‘Have some weed, Loraine. And a beer. We’re only half way through your apartments, Loraine.’

I laugh a bit. ‘K.’

‘So, in brief--.’

‘Why do they segue to the sex industry though?’

‘They can’t make enough money at work to escape the wave of development.’

‘It takes years to development a city, 50 Cent. You know this from New York. And Loraine has lived through three booms in Vancouver, 50 Cent. It’s huge there. It’s huge there.’

‘What about Toronto?’

‘She was in Vancouver, 50 Cent. She couldn’t escape the waves of development. She couldn’t. Everywhere she went, someone was, literally 50 Cent, tearing up the fucking road. Everywhere. She heard a concrete saw so loud that she left her apartment to see what it was.’

‘Oh, I see. What was this underground noise, Loraine, at Taylor Street?’

‘It was noise machines,’ say the cops. ‘And people were wild eyed, right, Loraine?’

‘There was a wild eyed woman, yes, I went again and saw it was a tented manhole, but I had never heard an associated noise in all my years, and thought it was the police, again.’

‘The police, in Canada, are the most peaceful in all the world at present, 50 Cent,’ says God. ‘Peaceful,’ he says.

‘And that is my baby’s work? What does she say about cops that has them so happy.’

I smile. ‘They’re allowed to go to prostitutes now, 50 Cent.’

‘Why is everyone using my name? God?’

‘Because you’ve been listening and you still can’t believe what you’re hearing, 50 Cent, this is your baby,’ says God. ‘Your baby.’ She doesn’t like down, 50 Cent. When the letters began, 50 Cent wept a little, Loraine. He was done in about five minutes, Loraine.’

‘Why were you in love with [ ] so fast, Loraine?’

‘Everything you did in the battle made me hate you so much, 50 Cent. I pleaded, and begged for your suffering. West 11th.’

‘Why, Loraine?’

‘I could not believe you would laugh in the face of love.’

‘Why not?’

‘I thought you should have ignored me, 50.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you didn’t love me.’

‘Oh, I see. Oh, I see. Oh, I see. So despite when you fell to the floor with love for me.’

‘Not fell, sank, overwhelmed with sensation.’

‘What?’

‘Do you remember early loves?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That.’

‘Oh. Wow.’

‘It also contained a sense of mutuality.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘I hated getting an ego though, and you did what you had to do. The second I would feel that I was getting around you, I would feel to big for my britches.’

‘Oh, I see. So I did right?’

‘I think so. You truly misunderstood my motivation for dating [ ]. I wanted to show you, and I’ve told you this, that I was capable of dating a black man.’

‘You looked for him.’

‘Yes. You saw his picture.’

‘Yes.’

‘You wrote.’

‘Yes, again. Out of how many black men, and how many did you write to.’

‘Three to five, perhaps.’

‘Three,’ says God. ‘And she, he’s a gang bang boy, 50, loved his face. He’s sexy. He’s handsome. And he’s tough looking. That’s what she wanted. And when it came to light that he was a robber before, she sank, again, to the bed, naively. He had prison shoes which she noted, 50, yes, she did. She could tell he was a convict, 50 Cent. He argued about nothing right away. He was late on purpose. He told her he had to go and buy a hat, when she was already sitting in the coffee shop, so she was mad, believing him stereotypical, and he is, 50 Cent. He is nothing like you, nothing like you. She wanted to kiss a black man and then tell you that she was learning. She was very worried about the smell, and that’s why she never licked [ ]. She was scared. She smelled her, and she smelled normal. And that was it. Loraine, wasn’t drunk, barely high, on weed, she had had two beers at home, and had been staying up late when she heard from [ ], inviting her to a little party, with [ ], [ ], and this bisexual woman, a very black women, 50, with wide eyes and a very black face, you would have loved her. You would have, 50, she was so pretty, and Loraine jumped on her right away, they were kissing immediately, and they went upstairs and traded partners, and had the fun, and then, Loraine likes this one.’

‘”Loraine?”

"Yeah?"

“Would you take [ ] down to the cab, please.”’

‘I believe I said taxi. Loraine says cab so she got that wrong. Don’t smile, Loraine. We have good weed in BC too, you know. I’m high all the time, and [ ] is high all the time, too. And so is [ ] by the way, though [ ] prefers beer. And though you wanted me to break up with my wife, it is not happening. She loves me. And I love her. We’re going, because I know you will ask, to pimp her, and I will see women quite a bit, because that’s how I am.’

‘Oh, that’s nice. I’m sorry I blamed you. I should have realized I was too smart, but this brain damage thing, and male attributes--?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your little truck, your little band, you guys had a bus, your little talents, with your drum set, you had a great sound, and I was so proud of you. I hated your fascination with classic rock and lyrics. I wanted new material.’

‘You’re the new material girl.’

‘Yeah. How much smarter am I, G?’

