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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 3 years

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You messed with my heart too long

A/N: I posted this anonymously on ao3, but I’m really proud of writing this so decided to post it on here as well. Please, please let me know what you think, it would mean the world to me.

Summary: When Richie accidentally burns his food right at the same time as Eddie arrives home, he fears he's in for a verbal beat down. He's used to that thank to his ex-boyfriend, who mentally and emotionally abused him before Richie realized what he was doing to him. Once Eddie works out what is happening, he is quick to assure Richie he would never treat him in the same manner.

Warnings!: mental abuse, mentions of physical abuse and Bev’s abusive ex, Richie thinks Eddie going to react badly (he doesn’t but he still thinks about it)

read on AO3

Richie, in all fairness, has never had any confidence in any way, shape or form. He’s not sure why that is. His mom and dad were good, loving parents that indulged into his secret little hobby’s, and when Richie at age 24, a fresh college drop-out, told his parents he was going to take a gamble and try to make it as a comedian, they supported him wholeheartedly. Of course, they were a little disappointed that he never got a degree in case things in the comedy field didn’t work out, but they were convinced of Richie’s talent. They were truly the best parents anyone could ever wish for, at least in Richie’s mind.

The losers were also nothing if not supportive towards him, though they had been long gone before Richie turned 24. They made fun of him sometimes, on the occasions where a joke ran too far or failed miserably, but they also made sure that Richie knew how much they adored him in reality.

Beside from getting scolded at every now and again by Eddie or Stan, about his hygiene or lack of self-awareness, they also never tried to change him to fit their wants. For some unknown, nonsensical reason, they liked Richie with his flaws and all.

Truly, Richie has no inkling as to where his insecurities came from, but he does know that he never let them stop him from doing anything when he was still friends with the losers. Quite the opposite even, if he got nervous about performing in front of his class, he would loudly ask to go first, laughing boisterously and slouching against the teachers desks, pretending like the activity wasn’t even a blip on his radar. When Henry’s taunt would hit a particular soft spot, and Richie felt the urge to sulk or mope, he’d double down on the thing Henry found annoying, and get a bloody nose for his troubles.

He fought hard to be ready to perform in front of people that weren’t the losers or his parents, and the losers departing from Derry just made that worse. With the losers, he felt confident enough to try and be himself, without them, he saw himself as useless in every sense. His very first live performance sucked, and in retrospect he’s really glad none of the losers were present because within five minutes of walking on the stage, he had forgotten his lines and threw up in full sight of the audience.

If his mother hadn’t persuaded him into trying again a few months later, and that one actually working out, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier would have been buried before it began.

But that was before all the progress Richie made in all the years he’s been doing comedy. Despite having the occasional setback, he mostly outgrew throwing up before an act, and he could objectively look at himself in the mirror and conclude that he wasn’t the most hideous person the world had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

In fact, according to people on his twitter page, he was being described as hot and possessing a form of appeal that drew people in. He didn’t find himself good looking by any means, but there was a huge difference between hating everything about himself, and accepting that he was not as hideous as the beast from the Disney fairy tales he was a big fan of as a kid.

And then, in the prime of his mental health, he had met David, and every ounce of self-worth faltered like snow under the burning scorch of the sun. It only took five weeks for David to absolutely destroy the very thing Richie had toiled at for over twenty years.

David was his first boyfriend, who he met just shortly before his thirtieth birthday, and he took more than advantage of that. The first night they first laid eyes on each other, after one of Richie’s shows, David had walked up to him at a bar and promptly declared his show was absolute shit.

Normally Richie would feel hurt by these comments and would pretend to brush them off as if they were never uttered, but something about the way he said it caused Richie to laugh so hard he snorted part of his beer through his nose. It wasn’t until he saw Eddie with Bill and Mike at Jade the Orient ten years later, that his quarter fell. In the beginning, David had reminded him of Eddie. It wasn’t until much later that it became clear David’s intentions were not as innocents as Eddie’s.

Richie assumed the guy was pulling his pants, because who would dedicate their time to flat out insult someone they had never met, and so he had greeted him and bought him another beer. David wasn’t particularly funny, and he never laughed at Richie’s jokes throughout the night either, but he was very eloquent and could keep up with Richie’s conversation topics, though he always seemed to be able to turn and twist the subject so that it gave away another one of his qualities.

By the end of the night Richie never expected to hear from him again, and he was okay with that. His conversation partner had been interesting, but not to the point where Richie wanted to know everything about him or see him again.

David felt otherwise, as thanks to a mutual friend of theirs, he’d found Richie’s number, and when he texted him to ask him on a date, Richie had been too thrilled that someone was interested in him to containplat if he even wanted to go.

That same day the date took place, David had granted himself the title of boyfriend, and Richie went right along with him. They never officially verbally agreed to date, but they held hands and David slept over most nights then not, and his mother got so happy that she saw him with someone that things progressed naturally.

At first, Richie didn’t notice that David was influencing him in a negative way. He only had one close friend, Steve, who was simultaneously also his manager, and he constantly praised David for making Richie a changed man. Because Steve saw it as something positive, so did Richie.

His voice got progressively stiller, as David would ream at him multiple times a day that he was annoying everyone around them with his booming voice, and that he was an attention-seeker who would do anything to get the limelight on him. Richie practiced his voices less and less when David started to critic every aspect of them every time he would overhear him. It got worse once they started living together full time.

‘Hey Rich, no voices? Come on I want to know if you’ve improved over the years, let us hear it.’

He cut off all fatty foods when David glanced at his plate and grimaced, asking if he was really going to eat everything on the plate. He didn’t say it in so many words, but Richie could connect the dots that led him to believe David found him too fat. Lying became a sort of second nature to Richie, as he dared to eat a small pack of chips when David was away, and deluded him the next day by stating he hadn’t eaten any. Sometimes, at times where David thought Richie was away, he would observe him going through their trash to catch Richie in the lie. He’d fight tooth and nail to deny the accusation, and never admitted to it.

David complained just about everything Richie did, including the way he held his towel whilst drying the dishes, ‘For god sake Richie don’t rumple up, hold it in your palm and open it up so you can get to the surface more.’ When Richie tried to joke that David’s way didn’t necessarily mean the best way, he’d yelled that Richie was an ungrateful bastard and that if he had to do it his way because the way he was doing it was useless.

Useless, that was a word Richie learned to associate with himself as whatever he did would get dragged down by David, until there was barely any Richie left. Once again Richie began getting stage fright, worse than when he was a child, and on one evening David witnessed his total bomb of a show, and told Richie he had pretended he didn’t know him to the people watching. That hit so hard, the fact that someone was disgusted to be linked to him, that he stopped writing his own comedy and hired someone to do it for him.

There was so much negativity surrounding him and David, but when Richie tried to address his problems, David would make him seem like he was the one that was crazy. Like he was seeing things that were not there. David rolled his eyes and waved off any of Richie’s attempts to defend himself, but then denied doing it after the fact.

‘You’re a loser Richie, I can’t believe you’d be so stupid to take my ribs seriously. Aren’t you supposed to be a ‘comedian’? You’d think you’d know what’s a joke and what isn’t.’

A can of coke being set down too hard on their dinner table was enough to get David off of the couch, where he’d been watching football and ordering him around, and into the kitchen, striking a tirade that Richie was ruining their furniture with his fumbling. Richie was constantly on edge that he was doing something wrong - and he was according to David -. He avoided David as much as he could, but the latter would find something to fault him on regardless. Life had transformed into a prison cell.

Later Richie would scold himself for not leaving, but how could he? David manipulated him to the point Richie truly believed he was doing all of those things wrong, to the point where he was the one crying and begging for David’s forgiveness. He was gaslighted, manipulated and blackmailed at the same time, with gifts that weren’t a one-off after Dacid crossed a line too far, and they often contained a very expensive item that Richie had eagerly awaited for a long time. Richie felt like he owed it to David to stay, if only for all the money he had spent on him.

There were days Richie would get so furious he was prepared to scream back at David, to let his anger be set free and unleashed upon the one person who deserved it, but then David would show up with a gift out of the blue, or would grant him a loving caress, and Richie was gone for him again.

Not to mention that Richie’s self-esteem had sunk so low, he wasn’t ready to face a world without having David there to guide him along with things.

Barely five months before Mike’s earth shattering phone call, Richie ran out of all mental capacity to deal with the torment a moment longer, and packed his things, disappearing on a cold blistering night. David called him, of course, but Richie was a coward, and never answered the phone.

He only sent David one text to tell him it was over, and then promptly blocked his number without waiting for a response. He heard from gossip that David spread lies about him, and told other people about how much of a terrible boyfriend he had been, but Richie never objected to the claims. He agreed with him anyway.

Mike’s call had been, for a large proportion anyway, a saving grace. Reconnecting with his best friends and destroying the thing that loomed over him for so long was liberating, and Richie viciously wished that Pennywise had come back sooner, so that his tortures road would have been that much shorter.

There was no lingering bitterness inside of Richie because of this though, not when his life was finally in the best possible place it could be. Eddie and him got their heads out of their asses, or more like Eddie got out of his and decided to yet again be the brave one out of the two of them, and they started dating almost immediately after defeating Pennywise. In only a week's time, Eddie made the move from New York to Los Angeles, and with him he had brought the happiness Richie had long forgotten he could ever possess.

His marriage with Myra had been just as much a scam as the relationship between Richie and David, and his divorce was swift - no surprise there with the way Eddie always prepared for every possible scenario-, but Eddie almost always avoided talking about it. In a way, Richie was disheartened by that.

It was no secret Eddie married a woman that was basically a mirror image of his mom, and at times Richie caught himself wondering if Eddie had realized how smothering she was or if he had been so hunkering for the normality of life as a straight, married man that he never paid her enough attention too. He wonders if he was the only one stupid enough to not realize the gravity of what was happening to him.

Richie has debated on flat out asking Eddie about it, but, and there’s always a but, that would mean he would have to tell Eddie about David, and he is overcome with a rare form of anxiety, something deeply ashamed nestling in the place where his trust is supposed to be at the mere idea.

Swearing on the holy turtle god that managed to save them from Pennywise’s claws, Richie was originally planning on confessing the whole thing to Eddie on day one of their relationship. He truly was, and he had even conjured up humorous escape alternatives to duck his way under a fire load of questions Eddie was surely about to ask him after.

He even prepared himself to tell Eddie in Derry, right after overhearing Eddie’s phone call to his wife, feeling empowered that Eddie would come to understand. Bev interrupted before he could, perhaps a blessing in disguise. Before Eddie fully put down his phone, Bev had sweeped in the room, requesting a meeting downstairs to talk. Richie had been helpless to follow and listen intently, and if he was being honest with himself – he wasn’t – he felt a tiny bit of relief that he wouldn’t be subjected to any negative attention. Until Bev started to confess how her life had been before Mike called them.

All at once, a sickening hatred from himself overwhelmed Richie. He was so angry that he had dared to feel sorry about himself, and here Bev was, with a situation that was incomparably worse. The more details Bev entrusted them with – Richie may have promised to never kill anyone again, but he an exception could be made - the more Richie’s food from a few hours before threatened to choke him, and not even Eddie’s cream smoothed hand holding his distracted him.

Near the end, after they’d progressed from such an melancholically topic and began drinking away the booze in their hotel, Richie had drawn Bev’s attention with a call of her name, to either make her smile or to assure her that she wasn’t alone, Stan send him a withering look, as if to warn him not to open his mouth. Stan’s assumption was fair, it was in Richie’s nature to find humor in places there shouldn’t be, and he had no idea about Richie’s past to think otherwise. Still, every time Richie considered telling Eddie, the look flashed in his mind and sewed his mouth shut.

Not telling Eddie hasn’t impacted things the way Richie had predicted it would. Really, Richie was doing fine. Eddie chastised Richie on certain things, but Richie didn’t freak out or experience any sort of flashback. He would be given a peck on his forehead, or a hand running through his hair, and he’d know that Eddie was never mad at him. It was the littlest details that had Richie out of his mind with love, that highlighted just how different Eddie and David were.

By now, Richie had decided he was fine with not telling Eddie anything about David, and the extra weight of keeping something a secret was his boyfriend was just another fee to carry around with him. But life always throws a curveball Richie Tozier’s way when he has finally made plans.

This curve ball comes in the form of soup. A horrendous chicken soup that Eddie cooked up two days in advance, an experiment of different herbs that clashed into a symphony of flavors all competing to be the primary flavor. There are two things to know about Eddie as a cook. Number one is that he is not an impressive cook – and it’s not for the lack of trying - but Richie doesn’t mind. Eating food that doesn’t please his taste buds but getting Eddie in return for it is a fair deal in Richie’s books.

The second thing to note is that Eddie is a lazy cook. He turns the kitchen into a battlefield of different sauces, with jars a million different pots and pans skewed across the stove and no more room to place anything else left. It’s gotten to the point that whenever Eddie is in charge of cooking, they will not even put their dinner on a plate anymore, but instead leave it in whatever it’s made in, because it eliminates dishes to wash. That’s what starts the mess that day in first place.

Richie isn’t an idiot. Yes, he can be dense at times, and when it comes to loving Eddie he’s more than a bit moronic, but he’s not stupid. He’s had to survive on his own – and with someone who didn’t lift a finger - for a long time, thus there was no other way. He’s aware of the danger of putting a metal bowl in the microwave, and how it can cause the metal to heat up and start a fire, and therefor has never been stupid enough to try it. But today, Richie is stressed.