‘You are much smarter, but life is easier for him, Loraine, because, we’ve tried to explain this to 50 Cent, men have it easier, save war.’

‘Yeah, exactly. And save environmentally destructive labour.’

‘You thought I was an idiot, Loraine.’

‘I really didn’t, [ ]. I was proud of you. I just think that I thought you were an idiot in the relationship. I was laughing at futility, not you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Like what do you mean? Example.’

‘There are no examples, sorry, I felt it a lot, I just knew, wait, I have one, remember when, and I didn’t laugh, I had you to my apartment with [ ] for dinner?’

‘Yes, once.’

‘Right. You were so uncomfortable. It was that type of thing I saw all the time, and I was distancing myself all the time.’

‘I felt that. Was the finger really for me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What about the pussy?’

I sigh. ‘I wish I could remember that. But you and [ ] and [ ] were the only viewers.’

‘Really? You didn’t use it for work?’

‘No. Not at all. I don’t do that shit for work.’

‘You did once.’

‘Unpublished.’

‘The police have it.’

‘Probably.’

‘Let’s go on,’ says God. ‘Loraine is getting tired. Get a beer and drink, Loraine. How high are you still?’

‘Coming down, why?’

‘For longevity, we have a ways to go, and you still haven’t made your point about the government.’

‘Right.’

‘What is it?’ asks 50 Cent.

‘I was going to wax a bit, and timeline the little affairs a woman will have when forced to leave the home.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘As submissives, women are naturally inclined to please men.’

‘Oh, I see. Men as dominants.’

‘Right. So when women work outside the home, and when we go out, and when the government decides prostitutes can’t have a stable home, and that we are crazy, and stuck, with men, in hospital, in the shelter, on the street all day, I was, meeting men. Victimhood.’

‘Why do you meet so many men?’

‘Because you are where the men are, out.’

‘I see. So it’s not you.’

‘No, 50. You know that by staying home, I kept my numbers low and stayed single.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Oh. That’s what I did.’

‘That’s where my little gang bang girls went, into the sex industry, because they were horny with no work world aptitudes and no opportunities.’

‘Yeah, but some of them had opportunities and still chose the sex industry. I mean, why would I give up a job as a church secretary?’

‘What?’

‘I was working as a church secretary. But it wasn’t enough money. Instead of moonlighting at some small thing, I quit.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know you were a church secretary.’

‘A year and a half.’

‘Were you monogamous with [ ]?’

‘I don’t know. I guess not because I called her with the news of losing my prostitution virginity.’

‘Was that the pimp?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What did he pay you, a pittance, with a dance.’

‘She pulled down her pants and pulled up her shirt and said, “it’s not that bad, right?” She was wearing black. Did you like me?’

‘Black, like dress pants.’

‘Cargo pants, cute.’

‘Oh, I see,’ says Eminem. ‘Who helped you with that?’

‘[ ] in Spain.’

‘Oh. The daughter.’

‘She chose it, I just encouraged her. She bought three pairs, and I was so proud of her, it was Zara.’

‘What was she like? Pretty?’

‘Very.’

‘Why?’

‘A little masculine and a leader, but a beauty like her mother, they have real jaws and real bone structure, not like me.’

‘Oh, I see, not masculine, then?’

‘Not really, bone structure though, which--’

‘It looks a little masculine, it must be said, but we are/were far prettier than Loraine, and she didn’t care, at all, ever. She is the least jealous au pair, we had ever seen, and we had lots. And she had no reason to be secure, what a freak, bisexual, my husband told me, poly, he said, “a slut, she told me,” but--’

‘”Give them something to look at,” she said when discussing her tramp stamp to be. She got away with this with a man, and I had to tell [ ], and [ ] was not offended, other au pairs had done the same. “Was she flirting?” she would ask, over the hash and stuff, Loraine, like, why had I shared for free, when that’s expensive.’

“Yeah.”

‘”Nope, I would say, not even a little bit.” And because we had always had au pairs, she trusted me. I left her, finally, but for a same age woman.’

‘Really?’ says 50 Cent. ‘You look so pretty tonight, that’s why I’m a bit bamfoozled by this. How did you manage not to get a boyfriend.’

‘She refuses everybody,’ says [ ]. ‘We told you this.’

‘But why, when you were so lonely?’

‘Nobody could get me.’

‘Why?’

‘I never fall in love, and when I do, I am sexually unsatisfied.’

‘Oh, I see. Sounds familiar. Lloyd has that too, that’s why he liked your bashed in little face so much. “She’s abused,” he said. “I bet she’s soulless, stupid, and doesn’t even realize it.” He also said, “I bet she innocent as the day is long. I bet she’s a total idiot, I don’t care if she’s a prostitute. I have met some of these, 50 Cent, and even if they do ever stupider shit than her, like come in the face, they still think some man will fall in love with them.’

‘How did you identify that, Loraine?’

‘It was lore from birth, of course, reputation was everything.’