Steve has been calling him all day to try and persuade him into doing an interview for a magazine, and no matter how many times, how loud or agitated Richie says no, Steve still insists. Richie paces annoyed towards his fridge phone locked between his shoulder and ear, so he can take out the metal bowl of soup with his hands, and place it in their microwave without a second thought.

‘Steve I don’t care how much publicity you think it will get me, I don’t want to do it,’ Richie mutters, turning around with his back towards the warming soup. The consistent arguing with Steve has his teeth grinding, his shoulders tense and his anxiety sparked.

Eddie is still out for work, but it’s closing at five pm, the time he ensures he’s at home, and Richie thinks he can hear his car driving up into the gravel parking lot. The absence of his boyfriend is about to be filled, and Steve is yapping away in his ear, not content to admit defeat just yet, it’s maddening.

‘Steve… Steve listen to me, don’t get your panties up in a twist, I have to go. Don’t book the interview. I won’t take any part in it.’ His denial doesn’t put a stop to Steve’s yapping, but at that point Richie is over his nagging. He pinches the bridge of his nose and utters; ’Okay nice chat’, and hangs up without waiting for a response back.

He lets the phone clatter on top of their kitchen surface and says that Steve got the message, if only for the rest of the day. His phone doesn’t vibrate again, leading Richie to assume he has won this round. He can’t help but lean forward so far his head rests against the cold tiles of the kitchen counter, just sighing for one long, extended breath. A night in on the couch with Eddie spooning him has never allured him so much. His back cracks with a satisfying pop as he readjusts his body, and he groans in gratifications.

Their alarm dings loudly in the open concept kitchen, a warning that someone has just entered their driveway. Richie doesn’t need to go look to know that it’s Eddie and his large, black suv, but he wants to anyway. He’s about to walk towards the front door to greet Eddie like he’s a pet that has been waiting anxiously for its owners return – and some would describe him in the same manner - when the air fills with smoke and a rancid smell. It’s barely detectable at first, nothing more but an insentient odor that is unpleasant but not resolute and easy to ignore. But then actual smoke begins to wash it’s way around Richie, and he has a split second of blissful unknowingness left, until the problem dawns on him.

Richie follows the smoke trail, and is shocked to find their microwave steaming and actually crackling, like it’s on the verge of exploding. It probably is. Still, it’s nothing compared to the cluster bomb of fumes that spread throughout the room when Richie actually opens the microwave door and gets slapped in the face with the enormity. It’s a surprise that their smoke detector has yet to erupt.

Instantly, his airways fill up smoke, prickling his cough reflection so tremendously he doubles over in extortion. The coughs rattle his body in a painful manner, his chest and back start to hurt from the brutal movements and the fact that he can’t grasp fresh air no matter how wide he opens his mouth. Objectively, Richie should understand it can get a lot worse - their smoke detector hasn’t gone off, and there are no flames to accompany the smoke and therefore turn their house into a major safety hazard - but a panic he hasn’t felt since David has shut down his logical thinking skills.

A key is slotted into their keyhole, and it turns a first time to leave. Eddie is about to open the door, in give or take in about a minute – it always drags out because despite living here for give or take two years, Eddie still can’t remember this lock unlatches via the left side and not the right – and walk in on an absolute shit show that Richie’s engendered.

So far there was indication, no sign that hinted to Richie he still had leftover, undealt trauma left from his time hanging around David, but now, his only thought revolving around how mad Eddie is going to be, how much trouble he’ll be in once Eddie sees everything, he starting to realize he might not be as over things as he originally believed.

He ignores the way his lung burn, and reaches forward to grab the pot – with fogged over glasses rendering him blind - protection less, not even grabbing the oven mitts to provide some shelter for the warmth. He can’t comprehend how dangerous that is, can only focus on the red lights blaring in his mind, telling him he needs to get rid of the evidence before Eddie gets here and unleashes hell upon him.

Unfortunately, he’s too late. A door unlocks and Eddie enters the house. His feet pad on their wooden floor, brazen and fast, like he’s been waiting for a shot at grilling Richie and he can sense his opportunity to do so has arrived – the motion is so un-Eddie Richie dismissed it as absurd then and there, but a seed of doubt remains -.

With time, Richie comes to learn how to listen to the different footsteps, and he can now recognize who’s walking towards him and in what kind of mood they find themselves in, without taking one look at the person's face.

Eddie’s footsteps, after every work day, drag across their floor, as if a thousand pound weight has been added to his back. The bottom of his shoes wear out a lot faster than Richie’s do, and it drives Eddie nuts because out of the two of them, he’s the one that treats his material objects neater than Richie.

Richie’s always delighted to notice how light his footsteps get after just a few minutes spent with him or the losers.

Now, he is too scared to pick up on such little details. His palms tingle unpleasantly, the boiling liquid burning them more with each second he hangs on. He stands in the middle of their kitchen like a fool, turning his body every which way and letting his eyes dart out an escape plan. The smoke is nowhere near gone, and there’s too much of it for Richie to open a window and it to be blown away. Eddie’s going to notice, there’s no way he can’t.

‘Richie, you won’t believe what this imbecile Josh did at work today. I swear, I don’t understand how some people can get fucking hired sometimes.’

Eddie trudges into the kitchen, his suit wrinkled from a long day of frantically working on a report that should have been finished by some other incompetent coworker. The groves in his face are more prominent today, acquired by the years of unhappiness he experienced with Myra, the ages of his life cut off by the shock of Pennywise's return and the occasional busy work day his job supplies him with.

A nausea craters in Richie's stomach, filled with guilt for turning Eddie’s night off into a stressful event that requires a ton of clean up. Eddie stops dead in his tracks when he notices the mess, his mouth slips shut, the word dying on his tongue.

He’s waiting for Eddie’s frown to deepen, for his lips to cresting into a fury. He’s waiting for the waterfall of insults that will be hurled at his head, each one meaner than the last, honing in on his deepest insecurities and having them exploited because Eddie’s so angry he’ll do anything to strike a verbal blow. And it’ll be worse now, because it’s Eddie. It’s the love of his life doing it now, the one’s approval he seeks most.

Eddie’s the person that knows him inside and out and knows exactly what boundaries to push and prod out to crack Richie open from head to toe. He waits for all that, with his hand still clamped around the bowl of burning hot soup, scorching his palms – by this point, Richie is sure there will be blisters by the time he finally unclasps his grip.

Eddie’s frown does deepen, but it’s not out of anger. ‘Rich, be careful you’ll hurt yourself.’ Richie doesn’t let go, but holds onto the sides of the bowl tighter. Part of him wants him to experience the pain, to let what he did sink in like David’s words always did.

‘Richie’, Eddie says startlingly firm. He’s not trying to approach Richie or the bowl, but he’s capturing Richie’s attention just by his firm voice. ‘Put it down.’

Richie drops the bowl of soup, watching helplessly as it splatters all over their freshly painted walls and the ground. Out of the corner of his eye a flat glob of liquid drips down the wall, dirtying a whole line down to the floor. Richie cringes, his heart beating so fast he could swear it’s about to jump out of his chest, and his mind a mantra of ‘look what you did, look what you did, look what you did.’

‘Fuck Richie, did you burn it?’

And Richie knows he’s caught. He was, up to two seconds ago, holding the evidence right in his hands, but he’s so petrified logic is not operating in his brain at the moment. The only thing he can focus on with great clarity, is that he’s willing to try anything to get him out of a verbal tear down.

‘No..’, he tapers off at the end, leaving his statement much more alike a question than he would have preferred. Eddie raises one eyebrow suspiciously, pointily averting his gaze towards the smoke floating around them.

‘No?’ He asks back equally confused, head tilted to the side. Richie can feel his throat closing up in panic, bracing himself for an onslaught. He doesn’t foresee Eddie’s nurturing and concerned approach. ‘Let me take a look at your hands’, Eddie murmurs tenderly.

It’s technically nothing new, the way Eddie treats him. After Neibolt and Richie’s big coming out, Eddie commenced all his vacation days and flew Richie all the way to Hawaii, for the pure intention of getting him away from any and all consequences. He’d allowed Richie to eat what he desired - within reason of course, there was no way Eddie was allowing Richie to eat pizza at 8 am-, waisted their days sitting by the pool and indulged in Richie unchancy pranks - one of which ended up with Eddie scrubbing out blue glitter out of his hair. Eddie had been kind then, so it shouldn’t be surprising he is in this situation.

It doesn’t take away the fear Richie is left with. David had good days too, days that he was the perfect boyfriend, but that would never last long, and Richie is left to speculate if it’ll be the same thing with Eddie.

Maybe it’ll be hidden in a secret message, maybe Eddie is busy hatching a plan that will utterly deploy Richie from the inside out. Eddie’s hands are gently skimming over Richie’s palms, inspecting the damage without irritating the skin even more. ‘It doesn’t seem like it’s bad. It hurts right?’

‘Yeah’, Richie croaks when he figures out the question isn’t rhetorical. He isn’t sure at the moment why that’s supposed to be good.

Eddie tips forward, stretching up higher so he can kiss Richie’s forehead tenderly. Against his skin he explains. ‘That means the burn isn’t too deep, but hold it under the water still.’

‘No but you know what does go deep?’

‘Nothing if you don’t treat your burns,’ Eddie teases with a smirk. He gently ushers Richie closer to their faucet, and holds his own palm under the stream of water, twiddling with the different temperature taps until he finds one that he deems just lukewarm enough to allow Richie’s hand under it.

The smoke in the air remains unspoken about. It’s almost as if Richie is more important than a potential house fire to Eddie, but that’s absurd. Not only because this is the house that both of them felt was the right one, and subsequently paid a lot of money for, but also because Richie isn’t that special. He’s not even trying to be condensing towards himself, because he truly believes that.

‘How did you manage to do this huh? Idiot.’ Eddie jokes while guiding his hand under the water at the correct angle, his salutation gets smoothed over by a hand ruffling his hair. Coincidentally, or perhaps the exact opposite, a part of the stress Richie accumulated falls away when Eddie calls him an idiot. It helps to underline why exactly Eddie will never be like David, why the two aren’t in the same league of each other even.

When Eddie says idiot, it’s a nickname, it’s a middle school jab when Richie runs too fast and trips over his own feet, it’s the symbolic soothing pat on the back he receives after he can get all of the losers to laugh at his humor. It’s their love langue no one understands, It’s Eddie’s way of hiding how deep his adoration goes with a job that’s unusual to others.

David’s condescending tone alone tipped Richie into the deep end, into a cave that echoed his deepest flaws and slammed it into the cavity in his chest every time something didn’t go according to plan. Idiot for David did not mean the same things. For David, idiot was shoving aside Richie’s concerns, it was disinterested in all his quirks and his passive attitude. He meant what he said without sarcasm.

A first tear tracks down Richie’s cheek. ‘Rich?’ Eddie inquires startled. His hand previously stroking Richie’s curls slides towards his elbow in a smooth motion.

Richie tries to tell him it’s okay, that he needs a minute to regroup but that he’s fine, but instead of that he sobs, more tears spilling over with no regards to him uneasy Richie is to cry in front of someone.

‘Richie shit I’m sorry. Does it hurt that bad? Do we need to go to a hospital? We’ll go right now.’

‘No, no hospital,’ Richie waves him off with his injured hands. Eddie leads his hand back without response, tracking his face to see if he gives away anything. Richie had forgotten his hand hurted in the first place, so he definitely didn’t require any treatment beyond what he was doing already. His tears are the result of being overwhelmed by his emotions, and his default response to that is to cry.

‘If you don’t want me to do that, that’s okay you know?’

Because his hand is incapacitated, he wipes his nose on the corner of his shirt, watching as Eddie’s wrinkles his nose at that. Still, even with the disgusting move on Richie’s part, Eddie leans in closer, molding Richie so he fits in the fold between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. There, he resumes his path of caressing Richie’s hair, and kissing his temple. Richie fists one of his hands in the back of Eddie’s shirt, pressing them as intimate as he can.

‘Hey sweetheart, it’s okay. What’s wrong?’

Richie sobs harder, not particularly keen on telling Eddie why he’s this upset. It’s a difficult topic to talk to anyone about, Eddie and the losers included. There were days that Richie twisted his mind to convince himself that it was all in his head. That David was the best boyfriend anyone could ever wish for, and that the tirades he had to endure was just the cost of that. He was afraid he added things in his mind that hadn’t actually taken place and he created his own narrative.

Apprehension held Richie back, dreading what Eddie’s response might be. He could exclaim Richie to be a complainer that should have praised himself lucky to get the abuse he got, or he could say that Richie was a sourpuss, turning a fly into an elephant.

‘Shouldn’t we get rid of the smoke first?’, Richie questions to stall.

‘Later’, Eddie soothes with another kiss to his temple. ‘Talk to me. Please Rich.’

‘There was this guy I used to date, David.’

Eddie’s head shoots up in bewilderment, his brow furrowed. ‘You never told me about him.’

‘Yeah well we never talk about your wife either and I thought that would mean we wouldn’t disclose our previous hang ups.’

‘Ex-wife. Remember Rich? She’s my ex-wife. There’s nobody in the world I would rather be with then with you.’

‘Stop it you bastard,’ Richie sniffles pathetically. ‘You know I can’t deny you anything when you sweet talk me.’

‘That’s the plan.’

Eddie thumbs underneath Richie’s eye socket, brushing in a hypnotic rhythm that ankers him to reality. If Richie nuzzles into Eddie’s palm, then no one else but then needs to know.

Talking about something that brings forth a lot of anxiety goes smoother with closed eyes, Richie’s come to find, so he does that before revealing what he should have revealed a long time ago.

‘He was.. not so kind’, he chuckles humorless. ‘He really thrived when he pointed out everything I did wrong, liked yelling too.’

‘Rich?’

‘Wait let me finish. If I don’t say it now I’ll never get the courage to again.’ He opens his eyes only to see Eddie nod in agreement, and his face starting to tang a bit red.

‘Sometimes I couldn’t even walk right without him being all up in my ass about it. At parties he would gladly tell everyone embarrassing things I did, or he would pretend like he did all the work at home while really he was the one that did nothing. And the way he spoke to me.. like I was a child and he was a teacher or something. And he had this way of saying things so I’d know I was a breath away from being yelled at, but so that he could still claim he never once raised his voice at me. I guess I was scared you were going to do the same thing after seeing what a major fuck up I am. . He kept insisting I didn’t do things good enough, but I was really trying my best. I fucking swear Eds. I can’t help that my best isn’t good enough.’

The repetitive motion that Eddie kept up during his long monologue abruptly ends, and Eddie instead balls his hands up into two fist, pulling away from Richie to lean on the counter. He bounces on his heels, unable to stand still any longer as he is now the one to squeeze his eyes shut.

‘Eddie?’ Richie implores, the panic from before quickly flooding through his bloodstream and entering every part of his body.

Eddie opens his eyes, and something on Richie’s face must give away what he’s experiencing, because he’s quick to assure Richie did nothing wrong. ‘No, shit Richie it’s not you sweetheart. I love you, you did nothing, nothing wrong.’

He pecks Richie on the lips twice, very softly and barely noticeable, almost a goad to get Richie to cram their lips together tighter. For a long moment, they don’t move. Their lips stay hovering just out of reach, and one of Eddie’s palms slide down Richie’s chest down to his belly and up again. It’s an effort for Eddie to try and generate as much love towards Richie as he possibly can, before his resolve breaks and he has to let his resentment for David out in some way.

‘I’m going to kill him.’ Eddie turns away from Richie, but his hand remains on Richie’s stomach, a connection so they don’t separate. His chest puffs up, almost like he’s gearing up to go fight David right now. He would if he got the chance.

‘Spagheddie you don’t have to do that for me. I don’t even own his number anymore.’

‘I don’t care Rich,’ Eddie’s voice trembles but is laced with a deadly amount of venom. ‘He should have never done those things to you. If I ever see him I’ll fucking strangle him with my bare hands.’

‘It’s fine Eds, it wasn’t that bad.’ The denial burns in his chest. He wondered for a long time if he could qualify what he went through as abuse, not because he was actively hoping to label himself as an abuse victim, but because he questioned if what happened to him was worth being this upset over. In conclusion, Richie decreed it wasn’t. Eddie's eyes snap up, burning behind a sheen layer of glass.

‘He never hit me like Bev’s husband did to her.’

‘That doesn’t fucking matter. What happened to Bev is terrible, but that doesn’t make what happened to you any less dire. Both of you were victims of abuse, save for a different kind.’

Are they comparable? If they were talking about another person Richie would say yes, that both leave lasting scars, but because he’s the subject of the question, he can’t say for sure. He’s not lenient enough with himself to allow such a statement to be made. Bev can suffer from the consequences of her abuse, but from Richie’s perspective, he should be over it by now.

‘Oh fuck,’ Eddie curses explicitly, ‘and I called you an idiot. Richie I’m so sorry.’

Eddie’s little crease that only appears when he’s discontent about something appears again, and he avoids eye contact with Richie. There’s no need for any of that. Richie hadn’t even taken that big of a notice about the word. He was reassured Eddie would never use it as a true insult, and even if he wasn’t convinced of that, the tender way Eddie reacts towards him otherwise would be enough to convince him.

‘No Eddie. I don’t mind, really. I don’t want things to change between us because I told you this. I like our banter.’

He finally takes his hand from under the lukewarm water stream, and dries it on his pants -the water, come Eddie’s prediction, has eased the aflame skin -. With both hands now free, Richie cuddles up closer to Eddie, using his arms to tug him closer. Eddie is still dressed in his suit from work - and it might deem handsome, but it is not very comfortable - but has not mentioned getting changed once, too enraptured with taking care of Richie.

‘They won’t if you don’t want to, but we’re making a deal. If I do something that hurts you, you need to tell me, so I can apologize and tell you I didn’t mean any of it. Are we clear?’

‘Aye aye captain. Shall we pinky promise on it?’

‘No, I’d rather kiss on it.’

They do, and this time the kiss progresses further than just a simple peck. Eddie cups Richie’s face in between his palms, a soft, sentimental smile ruining it a little. It doesn’t matter, Richie still greedily savors the moment as it comes.

‘All those times that you went on stage and rocked that whole performance I was already infinitely proud, but shit Richie, now that you’ve told me I’m even prouder. He tore you down but you spit in his face and said fuck no, I’m still going to be my own person. I’ll never let him treat you badly again. More importantly, you’ll never let him do it again. You’re so strong sweetheart.’

Richie sniffs, ‘why the hell are you still being so sappy? I told you everything already, there’s no need to spawn me further.’ He giggles, and Eddie can’t help but chuckle at the sight too, then he turns serious again.

‘Okay, now let me take care of you. I’m going to clean up, hush I am and you’re not going to lift a single finger, and then we’ll order in, watch tv from the bed and cuddle. That sounds good? We can talk about the heavy things in the morning.’ Richie has been through enough for one day.

‘That sounds perfect Eds.’

They let go of each other, but not before Eddie sneaks in a kiss on his forehead, cheek and jaw.

While dating David, Richie never used the word love. He knew, with manipulated affection and all, that he did not love David. Love isn’t supposed to change us, it’s supposed to accept us, makes us laugh and cry at appropriate times, and cocoon us in her warmth. Love doesn’t change us, but it adds something more to the previous person we were yesterday. Eddie adds something more to Richie every single day, be it by teaching him or standing by his side when he messes up. Richie loves Eddie, and he gets loved back equally as fierce.

#My writing #I'm literally begging for people to comment their opinions on my writing #reddie #reddie fic #richie and eddie #adult Richie #adult Eddie Kaspbrak #richie x eddie #reddie imagines #hurt comfort #fluffy ending #but heavy middle and beginning #eddie loves Richie #they're in love #Richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack

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serpent-craft · 4 years

Text

Secrets

A ribbon of smoke wound its way through the holes of an antique Quel’dorei incense burner. Sandalwood and citrus cleansed the old house of its musty smell that lingered from years of neglect. A month in, and the process of refurbishing the Goldenheart estate was slowly coming together like pieces of a puzzle; riddled with memories of sordid and pleasant experiences coiled into one. Rhythmic music filled the small gaps of silence that the pair of Sin’dorei had between them as they continued to bring the house back to life . It wasn’t an artist that the two recognized, but the record player proved to be an interesting find at the festival in the Jade Forest.

Aendonys reclined into a pile of ornate pillows and blankets, more goods acquired from the markets to serve as a makeshift bed. He caught a few last rays of sun before it fell below the horizon, reflecting off the polished tiles on the balcony. It was a domestic deed he did himself, taking a cloth and solvent to the grime until the surfaces felt smooth to the touch. The demon hunter was quite proud of himself for this, and for that he decided to take a break while Micael finished unboxing the decorations and momentos.

“Hm...retiring early?” A golden light neared close, speaking in a baritone voice. The details of Micael’s face were visible in the demon hunter’s vision, like a sketch or a watercolor painting that grew in detail the more he focused. He was a broad shouldered, muscular framed Sin’dorei with soft androgynous facial features that suited him well. Even compared to Aendonys, Micael easily showed far more physical strength. “Well, I suppose you did a decent job.”

“I did a damn good job.” Aendonys quipped, running his claws over the pristine grout and tile. The paladin gave a throaty laugh, the light in his chest grew like a tiny sun.

“You did well above my expectations, Aendonys.”

The two exchanged prideful smirks, intertwining fingers as the hanging crystals projected dancing lights from the sunset. In the distance the spires of Silvermoon created a black backdrop against the purple and orange sky. It was a welcome sight as the world withdrew into an hour of peace. For however long it would last--one could not discern, but for this moment the defeat of an old god and the pause of war could serve as a brief respite. It was a good time for them to settle into a relaxed life, or at least make a nest to come back to when they were off on another adventure.

The paladin’s hand gently slipped away as Aendonys heard the clatter of Micael’s armor being slipped off the manikin. A subtle expression of concern was painted upon the demon hunter’s face, he reached over to remove the needle from the record.

“I’ll get my glaives.”

Micael cut him off before the other sat up. Placing a metal hand firmly upon Aendony’s shoulder. He was becoming accustomed to the prosthetic.

“I am just preparing for the night watch. I’d rather you stay here to keep the place guarded.” There was a sense of assurance in the tone of his voice, a stubborn self-reliance that Aendonys grew fond of in this man. He huffed in a mildly annoyed retort, sticking his tongue out far enough that the gold piercing glinted in the light.

“Suit yourself, Goldilocks.”

-------

The galloping hooves of holy knights took off into the night, clearing whatever undead still lurked in Tranquillien. To this day, the Ghostlands still remain a threat, but the undead have thinned out in numbers. The borders of Eversong grew as patches of verdant grass returned, and the wildlife no longer feared the remnants of the Dead Scar. Perhaps one day it would only serve as a memory and nothing more. The Goldenheart estate was a starting point, at least.

Aendonys drifted into a brief sleep--a couple hour nap that the night owl had before midnight. He had yet to light the sconces as the burning embers of incense glowed inside copper chambers. He wouldn’t need light to see anyways, but it was courteous to Micael for when he came home. They still had so much unbuilt furniture and decor strewn about the room like booby traps in the dark--and speaking of, Aendonys’ ears twitched at the sound of footsteps in the house. A hard clacking like that of an armored foot...was he back already? The demon hunter blinked sleepily, a pair of violet glowing eyes piercing the darkness.

“Micael? Is that yo-”

A hand clasped over the demon hunter’s mouth, claws digging into his skin as slender fingers wrapped around his neck. He failed to react in time as a paralysis took over his body.

“Hmm. just like old times, Aendy.” The sinister voice of a woman filled his mind. It was harrowingly familiar. He saw her silhouette clear as day, the curvaceous demoness with her upright horns and outstretched wings that seemingly dripped with shadow magic.

“I’d bite you if you weren’t into that, Bryketh.” He snapped a muffled reply. The succubus removed the hand over his mouth to dig her stiletto claws into Aendony’s shoulder as she straddled him.

“Oh, we know each other so...so well.” She hummed. “It’s sad to see you so...hm--domesticated. That’s what paladin’s do after all, they take our gifts from the void and stomp on them with their big, obnoxiously shiny boots.”

Aendonys sneered, struggling against her magic to reach for the dagger he buried into his pillow. The hilt brushed against his fingertips.

“Heh…maybe I’m into that. Not like you’d know since you're a heartless bitch.” He paid the price for that quip, feeling her claws dig through his demonic skin. Blood was certainly being drawn, but her spell was slipping.

“Did you tell him what you did to me, Aendonys? How you made me love you for your own gain?” She whispered in an aggressive trill. “Does he know what kind of treachery you are capable of--my dearest demon-hearted bastard?”

He reached for the blade, he fingers wrapped around the hilt. He waited for Bryketh to slip up enough that he would slit her throat--but suddenly he felt a pressure on his hand. The succubus disappeared in a plume of smoke as Aendony’s eyes snapped open with a burst of violet flames.

“It’s just me.” The voice was similar to Micael’s but in a monotone drone. Aendonys saw a man with outstretched feathered wings and long stark white hair. His foot was over the dagger that he reached for. Red curtains ominously flowed over the open balcony that he entered through as a cool breeze entered the room.

“Gabe?” The leaves outside rustled as the twin brother’s wing’s disintegrated from sight revealing the full moon behind him. He could feel the gaze of the other’s spectral sight piercing him. Gabriel was best described as an icy dagger compared to Micael’s warmth.

“I wanted to see if it was true. That you and my brother are going to live here now.”

Aendonys was quiet for a moment. He still hadn’t recovered from that nightmare, but this was certainly reality now. He ran a hand across his shoulder as if expecting to feel blood there, but it was dry.

“Yeah. We’re going to at least try.”

It wasn’t uncommon for a moment of silence to linger between them. Aendonys knew Gabriel far longer than he had known Micael. They both witnessed each other’s sacrifices and betrayals as Illidari, in a way he always saw him as a brother like Asmodan. A cold and distant--soon to be step-brother--who cared far more than he ever wanted anyone to see. Even his spectral vision worked differently than others. He would see the emotions Aendonys was feeling like they were painted on his face in clear view. The discomfort and fear he always masked.

“He proposed the idea, didn’t he?” Gabriel spoke.

Aendonys smiled a bit more genuinely than he usually did. “He did. It’s because we are getting marr--”

“I know.”

Gabriel strode over to the closest sconce on the wall and lit it, illuminating the two in a arcand light. He sensed where each one was by memory. This was once his home too.

“Goldilocks can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?” Aendonys kicked the covers off and rolled onto a cross-legged sit. He chuckled a bit at that before his smile faded, watching the white-haired man select and open a book from a nearby shelf. It wasn’t as if he could read it but the texture of the pages was pleasing, perhaps. This suddenly didn’t feel right. “So...which one of these rooms was yours?”