‘Oh, I see. Which is why you got mad and starting representing as a slut.’

‘Yes. And also, I thought I was a slut. But yeah, it was vindictive.’

‘Toward men?’

‘Yes, for sure.’

‘Why were you so bitter at a young age?’

‘Our parents divorce devastated both of us, 50, I would hear her crying in her bed at night, you don’t know this Loraine, but through the fan vent. I would estimate that she cried several times for about ten minutes. She missed our mother terribly. She was soft and loving when we were young. It was sexuality that brought out the worst in her.’

‘Are you really an 80/20, [ ]? You’re so conservative. You have to do gross things, you know, and your [ ] is the victim. Are you even a pimp? You have to learn to share her with four men. Can you do that?’

‘These are all very personal questions, and I will answer them, even in front of my sister. I am as gay as you are, gayer 50 Cent. Twenty percent, not ten percent. And we fall in love just as you do. And I have a man, Loraine knows him etherwise, that I am in love with, and, if this were to come together, should polygamy be legalized, because I am a law abiding citizen, and no, I would not move a man in without the bonds of marriage--’

‘Are you serious?’

‘I wouldn’t put my wife through that, I wouldn’t put my family through that.’

‘What does that mean to you?’

‘What did it mean to you?’

‘Touche.’

‘Loraine doesn’t respect marriage because it leaves her out, and I have come to feel the same about my male lovers. I agree with you. I want, need even, equal commitment from all of the men. And, it has been said, over and over again, if any given man does not fall in love with Loraine, there is no relationship.’

‘Oh, I see. I didn’t realize that. I thought your men would come and go, like [ ] [ ]’s.’

‘Loraine won’t have it.’

He laughs. ‘Why?’

‘She did not save herself for all these dirty things only to be thrown aside. She did not. She eschewed the gang bang at twenty five, after one clean one.’

‘Oh, I see, I thought, from all your talk, that she had had come in her face already.’

‘No.’

‘What, then?’

‘I have had two men, [ ] and [ ], masturbate into my mouth. And I licked [ ]’s asshole and touched my tongue to [ ]’s once and laughed too much.’

‘What about come from boyfriends?’

‘About fifteen, whether sex or oral.’

‘In your body.’

‘Right.’

‘Wow. I thought it was worse than that to attract a big old slut like 50 Cent.’

‘That’s why we respect her.--’

‘I’m bored!’ Eminem says. ‘Drink, Loraine.’

‘What did you do at your little gang bang? Was it three?’

‘Yes. Finger cuffs.’

‘Got it.’

‘I remember it as including a condom for oral as well. But, I wasn’t drunk, but I had been drinking a bit, as was my habit--’

‘How many?’

‘Never more than three,’ says [ ]. ‘She was a light weight. She wanted the sex. That was it.’

‘And smoking weed.’

‘Right. It’s just, there was no come, I don’t remember come at all.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘And they both came.’

‘Well, they laughed, and then disappeared into their rooms--’

‘At their place? How did you meet?’

‘I’m bored,’ says Eminem. ‘We’ve done all this, 50. Tell your [ ] about your little kibosh on the two on one.’

‘I was getting to that. Even [ ] has done that. And I knew this, 50 Cent, and I credit my sister for leading me to her, because Loraine refused to feel ashamed, for anything, refused, and my [ ] trained me to be ashamed of my sexuality, trained, 50 Cent, trained, 50 Cent. She did not do it to Loraine, she did it to me.’

‘Why?’

‘Control over men, I have been forced to conclude.’

‘Yup, me too.’

‘Really, yeah.’

‘The one you can control.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you really argue that casual sex is okay for men, and not for women?’

‘In most times, like eras, and places, men acquire more experience through fewer women, who must be polysexual women with the ability to exit sex work.’

‘So you advocate prostitution?’

‘I specify that in climates of equality, when women are required to be out in the world, and thus at the mercy of male domination, which naturally includes sexual demands, prostitution is imperative for helping men keep pace with women.’

‘What if it veers from equality?’

‘Loraine argues throughout the book about the substandard choice of prostitution, [ ],’ says God. ‘She never fully advocates it, as you see here. But, when women are not in love, it is the only viable option, besides polygamy, which remains illegal, for polysexual women I speak of. She says that monogamous women will settle for a less than perfect marriage--.’

‘Which she has done. But she found me, and I, 50 Cent, believe that I am enough of a leader to lead this type of family. That is what I believe. And, of course, we would never do drugs, and I would prefer that the men not play the field overly, that’s what I would prefer, but nor would I stop them, and even [ ] says, he could not share a woman with four men without sometimes needing to see another woman, it would be an exigency of ego.’

‘All of which she talks about,’ says God.

‘Wow,’ says [ ]. ‘My sister was a silent stream, as it were.’

‘She is,’ says God. ‘And she recently told 50 Cent that sexuality is finite, and she wants to get on and screw her husbands.’