The white haired illidari pointed to the ground where Aendonys was sleeping.

“This one.”

Aendonys pursed his lips awkwardly. Straightening up a pillow like it didn’t even belong to him now. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was acting like this. “Oh, I see. Well it’s now your guest room for whenever you stay here. Unless you wanna move in with us.”

“I don’t.” He replied in an eerily calm manner. Shutting the book he inspected.

Aendonys sighed and adjusted his posture having nothing to say to that. He might have understood why Micael didn’t speak with his brother about this, but it wasn’t done so out of ill will.

Gabriel wandered into the other rooms for a moment, reminiscing quietly as he somberly lit the hallway for Micael’s return. Aendonys quietly followed after as if expecting the brother to speak about his past here like Micael did. He did not.

“Have you told him about Bryketh?” Gabriel suddenly questioned. Aendonys slapped a hand over his face in a disgruntled display.

“For fels sake, Gabe. Not you too.”

The white haired Sin’dorei suddenly snapped his gaze towards the other interrogatively.

Aendony’s waved his hands dismissively with a sigh. “--nevermind that. No. I have not. Why should I? I wouldn’t ever treat Mike like that anyways so it doesn’t matter. I know I’ve done some people dirty in the past to survive, but I’m especially not going to sit in a confessional booth over betraying a demon.”

Gabriel turned himself to face Aendonys. His bangs fell over the wraps that covered his eyes but a dim white glow shone through. “I told him my secret. Now you tell Micael yours. It doesn’t matter that you wouldn’t do the same to him. He should still know for your sake.”

Aendonys scratched at the stubble that began to grow in on the sides of his scalp. He would ask Micael to shave it for him soon, maybe that would be a good time to talk about his both figurative and literal demon. It wouldn’t be like his fiance would turn the blade on him in that moment...or at least he hoped not. Gabriel did have a point however, keeping this from Micael would only give whatever was left of Bryketh ammunition to torment him. It took him a while to fully admit that, but somehow Gabriel’s bluntness was something he needed at this moment.

“Alright. Bet.” He replied. “...but also I wanted to say that we didn't a day for the ceremony yet. When we do though, you should come. Micael really wants to see more of you, ya know?”

Another moment of silence lingered between them. Gabriel didn’t answer that as the sound of hooves thundered close. He instead walked back to the balcony and rematerialized feathers. The moment another cool breeze passed by, the estranged brother beat his wings. Ribbons of smoke danced and the parchment rattled as he took off like a shadow in the night. Aendonys didn’t even bother to offer a farewell, he knew Gabriel well enough.

The front door opened as Aendonys spied Micael’s golden light. The paladin’s helm gently clinked onto the floor as he sauntered in; the image of pomp and glory himself had arrived with his job done.

“Oho, you’re certainly feeling better lately.” The demon hunter leaned against the hallway with a sultry grin.

“.--and you’re awake early for your late evening nap. A shame...I wanted to surprise you.” Micael passed by Aendonys, swiping his armored fingertips across his chest. He hung his sword upon the wall.

“Yeah, well maybe I couldn’t wait for you to get back?” Aendonys followed after as the paladin unfastened his armor piece by piece.

“Hoh? Do you care about me that much? How endearing.” For a man who wielded holy power Miceal sported a devilish grin. The other Sin’dorei took a seat next to him, he couldn’t witness his partner undressing with his lack of eyesight but he could hear the armor falling unceremoniously to the floor. The spring air brought another brisk breeze through the room as Aendonys ruminated on the dream and Gabriel showing up. He could sense Miceal’s attention being drawn to the corner of the room with the bookshelf. The curtains swaying as they did earlier.

“Aendonys, one of the books is gone from the shelf. The one Gabriel always liked to read.”

The demon hunter turned towards the paladin, he took in a deep breath.

“Micael. I have something to tell you.”

#my writing #aendonys #micael #gabirel #bryketh

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sidelinesbysam · 4 years

Text

I’m a Senior Again...I think

Back in the day I remember what it was like to become a senior. It was June of 1977 and it was a glorious day! We were just wrapping up our Junior year at Proviso West High School and as the final days of junior year ticked away, we all became filled with the anticipation of what was about to take place. Well almost all of us. There were a few dudes hanging out behind the auto shop that may not have had quite the excitement and focus as the rest of the Class of 78. But nonetheless, it was here...the day my friends and I were waiting for. As the last final exam was completed and that final bell rang, just like that, I was a senior! When you go to a huge high school like Proviso West, it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. Now I certainly wasn’t one of the cool kids but I do have to admit, I had some really cool friends heading into that senior year. And they were all awesome and cool in their own way

Even though during those years I never eclipsed the 5’6” mark on the wall, I had some good friendships with some really big dudes at PWHS. I mean they were big...tall...vertically unchallenged as it were. Brett seemed to be 7’ and so did Ron. Pat O was a monster too. Looking back I’m going to guess they were in the mid 6 foot range but to me they were giants. We were friends all four years but this year, senior year was different. We were on top of the mountain of high school life and those guys were the coolest of cool. Being a high school athlete had to be the pinnacle. Especially becoming a senior.

Somehow I had also forged a close friendship with one of the prettiest girls in a school of thousands. Carolyn was the captain of the dance and pom pom squad and her and I used to meet in the halls between classes and we chatted almost everyday. And she hung out with the greatest collection of friends that made an adolescent guy like me crazy.

I may not have been a cool kid but when I became a senior I did some things that I thought were pretty cool at the time, and maybe still. I was there editor of the Mural in 1978 which was the high school yearbook. Everyday for months the staff and I met to build that 300+ page yearbook that holds the memories of turning into a senior for so many of my classmates. Along with Mike, my still best friend ever, we took nearly every one of the candid photos for that book and when the first copy was delivered, maybe for the first time in my life, I felt really accomplished and pretty cool. I was also the sports editor of the Profile, the school newspaper. I had my own column and I wrote stories about all the different sporting events that entire senior year too. I wrote some stories that were really good and insightful and a few others that got me threatened with a meeting in the parking lot after school. Such is the life of a journalist! At the time I was sure that those experiences were going to launch me into a career of journalism. Looking at the media today, maybe it’s a blessing my life took another direction. After all these years, turning a senior at PWHS is mostly a clouded memory. I recall bits and pieces. I was the dude at basketball games that got hoisted up on someone's shoulders and shouted out, “Give me a P…” I remember being the first person to put on the new Panther mascot costume Coach Lucas and Mr. Skul had bought and I remember being a faithful part time team manager for the basketball team that senior year. I remember after the last loss of the season I sat in the locker room with those cool giants and I cried. “Coach Luke” came over and consoled me and told me thanks for everything. That moment really meant the world to me and it was probably the first time I considered being a senior was coming to a close.

I even met my first wife my senior year. She wasn't a Panther but she did live close by in Elmhurst. We met at Dominick's and that eventually led directly to two great kids and three grandkids. Wow! All in all, being a senior was pretty cool.

And here I am today. Once again, I’ve become a senior. But let me tell you, it came without the same anticipation or excitement. Now to be completely clear, there is some debate as to when a person officially becomes a senior. Some say it’s 65. The Social Security Administration, in some cases, says it’s 62. For some reason, me personally always had the number 60 attached to it. Maybe now that I’m 60, I should rethink the connection. But you know what, it’s just a number and just a word. Some people say that in the context of growing old, the word senior has a negative connotation. The PC word to be used should be “elderly.” Really, elderly? I don’t like that at all. I may not be old but I am definitely not elderly. Am I? But for the sake of argument, let’s just say 60 is seniorly. What sort of cool things come with becoming a senior this go around? It appears that the gallbladder is a right of senior passage. That thing must not like being housed in a senior because half of everyone I know had to have it removed. And remember, as a senior, people like to tell you it’s not surgery...it’s just a procedure. Another thrill of being a senior is the eyesight. It appears as you progress through the years you go from readers to prescription glasses to bi-focals to trifocals and then “progressives.” The pinnacle (I hope) of a never ending battle with blurry vision. Another treasure of seniordum is that first 30 minutes or more of every single morning for the rest of ever I guess. Back in the day my alarm would go off, I would spin out of bed, get ready for school or work and take off. Now there is a strategic series of snoozes, slow turns over the edge of the bed, an occasional reach for the wall and a very deliberate walk to the first destination in the morning. Sorry dogs, your business has to wait for my business. And what do seniors do while doing their business? I, for one, look at The Facebook. And what do I see when I look at The Facebook? It appears people my age look a lot older than I think I look. Must be part of that whole “blurry vision” issue. If I am in fact a senior again, it sure looks a lot different than it did 42 years ago. But ironically, there are the benefits.

Back in 1978, as a senior, we thought we could do anything. We had a closed campus at PWHS but at lunchtime I still left to go to McDonald’s for a burger or Ne’Joes for an Italian sub. Once the truant officer stopped me at the gate before I got out of the south lot and asked me where I thought I was going. I chose what I thought was the best route and told him to get some lunch. He handed me a 5 and asked if I would grab him something. Being a senior had it’s privilege. And being a senior still does today. I find that as a senior, if that’s what I am, I can get away with saying things I couldn’t when I was younger. Now for the record, subtlety helps, but having the same filter as a younger man is not required. I notice that beating around the bush is a much shorter process.

Me: “Can I have just a large iced tea? That's it.”

The other person: “Anything else with that?”

Me again: “Did you NOT hear the words JUST and THAT'S IT tucked into that sentence?”

The disgruntled other person: “(grumble...mumble...old fart)”

But in reality, landing at 60 and looking at life in perspective ain’t such a bad thing. There are some real blessings to this senior stuff and I’m not talking about AARP discounts. This is more about life in general. I have four great kids that are moving through life at breakneck speed sometimes, and I love them very much and I’m so proud of them all. I wish we connected more often but modern day electronics makes it easier to fill the gaps. A quick text or a social media “like” or thumbs up will never be a substitute for a call or a visit, but it lets us know that we’re all still out there. And I have the blessing of three grandkids that fill my life with joy and happiness. The 12 year old lives in south central IL so we need to use our devices to connect and talking to grandpa isn’t much of a priority to a video game playing, pre-teen but we do our best. The 8 and 6 year old live close by and I get to see them frequently. My granddaughter who is the youngest, observes my senior status by asking, “grandpa, why do you sit in your chair and watch those cooking shows all the time?” I want to load up one of those unfiltered replies but she’s so darn cute I just tell her, “Because I can’t find the remote to change the channel.” The fun part about my middle grandson is that at 8 years old he’s starting to let his hair grow out. And in senior fashion I asked him if he was trying to look like one of the Beatles. That got me the most puzzled look and after a pause, “who’s that?”

And as a senior today, I look back to when I was a senior back then. I fondly remember those giants that I was friends with. Sadly Brett lost his life several years ago but I still think of him from those days and I can’t help but smile. Even though he was a massive dude in my eyes, I’ll always remember that he had a giant heart too. He always treated me like I was part of his circle even though I existed on the edge of that circle at best. And that pretty dance team captain that befriended me way back when, well she is still a BFF and not only one of the most beautiful women I know inside and out, she’s a successful business woman, an author, a proud momma and a loving, devoted wife. And I can gladly say, even though we’re a couple of hundred miles apart, we stay connected and chat often. My best friend forever Mike and I connect almost daily. Sometimes it’s a call or a text. Maybe a dad joke or a backhanded jab. We even have laughs about being seniors. Sometimes remembering 1978 and other times trying to remember stuff from 2020.

Through the miracle of social media, even though I live over 200 miles from where I lived the first time I was a senior, I am still connected to dozens and dozens of friends from those great days at Proviso West and even earlier at MacArthur and Jefferson. For example, at our last class reunion, Tom and his band played for a couple of hours and it’s hard to believe he and I met in 1971. That guy is a rocking, surfing, boating senior and a really cool dude (does that sound seniorish?) now living in Florida. Steve and Mark and others live in Cali, Donna lives in Texas, Bill lives in Michigan, Diane has traveled all over Europe and also lived in Germany. Rich has lived in Colorado for years. My cousin Pat and his wife Patty who are also 78ers have been in Oregon for as long as I can remember. And hundreds of others are scattered all across the land and sadly, several others have gone before us. But for those that remain, there is a line of commonality that we all share and have shared before. At one time we were all seniors before life really got going. And here we all are, seniors (maybe) again. It really doesn’t matter about our life perspectives or where we stand in today’s climate of world views, we cannot separate ourselves from the fact that we were seniors together back in 1978 and we may or may not be seniors together again now. In a few years, many of us will meet again or for the first time at a class reunion. We will have happy memories about those first senior days and share a lot of laughs and a few tears. And surely the conversation will turn to current senior days and all of our own transition to being a modern day senior.

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thelifelessone · 4 years

Text

That Funny Story

There's this school of mine. Currently existing in my blurred memories. I used to study there. Actually it wasn't study though;) It was one hell of a ride boy. Every day. Every class. Every minute. Me, just out there enjoying every fucking second of my existence. You don't even think about the moments until all of these comes to an end and you stand there stranded. Perhaps even crying.

'Sarvodaya'. Your uday is almost certain in a school with such a name. It was a co-ed school. But only for the sake of it. Otherwise all of us boys have had this hidden prejudice towards the other gender. Like if you talk with any girl then it was considered something like a sin. You can even call it male ego if you want. But hey! we were all just bunch of kids then. So, the situation was so bad that we guys wouldn't even ask for our pens if it went over to the side where 'they' used to sit. Our territories were marked with an invisible chalk. Haha..you may laugh or think of it as a truly childish behavior but it was what it was. You'd better understand if you knew the conventional surroundings at that time.