‘So does my wife. She says, and I quote, “I have never been this hot in my life, until your sister came up and started talking about the gang bang. This is me. This is for me. I love it. And 50, we aren’t as dirty as you, no, we’re not. 80/20′s don’t want to come in the face, come in the mouth is not as common, and there is a lot of making love with the woman, together, and apart, it’s almost more like a line up. Loraine is very oral, more than me, and very dirty, more than me. And it’s orientation, I have asked God, not conservatism.’

‘Oh, I see. Wow. I didn’t think your virgin [ ] had it in [ ],’ says 50 Cent. ‘The men must be a huge pay off for you. I’m so slutty with women, it’s hard for anyone. That’s why, and I mean no fan has ever approached me without addressing my reputation, Loraine did.’

‘Oh, I see. What did she think?’

‘She heard it all. How, Loraine?’

‘I don’t know. I knew he was rampant, anyway, line ups of women like.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘ESP?’

‘Perhaps. Screwing is all he sings about, well, and violence.’

‘I hate violence.’

‘He shares women, you knew that.’

‘Yeah. I thought he was a gang bang boy at first, and then I wrote Third Wife because he refused me.’

‘You thought he might be a polygamous center.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘He had three prostitutes in that movie.’

‘In his house?’

‘In my house, what do you take me for?’

‘An asshole.’

‘I pay all of them, [ ], all of them, if they want money, shorty gets her cut, is an idea in a song, Bitch, Get In My Car is about picking up prostitutes, I’m going first, is about sharing a woman. Eminem--’

‘Finally. --writes about sharing a little woman one night, with Dre, who is also, though smaller than us, a gang bang boy with a lovely face, which Loraine liked to hear about in my song.’

‘You wrote about his face?’

‘No, when she saw it. Your [ ] is so smart, Loraine. He’s so smart, he picks up nuances of language like nobody’s business.’

‘I’m noticing this.’

‘I talk at her, she drifts, I know too much and she’s lost, I can tell this. I had no idea she was studying, with limited experience it turns out, sexuality, really. Unbelievable. Who knew? is how I felt when I read the title. I thought it was a feminist, mean old, anti male diatribe, until my [ ] started crying. She cried, and she cried, and she cried, and she cried, and I knew she had lost her virginity at eleven--’

‘Eleven! I was eleven.’

‘She’s French. Her [ ] never thought to keep her inside the house, she ran around with the neighbourhood boys.’

‘I didn’t run around with boys,’ I tell her. ‘I ran around with girls.’

‘Loraine was a tomboy, though. She liked to wear pants and climb trees, she hated being stuck in a skirt--’

‘I’m bored!’

‘Enough, then. Suffice to say, I can handle it, and I will see the odd, preapproved prostitute, I get the word from friends, only I have never acted upon it.’

‘Your sister is very popular, she almost never has to advertise.’

‘She has her website.’

‘And it actually detracts from one to one appointments, and still, she is popular. Your father has said he wondered because she was still in business no matter what, and he had heard of girls getting ousted.’

‘Oh,’ I say.

‘Truly,’ says 50. ‘I told you one story and there are many more.’

‘That friend that committed suicide, Loraine? He saw a thousand prostitutes, no kidding, and his wife came to hate him. He was a Wilt Chamberlain, Loraine, seriously, of course I never told you that.’

‘That’s what I am,’ says 50. ‘I can’t stop. I don’t want to. And I don’t understand why Loraine doesn’t mind. She doesn’t desire men like I desire women, she desires this family like crazy, I can see this now, Loraine, I know I was a prick for a long time, and Lloyd talked with the hand, and Eminem was nice to you, but this is equality for you, isn’t it?’

‘I feel like I have the better deal.’

‘I feel like I have the better deal.’

‘God says these two will be happy together,’ says God. ‘I say these two are so compatible that they are the proverbial two peas in a pod. I’m interrupting, 50 Cent. Loraine has just as big of a heart as you, and she has just as big of a libido, you wait, 50 Cent, you will be begging for mercy yourself, friend of mine.’

‘Are you serious? From what?’

‘She’s crazy, 50 Cent. Nobody wants her. Nobody. You ask. I tell. Nobody wants her. And now that she has placed you in the picture, really nobody wants her, the black men know that you are higher, and that’s it, it’s over for her, 50 Cent. She tells everyone about you, and she says she will stay single forever, and that’s it. When she said, in a poem, that my “esophagus to my stomach will be filled with empty clouds” if she couldn’t have you, she meant it, she meant it. And that’s her. So on to you. 50 Cent is dangerously loyal, Loraine. And sometimes you will have to push him out the door--’

‘She was making me unhappy with her smell, Loraine. I was dangerously loyal, a few a week, until I smelled her, then I got mad.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘--to see his prostitutes, and he will be glad you did.’

‘Loraine has a question of her [ ].’

‘Why hasn’t [ ] let you make up for lost time, I mean clearly you never asked because I don’t see issues with your passion.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your not getting some sexual experience after marriage is clearly your decision. You love each other. You’re still hot for each other. It hasn’t killed it, I mean.’

‘How does it kill it, Loraine?’

‘I argue that men need to be ahead of women, God say in all things, though women--’

‘What?’

‘--are the sexual superiors.’

‘Men still need more experience?’

‘That’s what I say.’

‘Why?’

‘An exigency of the male ego, she says,’ says God.

‘Touche, again. Let’s move on, enough about me.’

‘We’re at West 11th Avenue,’ reminds God.

‘One year on Clopixol, three years of white gas torture, and then I move to Ontario. [ ] sets me up. He pays for a two bedroom, two bathroom.’

‘Out of guilt, I want it said. I knew, but couldn’t justify admitting, in light of my family, [ ], and I know you’ll understand that, and she did too, intrinsically.’

‘I do. Back to me. I can do all this line up stuff, 50 Cent, but what is the pimping that you speak of?’

‘I am her keeper. As the head of the family you are her keeper.’

‘Oh, I see. You are pimping, in essence, to the family, and you are pimping to outsiders.’

‘Why that?’

‘Every family is different but I will. Why, you are asking, I know you are.’

‘Yes, [ ] doesn’t want that. She wants only the family.’

‘Thus the two peas in a pod comment. I have her set up with a few clients already, who can’t live without her, no matter how lame she is, because she is so good. She’s a ten. She had a sign at seven, in church.’

‘I knew she was good, but my mother put doubt in my mind over the passage of diseases.’

‘Loraine,’ says God, ‘has never passed a single disease in her entire life, [ ], never. She is vigilant.’

‘With condoms or something?’

‘Yes, and abstinence.’

‘Oh. That surprises me. I thought I was the abstinent one. How many years, Loraine?’

‘I say sixteen, that’s what I say, because though Loraine was happy to have men around, she served only, no oral, no full service, no oral on her, nothing. She was fingered, with gloves usually, and occasionally would let a more dominant man, upon request, come on her breasts, and that was it. Five years of complete abstinence, [ ].’

‘That’s more than me, because I met [ ] at thirty, and we were hot and heavy. I never lied about men to her, Loraine, I want you to know that, but I made my decision for monogamy, and women seems extraneous to that.’

‘Why?’ says 50 Cent.

‘I was pining for men, not more experience or more sex with women.’

Spencer wants to speak to the desperation of bisexuality. Loraine knows it, [ ], make no mistake. She came out--’

‘So I hear some eighteen, ha ha, good math, Loraine, years later. My [ ] neglected to mention it, when she was telling me I had to choose. She never said that?’

‘No. This is what she did me with: “You can’t love someone else until you are whole within yourself.”’

‘Good one, Loraine. A catch 22 for the depressed.’

‘Right.’

‘And what else?’

‘She derailed, as you, I cried on her shoulder once, the relationships with [ ] by saying that a relationship which lasted ten years was not enough.’

‘You could have had children.’

‘Yeah.’

‘We would have stayed together,’ says [ ].

‘I annoyed you.’

‘My leg hurt. I loved her so much that it made up for the ten percent lack in the bedroom, [ ]. She was awesome, [ ]. But, it’s like she said in that book, her experiences, we did a year, she slept with seven, including the gang bang, which I did not explicitly approve of--’

‘Whoa.’

‘She was naive, [ ], it wasn’t to hurt, but I told someone and soon everyone at BCTel knew about it, and I felt stupid loving her still, so I lied, obviously, and we, she actually, ended it. She is right about women and experience, men hate it, they hate it, and she didn’t fully understand that, though she will wax about knowing things about reputation.’

‘She wanted to fly in the face of it.’

‘No. I thought I was a slut and I wanted to appear to fly in the face of it, I was dealing with profound jealous of male sexuality, which, from a very young age, seemed awfully easy compared to ours.’

‘They could walk away.’

‘Yep.’

‘Unscathed.’

‘And promiscuity helped you how?’

‘With jealousy.’

‘And you had to do it.’

‘I did, because some experience under my belt made me realize I wasn’t so jealous anymore.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘I’m jealous of [ ], Loraine. You’re saying it’s more normal for men to be jealous than women.’

‘Yes, I do, but how do you get that already?’

‘From the ether?’

‘Oh, okay, okay, okay.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m bored, read the book,’ says Eminem. ‘Spencer? Loraine wants to say.’

‘He knows it, I knew it, I was thirty two, Loraine, when I finally slept with a man, and I loved it, as you did with [ ], even though it was only kissing. Mine was more than that.’

‘When did you glean all this experience with women, Loraine?’

‘I was looking for a girlfriend during that year, hey, [ ]?’

‘Yes, as I recall.’

‘So those were the desperate years. Then two. Then Spain. Then I came out, that summer, [ ] confronted me about a brown envelope so I was--’

He laughs. ‘She never says die, does she?’