We didn't know the concept of boyfriend/ girlfriend. Not even that a boy and a girl can be friends as well. And I'm talking about the time when I was in 7th and 8th standard. Well, even then I was the 'reading type'. I used to read all our literary books and any other material that I could get my hands on. An exceptionally ordinary teenager dreaming about all the filmy type romance eh!. Not a very novel story. Well, That's me bruh..what can I say..😅 It was during the 9th standard. Pretty much every 'only boys' friend groups of ours had this tendency to make fun of each other by imagining them in relationship with random girl from their class. Words like 'bhabhi' were common at the time. Pretty common even today, right? Some things just stays the same for eternity. There's always this one girl in every standard who's a notch above everybody else. Even we had that diva in our class and by default I and every other friend of mine outright rejected the idea of me and her ever being together. Then there was this second girl who happened to be the best friend of that diva. Them, Those stupid friends of mine had mindset of Gulshan from 'Hunter'. Always go for the second best. I wonder where the writers got the idea from. Chill, I won't sue them for copyright;). So, yeah my friends, They used to tease me with her name everytime they got a chance. Whether it's her name being spoken aloud during attendance by teacher or when she entered the class. Every fucking time. Those fuckers never missed a chance. Than the placebo effect happened. Even I started to think like those bastards and felt like having a special connect with her. Well, when you're of that age you also feel that spark in your eyes and few butterflies flying in your stomach when you see someone. More or less, it was happening .

So, for the first time in the history of our school, out of blue we decided to do something about this dillema. To move ahead. It was consensually decided to propose her on valentine's day as it was just a month n half away. We planned to give her a love letter. Being a young school boy reading about all this love stories, this was the only possible and sensible solution for me and the gang as I was way too shy to go and talk with her in person. We started writing. It took us a month or so to finally finish that letter after 6th draft. That too in english, a very proud thing to do for me. Then we decorated it with designs. Those designs were from a personal collection of one of my best friends. Thus we made this beautiful four page letter - three pages of "artistic" designs and one of content!. Maybe this was the moment I knew that even writing content for living would work for me.

The big day arrived. We used to go in the same tution classes but were in different batches. We were in respective batches. So, between this two classes, we used to have had a buffer time of five minutes. This was the perfect opportunity to act upon and deliver that letter. So, that day her class got over and she was going back on her pink ladybird (with a basket in front) with four of her friends. I followed her on my friend's bike and just drop that letter of mine in her basket out of blue. She was startled and with confusion in her eyes she asked "what's this?". testosterone was flowing through me like crazy and on the peak of my hormones, I replied, "everything is mentioned in the letter itself. Read it." Mike drop and then left.

Now that period started. The period of waiting. When nights are longer than days and vise versa. So, during that time, our gang was kinda wanted gang in the school so, the principal himself instructed us to not be present even in the school compound during the recess. I used to sent a spy of mine to observe the happenings of classroom because all the girls used to stay in the classroom only. That spy came with a report that the group of around 8-10 girls were sitting in a circle and among them, the scholar of our class is deciphering your letter. I was like bouy, this is not a very bright sign. I sighed and waited. Waited for a few more days and exactly after a week, when we all were playing in ground, our peon came and exactly at that moment I knew that chacha were coming for me only. I was totally like 'chalo bulava aaya hai' and went with him like a badass. We passed by the principal's cabin and and questions started bubbling up in my mind about what our actual destination would be. He showed me the gate of trustee's office. I went in and stood there. Completely frozen. The trustee of our school was sitting there in his usual chair. In front of him was my dad, sitting in one chair and next to him was the girl's grandpa. With a xerox copy of my letter (..why xerox copy man? Should've brought the original one for the sake of creativity.) and then the verbal despoilment started. On top of that, her grandpa used to work in the police commissioner office. That oldie literally ripped me apart that day. It lasted for whole 45 minutes and then I went back to class. Even after school, I was not ready to go home. I was literally shivering. That path, that daily route of mine felt very different and scary that day. Haven felt even scarier. Finally, I reached home. Ate my lunch. Then had few slaps from you know who.

This whole story spread like a wildfire through out school. Our very first attempt at this tender thing called relationship and love had gone horribly and miserably wrong. After that incident, The boards came. The 10th. During that whole year, I wrote six love letters for my friends. (maybe this is how the journey started.) and guess what? All of them were accepted and those guys experienced the sweet taste of love. Well well well, I concluded that in my case, maybe the fault was not in our stars but the planning and execution. My content was great, though. Chuckles!

Well, don't we all have that one little corner in our hearts where we store such stories. Where we bury all the fun moments of our school life, The stories of our Herculean adventures, all the laughters and cries, so that we can dig them up and revisit those beautiful and precious memories whenever we feel down. Maybe this is precisely why I just love the movie '96' so much.

As they say, the story of love, it never gets old.

#school #love #story #letter #teenage love #adolesence #life #meaning

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julesthequirky · 6 years

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Lead Me Into Temptation Chapter Two

Summary: Your crush on your next door neighbour is already long established. The signs are slight, but you can’t fully tell if he likes you or not. The problem is: he’s much older.

You laid there on your bed, chest rising and falling in rapid pace, sweat glistening, your breath heavy, heart pounding as you came down from your high.

You moved the vibrator away from between your legs over to one side to clean up later. A thought occurred to you as you looked over to the open window.

Had he heard you? You hadn’t been overly loud. But you had been a little louder than usual as your parents were away. You sat up abruptly worried. You pressed your face to the glass to catch a glimpse, but you couldn’t see him, he was more than likely in his workshop. You hoped to God.

Half an hour later you were smelling fresh and dressed, vibrator hidden safely away, stuffed under many layers. You heard the familiar rumble of a car turn into a driveway and went to investigate. A smile upturned your lips. It was his 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V in jubilee gold. It wasn’t his only car, because he had a 1969 Dodge Charger in cardinal red with a white racing stripe down the middle. God that car was a beauty. You had had many fantasies about that car and Misha Collins.

He stopped and stepped out, leaning down to pick up groceries across the seat. You groaned at the view of his ass. Jesus. He was gonna be the death of you.

Your phone pinged. You averted your gaze to whoever had messaged you.

It was Mike. You closed your eyes. You had forgot. You had promised to practice the hymns with him. You quickly tapped out a message back to him agreeing to meet at three and not to forget his guitar.

At three, Mike came round the back and walked into the conservatory. You were already at the piano tinkling with the ivories.

Unbeknown to you, Mike had piqued Misha’s interest and he was peering over the fence looking into the fully glass conservatory. The doors and windows were wide open and he could hear you play. He knew the tune well. AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He had no idea, but you weren’t what you seemed and he loved it.

“Nice, what song is that?” Mike asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just messing around.” you dismissed.

Over the fence, Misha couldn’t hide his annoyance. Figured he didn’t know what decent music was.

Mike pulled his guitar over him and Y/N grabbed the sheet music from the side and sifted through the pages to get the right one.

“How Great Thou Art, 3, 2, 1.” You nodded counting down the beats and your fingers started the beginning melody into the great hymn.

Mike then accompanied you and you started to sing.

Your voice wasn’t what he expected. Your sweet and innocent appearance demeanour should have complimented your voice. Your voice had a rock vibe to it. It shocked people. You tried your best to sing softer but it still had that rock grit to it.

You rested after the song before going straight into In Christ Alone.

One more song left you told yourself. This was the only way you could sing without anyone questioning your song choices. Your parents were proud of you. You had excelled in music and mechanics. Two complete opposites but you had loved them both equally.

Motors and music that was your thing. But your mother had put a stop to that. She had said future husbands didn’t like women with dirt ingrained in their skin and under their nails.

After the third and final song you closed the piano lid, putting the sheet music away. Mike’s hand shot out and pulled out the Aerosmith sheet music.

He cocked his head and you had to bite your tongue, stopping yourself from telling him what you really wanted.

“I didn’t know you liked rock.”

He flicked through it.

“It’s my neighbours.” You lied.

“Oh,” He looked at the back. “Shouldn’t you give it back?”

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to.”

You had forgot to hide it upstairs.

“Let’s do that now.”

And before you could do anything he was out of your house and heading over to the 4 foot fence. Oh my God. You ran over as he called Mr Collins over. You watched as he walked out, wiping his hands on an already filthy rag. He saw you and smiled. He turned his attention to Mike. He was wearing another old and tattered t-shirt.

The way he stood had your mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert. It really was unethical of you to be that in too deep. He was almost 20 years older than you, for Christ’s sake! You had tried. And failed.

“Mr Collins, I believe this belongs to you.” Mike said and handed over your Aerosmith music book.

Misha took it, a quizzical expression on his face. His eyes flicked to you, unblind to the anxiety etched all over your features and body. Something told him you didn’t want your parents finding out. You were asking him to keep a secret.

Misha smiled at Mike and thanked him, thanked you for returning it to him.

“I had forgot about this.”

You nodded, relieved. He was a good liar. You couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

You lead Mike out the back gate and saw him off. Mike was lovely. He had that whole clean and wholesome look about him, which would have been great but you weren’t interested in good devout pretty boys, but he was also intrusive and you hated that about him.

Your legs felt unsteady as you walked back to Misha. He smiled and wiped the condensation from the can over his perspiring skin. The sound of the tab popping open on the can pulled you to reality but when he drank your mind sang praises.

He propped the beer down and gave you his full attention.

“Aerosmith and AC/DC. Is that what all the good girls listen to nowadays?” he asked with a teasing grin.

You blushed. God. You had to learn to stop blushing at everything he said.

“Cause last time I heard, that’s what the bad girls listened to. Are you secretly a bad girl, Y/N?” His voice dropped to a whisper and leaned closer to you.

You stuttered. He winked and you felt your whole body weaken.

“I’m not like the other girls at church, Mr Collins.”

“I bet you’re a breath of fresh air. I’m sure your boyfriend knows that.”

You gave him a strange look.

“The guy you had over.” he prompted.

“Oh. No he’s not my boyfriend. We were practising for Sunday. We’re on the worship team.”

He nodded.

“He doesn’t look like he could give you want you want anyway.” He said offhand.

You almost choked on your breath.

“And what do I want?” You asked.

He looked at you properly then and you felt his blue orbs touch your soul.

“Experience. Someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who can make you sin just by looking at them. Someone who will put your pleasure first and draw it out. Nice and slow.” He smirked after and handed you your book back.

You gulped. You had a thousand sins in your head. All of them with him in mind.

Misha ticked all those points off. Now all you could think about was him drawing out your pleasure. Nice and slow. He turned away from you and picked up his beer. God you wanted to be that can touching his lips. His swagger had your eyes travelling down to his hips and butt. Your eyes followed as he made his way back to his workshop.

Lead Me Into Temptation Tags:

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#Lead Me Into Temptation #misha collins #misha #misha smut #misha fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn #spn rpf #spn au #misha x reader

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reddiesetandgo · 6 years

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You Didn’t Say It Back

MERRY CHRISTMAS or HAPPY HOLIDAYS @ssettespettri !! I’m so sorry it’s a little late, but I wanted it to be perfect! I hope you love it! <3

Pairing: Reddie

Warnings: Adult Language

Length: Long AF :D

Richie Tozier knew that he cared about Eddie Kaspbrak.

And that was one of the only things that Richie was absolutely certain of.

So when Eddie had come bounding up to the Losers one cool Friday evening, papers in hand and a smile on his face so wide it made Richie’s heart swell, he smiled too.

Things weren’t so different now than they had been six years ago when they had all first come together that terrible summer. They were still inseparable, they still did everything together, and they were still ready to fight for each other. But then, just two months after senior year started, college applications were being sent out. They had spent so many nights together, bundled up in the quarry or in Bill’s house or in Stan’s back yard helping each other fill out forms and blank white boxes on the computer or figuring out ways to describe each other that made each of them feel so damn loved. They wanted to stay together. And they all said they were going to. But they didn’t want to hold each other back either. So they all made a promise, no matter where they went, they would always come back to each other. The Loser’s Club would never really end.

But this day would feel like the end to Richie Tozier. He didn’t know what Eddie was holding in his hands when he reached his friends that day at the Barrens, but he felt something in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t like once Eddie had reached them.

“You’ll-” he wheezed, hands on his thighs.

“You’ll never guess-” He was stopped when Richie’s hand came into view.

He looked at the inhaler Richie had put in front of his mouth, the spare inhaler he always kept with him for Eddie, and he closed his mouth over the small opening. Richie pressed down on the medicine and Eddie took a deep breath, thankful for the boy in front of him.

“Thanks,” Eddie coughed and Richie smiled.

“Okay, dipshit,” he said. “What’s this all about?”

“Richie, I got in.” Richie’s eyes widened slightly. “Guys. I’m in!”

They were all silent for a moment and then Ben cried out, “NO.”

“Yes,” Eddie laughed.

“Holy fuck, the one overseas?” Beverly’s hands shot up to her face.

“Yes!”

And then Eddie was on the ground. It was Bill that had taken him down and the rest of the Losers soon followed, even Richie who was still...something.

Stan had ripped the papers out of Eddie’s hands and began reading from it. “We’re pleased to inform you, Eddie Kaspbrak, that you have been accepted into-”

“I knew you could get in, Eddie,” Mike interrupted. Stan sent him a look before handing the papers over to Ben and Beverly who fawned over them.