‘Nope.’

‘Crack?’

‘Yup.’

‘She knows all. She settles for nothing less. She is the one, official person in the world, now everyone, who knows that I have only slept with two people, both women. I would see the odd prostitute but I’m afraid of bringing a disease home, and I love my [ ], Loraine. I love her. I don’t care what happened before, she was honest with me, and I was able to decide. Which brings us back to that she was crying, for three days, Loraine. And the [ ] wondered what was wrong. Are you really on Facebook with [ ], [ ], and [ ], and [ ] is an immigration lawyer. What’s [ ]?’

‘A housewife, and Loraine feels sorry for me because I’m so pretty and I had Bell’s Palsy for ten years which ruined my looks, but I was married when it happened and, we talk of this, he stayed with me.’

‘Who is he?’

‘I went to Calgary, let’s say, with [ ], Loraine doesn’t remember his name, we met in a bar, we knew him from cadets, he was militia, and, as you know, I had two boyfriends in cadets, never at the same time, but it was lore, as you say, and Loraine admits to being jealous, though later they both tried to hit on her--’

‘A bit young.’

‘Exactly that.’

‘They were the reason she quit cadets, she wasn’t up for a whole new generation.’

‘Really, Loraine?’

‘Yes. Well, rank played a role, but a fairly small one. [ ] tackled me one night, and I felt I wanted to be a woman instead, at eighteen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She yelled, “I’m too old for this,”’ says God.

‘Oh, I see. So it was getting too manly for you.’

‘I guess. Yeah. Just, yeah, that’s why I blame them because it’s a real standout feeling when the cadets you raised wake you up one morning with lust in their eyes.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Why [ ], Loraine? [ ] said she dressed so weird it wasn’t even funny.’

‘[ ] should be left to her own devices, she is cute, she knows what she likes, but it was a stupid thing, trying to make her feel good by introducing her to parental units, when the passion wasn’t there.’

‘For you?’

‘Seventy percent for me, the most I ever got with all my girlfriends, as a man, I prefer men, [ ]. So does she. We knew this. I knew she was only thirty percent. That surprises me that you cried, Loraine, because I thought it was only temporary.’

‘For me it was marriage.’

‘Why?’ she asks.

‘Moving in.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Loraine. I thought you wanted out of that place.’

‘I wanted to be happier at home, I thought, like [ ], and it was [ ] that I was jealous of at the time, that if I had roommates, I would be happier.’

‘A roommate.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And me.’

‘I was as dumb as you, I thought he might marry me, and stay with us, with you as a friend.’

‘I thought he might sleep with me, that’s how stupid and naive women are.’

‘Truly.’

‘50 Cent want to tell [ ] that he, also, dated a transsexual, and now, Loraine, with your theorizing on gays, she admits she is more gay, and closeted about poly, than trans. She says when she came out, she thought it was better to be a prostitute as a woman.’

‘That’s what I thought. I hated my penis though, and I doubt that she did, being self proclaimed, etherwise, gay, 50, eh wot? to use Loraine’s cute Englishism, from Patrick Crean in heaven, no doubt.’

‘I don’t use it, I’m Canadian, it was her [ ] that says eh wot?’

‘Oh, ha ha, Patrick, you are so cool and funny.’

‘I know,’ I say.

‘You even put up with Loraine, Patrick Crean in heaven.’

‘I love Loraine as much as I love my own sons, and [ ] is a treat too, though much more conversational. I love them both, and this was easy for me, [ ], and, make no mistake, it continues to be, despite Loraine’s rancor at her illness, and my constant interference in her health. She has learned so much, and both David Suzuki and I are proud, because of her mental deficit, due to the e. Coli early in life. [ ] was spared the constant bottle feeding of water, Loraine, which [ ] talks about to this day, Loraine, feeding you water. Do you know this?’

‘Feeding babies water, yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Caries.’

‘Oh cavities.’

‘It’s called caries in infancy, because often the teeth are under the gums still,’ says Doctor [ ], my dentist. ‘I’m not the one who fucked up her veneers,’ he assures. ‘She got an evil dentist, [ ]. She could have those veneers fixed and they would be much better, he hung them inward, in opposition to her request, I asked, Loraine. She had seen the closing in of her mouth and was looking to, not mask it, but contrast it. She was right. It would look so much better, [ ].’

‘Can you do it, because though the lengths are good, I think they’re unremarkable.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I can, yes, the teeth themselves, the ceramacist is to be credited, are excellent, and Loraine was instrumental. She was, [ ], I have, actually Loraine, talked to him, believe it or not, we discussed you yourself at an industry party, and, though his wife was there, he was unabashed about the love in his eyes. She taught him teeth, [ ]. Seriously. He got so much repeat business after her, it wasn’t even funny. He has a new house because of Loraine.’

‘What is it with my sister?’