They had clamored off Eddie now, but they were still on the ground, marvelling at his news.

Richie reached for Eddie and pulled him into his arms. “I’m proud of you, Eds. I really am,” was all he could think of to say. Because it was true. Because it was the only thing Richie had been able to say. Because there were a million other things that flooded Richie’s mind when Eddie had told them.

Overseas is so far. You aren’t really going, are you? When will I see you? When will you come home? Who will be my roommate now, I don’t want anyone else but you. Eddie, baby, that’s too far from me.

But instead he just said, “I’m proud of you, Eds. I really am.”

Eddie’s hold on Richie tightened slightly. “I hate it when you call me that.”

No he didn’t.

It had occurred to Eddie about thirty two minutes ago when he first read the letter aloud that he would be far away from the Losers, from his home, from Richie.

He was torn between his excitement at getting out of this town, away from his mother, and the incredibly lonely feeling that had started to fill his lungs. It was a dull burn and it had lingered there still. Especially when he was in the arms of the lanky boy he’d grown up with. The boy who had always been there, since Eddie could remember. The boy who had introduced him to Bill and Stan and the boy who had made his life more than the pills his mother fed him as a child or the overwhelming insecurities he faced in his early teenage years, or the fear he faced now, of leaving him behind.

He swallowed the knot in his throat and smiled, pulling away from Richie just enough to see his face. He swore he saw his eyes glisten and was about to reach up to him when Beverly snaked her arms around his waist and pulled him up into a hug.

The others continued to drown Eddie in congratulations and affection but Richie stayed seated in the grass. He brought his legs up and rested his arms as he looked at Eddie. How happy he was.

Richie cared about Eddie Kaspbrak. He cared about him a lot. He knew deep down that there was more to it, there had always been more to it. But then, looking at Eddie and knowing he was doing something he had always dreamed of doing, he decided to bury whatever it was inside of himself and keep it there. For how long, he wasn’t sure. But for now, he wasn’t going to think about the heat that had pooled in his stomach or the knot that had been forming in his throat since he had Eddie in his arms.

~ ~ ~

Richie waited at the bottom of Eddie’s window. Sonia Kasprack had not, in the two years of Eddie’s absence, learned anything. She was just as overbearing as she had always been, just as controlling. But Eddie wasn’t here for her and he’d be damned if she kept him locked away like she had those few years ago. And so he had asked Richie to meet him here, in the same spot he had met him dozens of times before.

Richie shoved his hands into his jacket and scanned the street while he waited for Eddie. He hadn’t been this nervous in a long time and he was vaguely sure the last time had something to do with Eddie too.

Eddie had grown in the two years he was absent from the Losers lives. He explained some of this in the letters he wrote, but Richie knew there was more that Eddie never got around to telling. Richie had received fourteen letters and three phone calls in the two years Eddie was gone and he had nearly hated Eddie for it. More than once, Richie had felt forgotten. And he supposed he had been. He was ready to give Eddie a punch to the jaw when he was waiting for him at the airport three days ago. He cursed Stan and Bill for not being able to come, for Beverly and Ben and Mike for attending a different school that didn’t start winter break for two more days.

“Please,” Richie had begged his two friends. “I can’t go pick him up by myself!”

“Why?” Stan asked as he dropped the binoculars he had been holding up to his eyes.

“It’s Eddie. Not some stranger.”

Richie wanted to believe him, but he knew that wasn’t the truth anymore. Eddie was very much a stranger now. Richie, for the first time in his life, didn’t know what to expect of his best friend, of his Eddie.

He mentally kicked himself. He wasn’t HIS Eddie anymore. He hated knowing that was true.

“Are you sure?” he shot back.

Bill smacked his arm. “C-come on, Rich. It’s Eddie we-we’re talking about. Don’t be s-s-such an ass.”

“I’m the one being an ass?” Richie threw his hands up into the air, his frustration piquing. “You two haven’t seen him either and you’re both too busy to come and I’M the ass?”

Stan stood up, walking past Richie while giving him a pointed look. “It isn’t our fault we signed up for this class before we knew Eddie was coming.” Stan held the binoculars back up to his eyes and he looked out towards the top of the quarry. “If we didn’t have to go, we wouldn’t.”

“What teacher does that? It’s winter break for God’s sake!”

“S-sorry, Richie,” Bill murmured, laying a hand on Richie’s shoulder.

Richie was quiet after that. Stan took his eyes away from the bird he had found and looked to Bill. Bill looked back at him, guilt written across his face.

Stan shook his head slightly before Richie started up again.

“I don’t-” he began. He suddenly felt that knot back in his throat, the one from before, when he had first found out that Eddie was leaving. “I don’t think I can see him on my own.”

Bill wanted to tell him. He wanted Stan to tell him too. He wanted to tell Richie that they were lying. They didn’t have shit to do on the day Eddie was coming back into town and they wanted to see Eddie nearly as bad as Richie did. But that was just it. They wanted to see Eddie, but Richie? Richie needed to see Eddie.

Stan was the only one he told. The only Loser who knew exactly how Richie felt about Eddie. And Richie had taken nearly the entire two years to allow himself to figure it out. At first, Richie didn’t want to think about it. He was okay with the promise he had made to himself to keep whatever it was in the pit of his stomach to himself.

But then Eddie had sent him a letter. It was the last letter Richie would receive from Eddie and that was three months ago. He hadn’t been able to read the entire thing. As he looked over Eddie’s handwriting, always so neat and proper, one word caught his attention.

Girlfriend.

Richie’s eyes grew wide and he clutched the paper in this hands, bringing it up to his face so he could read it faster. Eddie had a girlfriend. She was French. A year younger than him. She was pretty, the letter said.

His arm fell to his side and he felt sick. He let the pages fall to the floor as he leaned back against the kitchen counter of his apartment. He slowly dropped to the floor and for the first time since he had watched Eddie walk away towards the plane he felt tears burn at the sides of his eyes.

And that was when he knew. Of course. How could he have been so incredibly stupid? He loved Eddie Kaspbrak.

He was in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. And suddenly the pit in his stomach didn’t seem so foreign anymore.

That’s when Stan found him on the kitchen floor. At first Stan looked annoyed. Living with Richie Tozier was an experience, one Stan pretended to hate to keep up appearances. He’d never tell him to his face, but Richie was his best friend.

But when Richie turned to look up at Stan, clutching his chest with one hand and the other raking through his hair with a wild look in his eyes, he knew something was wrong.

“Richie,” he called, kneeling down beside him. He felt paper underneath his knee and he slid the pages out into his hand.

“Eddie,” Richie choked. “It’s always been Eddie.”

And Stan knew. He didn’t know how Richie knew or why it took him this long to figure it out, but he knew.

Richie laughed as a sob racked through his body. “Holy shit, Stan, it’s always been about fucking Eddie.”

It took Richie three hours to fall asleep that night with Stan at his side. Stan let Richie cry in his arms and he had rubbed his back until the only sounds that came from Richie were little hiccups.

Then Stan asked what happened. Richie told him to read the letter. So he did. He held onto Richie with one arm and read the letter with the other. When he was finished, he gingerly put the letter back down onto the floor.

“Richie-”

“What timing, huh?” he mocked. “What fucking fantastic timing.”

Stan pulled away from Richie to get a better look at him. “Richie, did you read the whole letter?”

“The whole thing?” Richie swiped at his eyes, wetting the sleeves of his shirt. “I couldn’t even get through the first page. I’m a mess. A stupid mess.”

“You aren’t stupid,” Stan snapped back. “Maybe a mess, but not stupid.” He paused before continuing. ��I think you should read the whole letter, Richie.”

“I can’t,” Richie whispered, just loud enough for Stan to hear. “I think I always knew that I-”

Stan felt Richie tense up for a fraction of a moment. Then he heard Richie’s heart beat a little faster and he let out a shaky breath. “I think I always knew that I loved Eddie.”

Stan opened his mouth but Richie Continued. “But I don’t know this Eds. Fuck, I haven’t even used that nickname in over a year. I don’t know him anymore, Stan. What if I don’t know him anymore?” Richie threw his hands over his face and pulled away from Stan’s arms.

“Richie, I think you should read Eddie’s letter. He’s coming to visit. He wants to see us.”

Richie’s breath had paused. “He wants to see you,” Stan finished.

“My God,” Richie thought out loud. “I never thought I could be so happy, so upset, and so fucking confused at the same time.”

“Alright, Trashmouth,” Stan grumbled, getting to his feet. “You learned something new about yourself today. That’s great, it’s really great. But more important than that,” he said, reaching out a hand to Richie, “you found out the love of your life is coming to visit.”

Richie stared up at Stan, his face turning a shade of red the boy had never seen before.

“Now what are you going to do about it?”

And Richie supposed this was the answer to that. Standing outside of Eddie Kaspbrak’s window, waiting for him to crawl out from behind the white, pristine curtains in his room like he used to do when they were still all together.

When Richie had first seen Eddie walk out from the terminal, he noticed a lot of things. He noticed Eddie had gotten a little taller. Long gone were those little shorts that all of the Losers adored on him. Instead, he was wearing jeans and a muted pink sweater, and a deep blue jacket over that. He tugged behind him a black, rolling bag that seemed a little too packed. Richie saw the way Eddie walked, eyes forward and for once not pointing to the ground. His shoulders were squared, and Richie swore his sleeves were the slightest bit filled out. The sight of him made Richie’s stomach spin and his heart flew up into his throat. This was him. This was Eddie. The boy Richie had been so angry at for so long because he was terrified he had forgotten about him.

But the look of recognition that fell across Eddie’s face when his eyes locked with Richie’s proved this couldn’t be true. Eddie’s mouth fell open slightly and Richie felt lightheaded. Nothing could have prepared him for the way Eddie made him feel in that instant. In that instant he felt so much and he felt so fast that he was sure he would drop to his knees. But he didn’t have time to know what those feelings were, because first Eddie’s eyes were on his and his mouth had fallen open slightly, but now he was running to Richie, the black luggage bag discarded on the floor and Eddie was flying through the airport.

Richie felt his hand twitch to the pocket he used to keep Eddie’s inhaler in. How in the hell was he running like this? But then Richie was running too.

“Richie!” Eddie called out and it was the sweetest thing Richie had ever heard. He felt tears behind his eyes. God he missed hearing his voice.

Richie slowed and opened his arms wide as Eddie was about to close the distance between them. If time could have moved faster, Richie would have made it so. The anticipation of Eddie being back in his arms was about to ruin him.

But then he was there all at once. He jumped into Richie’s arms, latching onto him and pulling his head into the crook of Richie’s neck. Richie engulfed Eddie, picking him up as he snaked his arms around his back. “Eddie,” he breathed. And Eddie felt so good in his arms, like he was meant to be there. He let Eddie’s feet fall to the floor, but he kept him pulled tight to him. He felt Eddie nuzzle into his neck as a sigh escaped the boy’s lips.

“Fuck, Richie, I missed you.”

Richie just hugged him tighter. Eddie’s arm moved up Richie’s back until his hand was in his hair, holding him firmly to him.

Richie wanted to tell Eddie he missed him too, but something stopped him. And then everything came back. The three phone calls, the 13 letters that had hurt him and the one that had destroyed him, the silence, the realization.

Richie slowly let go of Eddie then and for a moment Richie thought he saw disappointment flash across Eddie’s face.

“Hey, there, Eds,” was all he could think of to say. “Welcome back.”

Eddie smiled, but it was a smile Richie had never seen before. That frightened him. “Thanks,” he said, adjusting his shirt.

Richie backed away from Eddie and said the first thing that came to his hurt, idiot head. “What happened to you, you look like shit!”

“Fuck off, Tozier,” Eddie replied back, a smile tugging at his lips.

Richie remembered this Eddie, but he knew there was more to Eddie now that he didn’t have the privilege to know. The boy in pink flashed him a smile as he ran back to his luggage.

“Holy shit, how is he running,” Richie wondered again.

When Eddie had returned to Richie’s side, Richie let out a big sigh. Despite it all, he was so happy to see this kid. He was so happy that Eddie was back where he belonged. Or at least where Richie thought he belonged. Where he wished he belonged. He turned to walk and a strange silence fell between the two of them as they made their way to Richie’s beat up mustang.

Should Richie say something? Should he ask about Eddie’s girlfriend? Should he tell him how Stan is? Bill? Beverly and Ben? Mike? Should he tell Eddie that he just found out he’s been in love with him for as long as he can remember?

Before Richie could say any of these things, Eddie said, “Did you get my letter?”

Richie gulped and felt his shoulders fall.

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to sound chipper. “I did.”

“Oh.”

Why did Eddie sound so small all of a sudden? Richie stole a glance at Eddie and saw he was facing the ground, a blush evident over his freckled cheeks.

He hated himself, but he didn’t know what else to say. So he just said, “Aww, Eds! What a cutie!” And he poked his cheek once, feeling his warmth on his fingertip. “You’re blushing!”

Eddie’s head jerked up toward Richie with a confused look and wide eyes. He looked hurt. Richie didn’t know why.

“You-” He started. “You read it, didn’t you?” Richie thought he heard fear in his voice, but he shrugged it off.

“Sure I did, Eddie Spaghetti. Adorable.” He ruffled Eddie’s hair. “We can talk about all that stuff later. For now, Stan and Bill are waiting for you at the apartment.”