‘She is the highest intellectual,’ says Patrick Crean in heaven, with a deficit, of three and a half billion brain cells, according to God, due to your [ ] feeding her water with e. Coli in it, knowingly. Knowingly, [ ]. Knowingly, [ ].’

‘She knew,’ says [ ].

‘Fuck,’ says [ ]. ‘I knew I loved my sister, I will say that, but it takes years to sift through the bullshit.’

‘I’m bored!’

‘Loraine needs some weed,’ says God. ‘She is still having fun. She is at West 11th Avenue right now, but we are already past that, we are at West 8th (the second) Avenue, Loraine, where you wrote the essay and conceived of The Cycle of Heterosexuality.’

‘What do you think of the capitals, Lord?’

‘You reduce them, Loraine, when a concept becomes imbedded, and it is imbedded, trust me. You have made more women cry than 50 Cent himself.’

‘How many guys are you on the hook for?’ I ask Spencer.

‘How many guys are you on the hook for?’

‘This is what I am trying to write about actually.’

‘What’s that, Loraine?’ asks Spencer.

‘How many guys you are on the hook for when the government destroys your little home.’

‘How do they do that, Loraine?’

‘Development, you have to move, you spend, I spent a month homeless. I fucked a guy bare back out of pique. I was a patient at the St. Paul’s psychiatric ward at the time, and the nurses annoyed me immensely and would lock me up for smoking weed.’

‘Who else?’

‘In the past week, I have associated with three men that I met, and consequently had some form of free sex with, while I was living at the shelter, when, psychiatric again, my only citable crime was trying to stay warm in a parked car because I was unable to find my way home at twenty below. I was, I had already been picked up for the crime, and the police had just dropped me off at home. The paperwork said that my [ ] had called and reported me as suicidal. It is true, that, at God’s demand, I had, a month earlier, emailed my [ ] a good bye letter, and--’

‘Yes, Loraine, you died of starvation after not eating for twelve days, on top of severe dietary restrictions which gave rise to a shit cleanse, Loraine, the most abused individual in the entire world today, having been fed shit for most of her life, had experienced entire endocrine system arrest due to the plethora of gases fed to her by various police forces which participated in the torture of millions of citizens over years and years and years of both American and Canadian, and even European history,’ says God. ‘Loraine brought this thing to a head, it bears repeating, [ ], 50 Cent, Lloyd, Eminem, Game, Spencer, Octavia, Neil, Bruce, Elly, Nas, Nelly, T.I., Dan, Alonzo, Winthrop, Joseph, Chingy, and Brian, that Loraine Laney, your little whorey, little, chaste, gang bang girl, took down cops in Canada with one paragraph in which she said that cops needed hookers. That’s right. Loraine Laney brought peace to the Canadian civil service. Yes, she did. Yes, she fucken well did. Go pee, Loraine.

‘Loraine Laney, [ ] [ ], is a force to be reckoned with, make no mistake, it is no mistake that your children love her and don’t love their [ ]’s as much. Loraine has no pretentions, none. She will take--’

‘That’s what [ ] say about me.’

‘And it’s true,’ [ ] and me agree. ‘You don’t, and, without the word, it is something I have always admired about you.’

‘Tell him about “any port in a storm,” says [ ].

‘What? You told her that? About me, no doubt?’

‘Yes, but she took it as a comment on manhood, God tells me, because I asked, Loraine, and it really fucked her up.’

‘I so wanted to be special, and it was very tied up with sex.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean sex, now, is not inextricably woven with specialness.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Monogamy, sorry, sexual technique.’

‘But you have a massive ego,’ says Eminem.

God laughs. ‘If you think your little idiot has an ego, you are out of your mind, Eminem.’

‘She doesn’t. Maybe with sex,’ says [ ].

‘Never,’ says God. ‘She works her little tushy off to please men. Yes, she does. She takes nothing for granted, Eminem.’

‘I know, God. Sorry.’

‘Loraine, right now, is freaking out a bit,’ says God. ‘Because she smelled shit, and, since she washes, believed the smell to be associated with two loud bangs from nearby her apartment, but not near a neighbour. It sounded like the roof,’ says God. ‘So let’s complete. Spencer wants to ask how you convinced the higher ups to allow it.’

‘I argued that since police at large were tasked with protection of prostitutes at large, and since the male sex right is given rise to by protection, to absent police from sexual liaisons with prostitutes was to make a cuckold out of them, in light of their rampant, and for some years effectively legal--’

‘I get it, Loraine. You blamed equality and capitalism and the vulnerability of the submissive for women’s promiscuity, where are men to blame?’

‘They’re acting on natural dominance, though, so they are not to blame either.’

‘Who is to blame, if you were to put a responsibility on it.’

‘It has been very interesting talking to young people on the ether about that.’

‘Why, Loraine? You whorey little slut.’

‘I do shut up, I promise. I promise, promise, promise, you will see, when I feel my pussy, my mouth closes.’