Eddie’s mouth fell open slightly for the second time since he had laid eyes on Richie in two years. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled. “Later is good.”

Richie unlocked his car and Eddie’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You still have her?” He rushed over to his favorite car that any of the Losers owned.

“Yup,” Richie replied, patting the faded black hood of his car. “She still purrs like a kitten.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie retorted, letting his free hand glide across the trunk before Richie popped it open.

Then Eddie almost fell to the floor with laughter. His bag hit the ground with a loud, reverberating thud in the parking garage and he held his stomach. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes and he was gasping for air. Richie felt his hand twitch again, Eddie’s old inhaler coming to his mind.

“Richie,” he giggled. “I swear some of this shit was here the last time I was!”

The air felt a little lighter and Richie felt himself smirk.

“Now, now, Eds,” he groaned, picking up Eddie’s bag with one hand and laying it gently over all of the crap in his trunk. “You wouldn’t want to be left rideless at the airport, would you?”

“You wouldn’t dare, Trashmouth,” he heard.

And this time, Richie was the one laughing. He had forgotten how much he loved hearing Eddie say that nickname. He slammed the trunk shut, being careful Eddie’s hands were out of the way, and started towards the driver’s seat. Eddie followed suit and opened the passenger side door.

Just as Richie threw a long leg inside Eddie cleared his throat. “So, tomorrow,” he started from across the top of the car.

Richie was looking at Eddie, but Eddie was looking everywhere but at Richie.

“We should-” he paused, like he was trying to find the right words. Richie wasn’t sure if it was because he felt uncomfortable around him now or if this is just who he has grown into.

“Can we still go to the quarry? Just you and me, like before.”

Richie was silent for a long time, but when Eddie finally looked up at him and their eyes met, he took in a breath.

“Sure, Eds,” he agreed. “Sure.”

Richie did not want to go to the quarry alone with Eddie. He didn’t want to be alone with Eddie anymore. This was painful enough.

“Loving someone is the fucking worst,” he thought to himself as he fell into the seat. He looked to Eddie as he sat down into his seat, reaching for the belt buckle and he sent a shy smile up to Richie. He cursed as he felt a blush begin to creep up his neck, but he smiled back to Eddie as best as he could.

The drive was mostly silent, but Eddie did tell Richie about the places he had been. Richie hung onto every word, thankful they were talking about anything other than the stifled air that seemed to surround them from the moment they broke apart just under thirty minutes ago.

Meanwhile, the track playing over and over again in Eddie’s head went something like this: Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit….

And now Richie heard Eddie saying, “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” as he quietly stepped out from his window and onto the small landing below it. The day had passed quickly, much too fast for Richie, but he had promised Eddie they would go to the quarry and that was where they were going to go.

Eddie turned back around and slowly pulled the window shut, backing away slightly to look down for Richie.

Richie’s face grew hot as his head tilted towards Eddie. Even with just the moon and the yellow street lamp outside of Eddie’s house, Richie could see how beautiful Eddie was. His stomach fell towards his feet.

Richie backed away to give Eddie space to jump but he made sure to stretch out his arms for Eddie to grab onto. Once he hit the ground he whispered, “Go, go, go!” and he grabbed Richie’s hand and pulled him down the street towards the place he knew Richie had parked.

Richie would have been thankful to know there are some things that Eddie Kaspbrak would never forget, but he was focused on the hand that was warm in his and tugging him along the street and the sudden realization that Eddie had never, not once, used an inhaler in the time he had been with him or the Losers.

“Who are you?” Richie said aloud.

“What?” Eddie asked loudly, turning to look in Richie’s direction.

His eyes grew wide and he felt his cheeks redden again. The wind in his hair made him look…

“Get a fucking grip!” he screamed in his head.

“I said, uh, where are you going. It’s fucking dark, I can barely see.”

Eddie gripped onto Richie’s hand a little tighter and started off towards Richie’s car again which was now in view. “Don’t tell me your eyesight has gotten worse, Tozier.”

Richie let that slide, but only because Eddie Kaspbrak was in front of him and they were alone and they were going to be alone and Richie wasn’t sure why he had ever agreed to it.

The drive to the quarry was not as quiet as Richie thought it would be and he was incredibly grateful for the strangely talkative boy next to him. Eddie was rambling. Richie was following pretty well and had learned about the difficulties of learning a new language on the spot, the different classes Eddie had taken, and the many things he had seen that had reminded him of the different Losers. Richie wished, just as he parked on the outskirts of the quarry, that he could listen to Eddie talk forever.

But once he turned the car off, Eddie fell silent. Richie swallowed, hard, before looking over to Eddie. He was looking out the window, towards the winding path that led to the top of the quarry.

Richie could see Eddie’s chest moving up and down faster than it had been when he was talking nonstop less than a minute ago. Then Eddie turned and looked at Richie head on.

“You ready?” he asked.

Richie blinked.

No.

And then he smiled. “Yeah, Eddie Spaghetti, let’s go dig up some memories!” He threw open his door, turning away from Eddie and missing the small boy’s shoulders drop slightly as he turned to open his own door. The walk up to the quarry was easy. There were so many happy memories, each boy must have spoken about five each, filling the silence and heavy atmosphere with laughter and sometimes, embarrassed groans.

When they finally reached the ledge of the quarry, the one they had jumped off of countless times, they both fell silent. The quarry was alive underneath them. They could hear the wind blowing through the trees that surrounded them, sending leaves and dirt spirling around the lake. The water was rippling with the wind, the moon and stars reflecting up into their eyes and casting light onto the quarry walls. Richie loved when the quarry looked at this. And for a moment, just a moment, he forgot about the nervousness he felt and he reached for Eddie’s hand. He looked down just as he was about to touch Eddie’s palm and his heart jumped into his throat. He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair instead and praying Eddie hadn’t noticed. If he had, he didn’t give Richie any time to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“So are you going to say anything, Rich?”

He froze. What kind of question was that? He turned to look at Eddie who was now standing shoulders back, and head up, like he was waiting for terrible news or to get punched.

“What’s that look for, Eddie?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “Look, I can take it. So please, just-” He took in a deep breath and steeled himself. “Just say it, Richie.”

Richie’s mouth had fallen open and his eyes were wide and he was absolutely and completely confused.

“Eddie. What are you talking about?”

Eddie took a step back, looking into Richie’s eyes for an answer that wasn’t there. Eddie raked a hand through his hair and held it at the back of his neck in frustration.

“Richie, you said you read my letter. What do you mean ‘what are you talking about’? I told you I-” He swallowed. “I asked you if-”

Richie looked to the ground. He hadn’t read the entire letter, but he’d read enough. “I know about your girlfriend,” he said. The knot was back in his throat and his heart was pounding on his ribs but he kept going. “And I think it’s great, Eds, I do. And I-”

“You didn’t read the entire letter, did you?”

Richie stopped. He stopped talking, he stopped moving, he stopped everything except looking at Eddie. He looked directly into those deep brown eyes that were staring back at him with their long lashes and the freckled cheeks just underneath them and Richie decided to tell him. He decided to tell Eddie everything. Because he hadn’t read Eddie’s letter. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. So, despite the fear that was pooling in his stomach, or his heart which was sure to burst from his rib cage at any moment, he opened his big mouth.

“No, Eddie. I didn’t read the entire letter. I…stopped after I read about your girlfriend. I wanted to read your letter, I really did, because I loved hearing from you, even though it wasn’t as much as I wanted. But then I read that you had a girlfriend and I don’t know what happened Eddie but it was like something just sort of broke inside of me.” He felt tears begin to burn at the edges of his eyes, but he couldn’t stop now.

“Richie,” Eddie whispered.

“Wait, wait, Eds, I gotta finish. Please.” Richie brought both hands up and knotted them into his hair. He was looking at everything but Eddie, trying to remember where he left off, trying to remember what he had wanted to say. Because there had been so much that he hadn’t said. And now he was shaking and all of the feelings he’d been hiding deep inside of himself were bubbling up to the surface all at once.

Then he felt a small hand on his cheek and his mind slowed. His eyes locked with Eddie’s and suddenly the words came back.

“I realized that I’ve been in love with you.” He saw Eddie’s eyes widen and he felt his hand begin to fall away. But Richie chased it and held it firmly in place, holding Eddie’s gaze.

“I don’t know for how long or when it started, but Eddie, I’m in love with you. With all of you. The day you left us, I was so happy for you. Because I knew that was what you wanted. I didn’t want to think about the empty feeling in my chest or how afraid I was of a life without you. I just wanted to see you happy. But that damn letter,” he laughed, a tear making its way down his cheek. “I guess I couldn’t ignore it anymore, Eddie. I’m so sorry, but I just can’t ignore it anymore.”

Richie’s hand was still atop of Eddie’s on his cheek and Eddie’s eyes were still wide, his mouth agape. Richie’s heart was beating from somewhere in the pit of his stomach but he didn’t regret a single word he’d said. He was terrified and he was so sure Eddie was going to pull his hand away at any moment, but he would never regret this. A gust of wind blew between them, gently tousling their hair around their faces. Richie had an urge to brush Eddie’s hair back into place, but he was afraid to move. Why hadn’t Eddie said anything yet?

“Eddie-”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Richie.”

Richie’s hand fell away then and Eddie did pull his hand back this time.

“You’re such an idiot, Trashmouth. You know that?”

Before Richie could respond, he felt hands snake around his neck and soft lips on his own. He felt Eddie’s weight pulling at his shoulders and his hands making their way into his hair. And suddenly his hands were snaking around Eddie’s waist and he was deepening the kiss, lifting Eddie up off the ground a little. He heard Eddie hum and his stomach flipped, fireworks shooting off behind his closed eyes. Nothing had ever felt this right for Richie and he found himself hoping Eddie was thinking the same thing.

And then Eddie was pulling away and Richie felt a small whine escape his lips.

Eddie smiled, his lips barely brushing against Richie’s. “If you had read my letter, you would have known that I broke up with her because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Richie was the one to pull away this time, just far enough to see Eddie’s face.

“I confessed in the letter, Richie. That’s why I asked if you read it. Because you would have known. This whole time I was waiting for your answer, asshole.”

Richie’s arms were still wrapped around Eddie and he pulled him closer. “Is that why you asked me to come to the quarry?”

“That was also in my letter, Rich.”

“Right. I’m sorry about that, Eddie.”

Silence fell over them again, but they were still in each other's arms, still so incredibly close. Richie’s heart was pounding in his ears and he was sure Eddie would hear it if he didn’t say something soon. So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“So, are you going to take me home now or-?”

Eddie pulled Richie back down, kissing him harder than before. Richie felt dizzy. “Beep beep, Trashmouth,” he breathed when he pulled away.

“You didn’t say it back to me.”

“What?” Eddie looked up to Richie, confused.

“You didn’t say it back. I love you.” Richie felt the warmth grow in his cheeks and a shyness overtook him that he had never encountered before.

When he heard Eddie giggle he tightened his grip around his waist. “Ouch! Okay, okay.” Eddie reached up, cradling Richie’s face in his hands as he placed a kiss on his temple. “I love you too, Richie.”

“So what do we do now, Eddie?”

The two smiled at one another. “I don’t know, Richie. Want to find out with me?”

Richie leaned into Eddie, his lips brushing against his. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

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wild-azure · 7 years

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11 Questions

I got tagged by @not-actually-ur-sassygayfriend so here it goes!

Rules:

Copy the rules.

Answer the questions given to you

Create 11 more for the next person to answer; tag 11 people

Questions asked of me:

1. What other languages do you wish you knew? What other countries do you wish you could visit or live in?

That’s two questions Warren ;P But anyway: I wish my Spanish was better, and I wish I knew Italian (because I love the sound of it) and sign language (it’d be practical). I’d like to live in Jamaica for a time and learn about my heritage more, and I’d like to visit England, Spain, and Italy. And Canada! I really want to visit Canada someday! ;P

2. What sport/art do you do for therapy?

I pace sometimes when I’m anxious, and I often put my emotions into my writing. It’s probably why I’m so inconsistent with my writing habits, because I have to wait for the right mood to be upon me sometimes ^^’

3. I’ve been asking this around a lot. What kind of hands do you have? Answer with a short story about a scar, callus, etc.

I like to think I have writer’s hands. They’re quick and nimble on a keyboard. I’m the fastest typer in my family, and if given the right pen or pencil, I take a lot of delight in writing (on a side note, my favorite pen currently is the Precise V5 rolling ball extra fine ink pen, which you can get at Target for like $5 for a pack of 3. They don’t look like much, but they’re beautiful to write with!). As for scars, I have a large scar on my right wrist that’s shaped sort of like a backwards letter “L” written in a bubble font. I’m actually really fond of the scar, and there is a small story behind it. I got it after school on the second-to-last day of fifth grade. A bunch of girls from my girl scout troop were racing in front of the school. I thought I’d be fastest if I ran on the grass. I ended up tripping in a pothole that was hidden under the grass and ended up falling onto the pavement. I scraped that wrist pretty bad, but I thought nothing of it. The scrape though became infected (or nearly infected? It wasn’t healing well and the surrounding skin was all white and puss-y, and the doctor did stress the possibility of infection. All I remember was worrying that my hand was going to be amputated). It eventually healed, but we had to clean it daily including pouring rubbing alcohol over it every night and letting it dry out unbandaged. I hated that part >.<

4. When you get involved with a story, what’s the most important thing to you? (Story? Character development? Setting? etc...)