‘It does, she’s all uncomfortable,’ says [ ]. ‘It’s true, [ ]. I know her better than you.’

‘[ ] never shuts up. I want her to.’

‘That’s because sex isn’t threatened,’ says 50 Cent.

‘Oh, I see, so that’s what it takes.’

‘That’s right, and all it takes is one, so bide your time, and choose well, and you will always be the leader. I can’t believe, well, Snoop is doing it with his formerly cheating wife, Loraine. They are going to undertake a gang bang, and, perhaps ironically, Dre loves her, though they have never consummated. He wouldn’t. He knew, like Lloyd knew, exactly, from men, I heard it too, what she was up to. Bare back and everything, [ ] and Loraine. All of the hip hop wives were doing it, her too, Loraine. Iced T had enough. We all had enough, and, to broadcast, to all and sundry in hip hop, Loraine Laney talked about poly and got cheated on too, without hardly so much as a single cheat herself, and, when it was, infinitely forgivable.’

‘Really?’ says Iced T.

‘Yeah,’ says God. 

‘Yeah,’ says 50 Cent. ‘The bitch was so out, you need a new word for out. The second she had feelings for someone, she would mouth about it. Bad. People hated her, Loraine. I’ve asked. Hated you. At the beach, your innocent little bullshit with your polyester hound’s tooth pants in blue and red, that Eminem would have liked so much, your velvet, your animal prints, your satin, you had a whorey satin shirt, they said, and leopard pants, and a faux leather skirt. You were a whorey, whorey girl, Loraine, and your [ ] is not impressed.’

‘I know, 50. I had to tell her at fifteen not wear bubblegum pants and--’

‘Cops do it, too, Loraine, when a girl is getting out of hand, shit on her. We shit on you twice now. Just so you know. Cops shit that shit in the stairwell, not firefighters, they do they’re own girls and the cops do the hookers.’

‘Maybe someone needs to look deep inside himself.’

[ ] laughs. ‘Agreed. Shitting. Weird. Go to a hooker yourself, or get married, stop judging my sister.’

‘The rappers are laughing, Loraine. Your [ ] is so smart, Loraine, and we see that you see it too, he will take a single word out of context and make an issue out of it.’

‘Yeah. That’s what I’m seeing. A single word. I have to agree. Is he brilliant, God?’

‘Why?’

‘I think he’s a brilliant organizer.’

‘That seems lame.’

‘But it translates so well, to your family life, and to administration. When [ ] tells me, and she does tell me, that you have been disappointed--’

‘By what, I can’t wait to hear this.’

‘Sorry, believing. --by the lack of combat arms experience.’

He laughs. ‘What? Are you fucking serious? She thinks I’d rather be cannon fodder than an officer? I have never said any such thing, and nor are you a dirty girl.’

‘Oh boy. Well, I couldn’t turn it into a failing.’

‘Why?’

‘I never had a playmate than my [ ]. We never argued. We had a wonderful time.’

‘She had girlfriends, [ ] had boyfriends, but now my sister is a big, old whore and my wife is all married. Do you want only 50 Cent, because that’s what some people think, that this is for his gayness.’

‘Oh my God, no.’

‘Really?’

‘No. This is why I’m such a nightmare.’

‘This is why you don’t marry?’

‘Right. I started realizing I attached to groups.’

‘Oh. How many?’

‘Bored,’ says Eminem. ‘Once a group of fifteen younger men surrounded her at the beach, and she farted and ran away.’

‘Are you kidding me with this? How many groups, Loraine.’

‘Four or five,’ says God. ‘And there is nothing to it, for a gang bang girl, they just become friends, and date one of the men. This is what your father’s friend [ ] [ ] was like.’

‘Bored.’

‘They’re doing it again. They want me to get off the fucken--’

‘They do,’ says God. ‘And Loraine is scared, 50 Cent, make no mistake, if she smells shit, she smells shit. And that is it. Loraine.’

‘Yes, God?’

‘Wrap it up, kidding. What do you want to do?’

‘We can’t believe that speed kept her going this long. We want some, and we want to be able to do it after work and do it without fearing that our licenses will be revoked.’

‘Yes, absolutely. This is good.’

‘Why?’

‘I knew it was drugs and prostitution.’

‘We know, Loraine. Get a beer. Publish again. Stop being so cool all the time. All the cops are in love with you and you are old and ugly.’

‘God says this is true,’ says God. ‘Women fell for Eminem at first, too, Loraine, and he got adept at chasing them off. He did. The herpes. The mom shit. The shit shit, the asshole fetish shit, he told so many women about that, Loraine. And, little by little, they laid off, because he was too hard core. You are disinterested. 50 Cent is the love of your long life, and that is it. Let’s wrap it up, they are shitting her, 50 Cent, and the neighbours are scared and they, the ones who were there before, are really scared. Let’s see if they go, Loraine. Stop.’

‘Yes, Lord.’