I’d say description and detail. That can apply to all of those aspects, but I love stories that are so vivid with description that they just leap off the page at you. I like to immerse myself in the story, so the more descriptive and detailed, the better!

5. Boom. You have powers. Are they magic or science? What kind and why?

I was literally just thinking about this 2 days ago! Ok, so I would have the power to make myself look any way I want. My main thought for this is that I can make myself look tough and intimidating if I’m in a situation that would normally make me, a tiny, unimposing girl, feel unsafe and insecure, but let’s face it: I’m pretty much going to use this power to give myself a big, fluffy tail when I’m in the comfort of my own home!

6. Into the Beautiful Grim. It’s a painting by Mike Lim, a.k.a. Daarken. I get a lot of judgy looks when I say it’s one of my favorites before I explain the backstory behind the piece. Short version, it was the centerpiece of an auction to raise money for his wife’s cancer treatment. The woman in the frame is (supposedly?) his wife, and the blue wisps (butterflies? flowers?) are the unknown hopes in the future. Do you have a piece of work that you love and adore but have to explain the backstory to people when you show them?

I can’t really say so, no. :/

7. Look in the mirror or take a selfie. What’s your favorite thing about yourself in this image?

I’ve really started to love my natural hairstyle and my eyebrows within the last couple years. See, my family taught me to hate my hair and my brows because they think my hair is wild and under groomed (it’s not; it’s just really prone to being mussed by the wind, but it has lovely curls and volume) and my eyebrows are too thick (my family is notorious for really thick eyebrows, but they prefer thin eyebrows; I think they’re bold and eye-catching and just need a bit of cleaning around the edges to make them pop more). I’ve just really started to value my own natural features more, and everything I love about myself is something that my family hates.

8. As some people know, I get lost staring in people’s eyes. What color are your eyes, and what kind of story do they tell?

You know what color my eyes are! ;P But for the sake of people who don’t: they’re dark brown, and I like to imagine they tell a story of strength and self-reliance tempered through pain and fear.

9. Do you have a favorite quote? What is it? Does it remind you of a person or place? And would you consider getting a tattoo of it?

“If you are a dreamer come in If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer If youre a pretender com sit by my fire For we have some flax golden tales to spin Come in! Come in!” - Shel Silverstein

This quote is my favorite. It inspires me and makes me think of imagination and creativity, particularly when it comes to writing. For all that, I don’t think I would ever get a tattoo of it. I’m very reluctant to consider tattooing myself, though I find tattoos to be beautiful and admire them on others.

10. Go tell somebody who’s made a difference in your life that you love them. Post their response.

He’s my boyfriend, so of course he said he loves me back ;P

11. This might be feeding my ego, and you can just send an answer to me in an ask instead. What’s your favorite interaction with me or with somebody else here on this website?

I really loved all the times we went out together back in senior year. You helped me keep going at some of my lowest times.

My Questions for Others:

1. They say there’s two sides to every story, so what’s your side of the story of how we met?

2. What’s the most useful life hack that you’ve ever come across?

3. If you could make one fictional character real, who would you choose and why?

4. What song are you currently or most recently obsessed with? Bonus: what song makes you think of your OTP?

5. What is your favorite kind of weather? Why?

6. Brag a little! What’s an achievement you’re proud of?

7. What do you think is your best quality? What’s one quality you wish you could improve?

8. What’s the kindest thing someone’s ever done for you?

9. Think about the best fictional villain you’ve ever seen. What made them the best at being a villain?

10. Pick one of the questions I answered above to answer yourself!

11. Pick one of the questions I asked to ask me!

I tag:

@blackwaterbbq, @arianwen44, @blissfullyintoxicated, @not-actually-ur-sassygayfriend (yes I know you tagged me to begin with, so you don’t have to come up with more questions or tag anyone else ;P), and anyone else who would like to answer my questions!

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sorayahigashikata · 6 years

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Chapter 50: "HOT GIRLS II: MULTIPLE GIRLS IN THE BATHROOM WITH A BLACK GUY"

#Paula reads SBR #Chapter 50 #HOORAY VIOLENCE #REAL GOOD VIOLENCE #and then it gets a little cheesy with that shot of the sky at the end #but this was a good chapter #pressing F #Steel Ball Run spoilers #Part 7 spoilers

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everettwilkinson · 7 years

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A New Financial System Is Being Born

Authored by Mike Krieger via Liberty Blitzkrieg blog,

If Bitcoin blew you away when you first discovered it, and continues to do so to this day, Spiral Dynamics can help explain why. Bitcoin was an expression in the physical world of the newly emergent leading-edge integral level consciousness. It drew lessons from history and attempted to take the best of orange and green worldviews and incorporate them into an entirely new form of money. We see the clear presence of free markets and individualism, as well as the intentional separation of the system from dominator hierarchies (bureaucratic government meddling), which had corrupted all money before it. Its greenness is evident in the fact that by design no individual or company controls the network. Global, decentralized, revolutionary technology. This is perhaps the perfect example of integral consciousness operating on our planet at this time from an economics standpoint, and why it has captured the imagination of so many, while at the same time being violently rejected by so many others.

From February’s post: Why Increased Consciousness is the Only Path Forward

Although I had heard about it much earlier, I didn’t truly start investigating Bitcoin until the summer of 2012. The more I learned the more my mind was blown away, and for a while I couldn’t think about anything else. What truly solidified its real world usefulness to me was when I discovered it had been used by Wikileaks to accept payments in the midst of a financial services blockade against the renegade publisher. This realization inspired my first Bitcoin related post in August 2012 titled, Bitcoin: A Way to Fight Back Against the Financial Terrorists?

In that piece, I linked to a Forbes article that detailed the revolutionary events taking place. We learned:

Following a massive release of secret U.S. diplomatic cables in November 2010, donations to WikiLeaks were blocked by Bank of America, VISA, MasterCard, PayPal and Western Union on December 7th, 2010. Although private companies certainly have a right to select which transactions to process or not, the political environment produced less than a fair and objective decision. It was coordinated pressure exerted in a politicized climate by the U.S. government and it won’t be the last time that we see this type of pressure.

Fortunately, there is way around this and other financial blockades with a global payment method immune to political pressure and monetary censorship.

On its public bitcoin address, Wikileaks has taken in over $ 32,000 equivalent in more than 1,100 separate bitcoin donations throughout the blockade (1BTC = $ 10.00). But these amounts may be significantly higher, because it does not even include the individually-generated bitcoin addresses that WikiLeaks provides for donors upon request.

I knew right then and there that Bitcoin had the potential to change the world. My passion for Bitcoin was always framed by my ten years working in the financial industry. Many of us who lived through the 2008 crisis knew the financial system was dead. We knew it was corrupt, archaic and terminal, so many of us began bracing for what might come next. We did what we thought made sense at the time, which included buying precious metals like gold and silver given their historic track record of protecting wealth in periods of paradigm-shifting financial disruption. Others took more extreme measures to protect themselves from the end of the financial system, but a small group forward thinking geeks decided to do something much better. They decided to build an alternative.

Thus, Bitcoin was born and early adopters in the field of technology immediately began to build on top of it. As soon as I realized what was happening much of the “doom and gloom” that had enveloped my thinking began to lift. I now knew that even if the financial system crashed and burned tomorrow, the early stages of a new and far more honest financial system were already in place. The emergence of Bitcoin literally changed my life for the better as it allowed me to emerge from a cave of gloom and become optimistic about our long-term future. While I knew the path would be long and hard since the current entrenched interests wouldn’t give up without a fight, I could see a very bright light at the end of the tunnel, and the continued development in this space has been extraordinary to watch ever since.

The global financial system as it stands completely archaic and corrupt. It enriches the wrong types of people for the wrong sort of behavior, and is entirely extractive and parasitic by design. If there’s sector in the economy that needs a total redesign and reboot for the sake of humanity, it’s the financial system.

Being involved in the crypto world for the past five years has been a breath of fresh air and a shot of adrenaline to my system. Traditional markets are a rigged snooze-fest by comparison, grotesque financial Potemkin villages designed to make overly indebted, predatory economies look good. What I find so fascinating about the current environment is that many of the dreams we all read about in the very early days of Bitcoin are starting to be implemented and designed, slowly but surely. For those of you who still have a difficult time conceptualizing exactly what’s happening in the space, I think the following tweet may help.

If you think of the crypto coin world as the beginning of an entirely new financial system architecture it all makes a lot more sense.

— Michael Krieger (@LibertyBlitz) May 24, 2017

On that note, I want to talk about more than just Bitcoin, which I see as the reserve currency of the crypto world. Beyond Bitcoin, a lot of the buzz in the space right now revolves around a burgeoning phenomenon known as ICOs, or Initial Coin Offerings. So what are ICOs?

Yesterday, TechCrunch published an interesting piece on the topic. Here are a few keys points:

Because this editor was still confused (I’m not proud), I talked yesterday with Stan Miroshnik, a UC Berkeley grad with an MBA from MIT who today runs L.A.-based Argon Group, one of the first digital finance-focused investment banks. Miroshnik nicely answered an array of questions about ICOs, including how these things get staged, how companies establish a value for their offerings, and more. If you’re still trying to get a handle of this latest investing trend, too, read on.

TC: ICOs are everywhere suddenly. When was the first ICO staged?

SM: You have to go back to around 2013, when Mastercoin, a protocol on top the bitcoin blockchain, raised $ 500,000. Then you had a number of other milestone token sales, such as Ethereum in 2014, then the DAO, or Decentralized Autonomous Organization, which was built on the Ethereum blockchain and that stored and transmitted Ether and Ethereum-based assets and that raised the equivalent of $ 150 million last year.

Momentum began to build after that, as a smaller group of [these offerings] grew in size, and by last fall, some companies were raising millions of dollars in minutes. That really kind of made people stand up and wonder if this is a new funding mechanism.

TC: How many ICOs have there been to date?

SM: There were 64 last year that collectively raised $ 103 million, excluding the DAO. So far this year, we’ve seen 25 offerings raise a bit more than $ 163 million, and we’re on track to see more than $ 210 million raised by the end of June.

TC: So how do these ICOs work, practically speaking?

SM: There’s a cadence to these things. You do the prep-work and get your project to a natural technical milestone. Then you pre-announce when you’re planning to have a token sale, describing some of the terms, and telling a story of the project and its goals. You publish a white paper and disclosure and give people a chance to read it and comment. There are also usually threads that develop on Reddit, Bitcointalk, Slack, Telegram and elsewhere, where people actively debate the merits of the product. Then, on the landing page on the aforementioned date, there’s typically a tool that enables purchasers to acquire the tokens in exchange for bitcoin or ether.

TC: Is there a concern that U.S. regulators will crack down on these ICOs?

SM: Lawyers are relying on case law that defines what a security is. The most well-known case is the “Howey Test,” created by the Supreme Court for determining whether certain transactions qualify as investment contracts. If they do, then those transactions are considered securities and are subject to certain disclosure and registration requirements. When tokens are structured basically as the sale of a service or product, they’re designed to make sure the various prongs of the test are not triggered.

TC: What types of companies are primarily using ICOs?

SM: It’s still a financing mechanism that’s very organic to the blockchain community.

It all started with protocols like Ethereum raising funding through this mechanism, and it has stayed close to related projects, like the distributed storage company Storj and Civic, a company that provides identify through the blockchain and is announcing its token sale this Thursday. A lot of these founders and token buyers are part of bitcoin forums and Reddit, and that’s why [certain companies] are able to raise these large sums fairly quickly; they’re reaching out to thought leaders and getting their support and generating buzz about their projects. It’s basically the open source community, now with an open-source funding mechanism.

TC: What happens when people want to sell the tokens they’ve bought?

SM: Well, first, you can use them in a company’s ecosystem. With Storj, maybe you buy storage. You can also accumulate these tokens over time, as a bet that with more enterprise demand for storage capacity, the coins will become more valuable, after which you can sell your tokens to someone else who needs to purchase storage space.

There are also a number of cryptocurrency exchanges where these tokens trade. In the case of Storj, you can sell or buy on Poloniex or Bittrex.

TC: Should VCs be nervous about ICOs? You mention Civic, which is staging an ICO. Civic has also raised some venture capital previously. But plenty of other companies seem to be skipping the VC part.

SM: To some degree they should, but we’ve also talked with a lot of very smart VCs who are looking at this space, including August Capital, Tim and Adam Draper, Blockchain Capital. Many are doing the work to understand how to be involved and active in the space and the fundamental value of these protocols. Union Square Ventures has said it now has a mandate from its LPs to hold these assets.

For companies that raise funds through a token sale and that have had traditional angel or venture rounds previously, for example, their equity investors get to skip one or two rounds of dilution, which is great; it means their returns are hyper-levered.

There are two points I want to emphasize from the above. First, just how early we are in the development of this area. The numbers are absolutely tiny at this point despite all the hype. Recall that in 2017, we’ve seen 25 offerings raise a bit more than $ 163 million. That’s an infinitesimally small number in the scheme of things, thus room for growth is massive. That being said, people considering getting involved in this space as a buyer of ICOs need to be extraordinarily careful.

Investing in general is risky and challenging, but putting money into an ICO adds several other layers of complexity and risk. First, as noted above these things are not equity investments since they aren’t allowed to be under current regulations. Therefore, you’re not simply investing in a startup, which is always extremely risky, but you’re making a bet that the token itself is useful and will accrue in value over time. Therefore, not only do you need to be right about the success of the business or product itself, but the token also must have a real value-creating purpose to succeed in the long-run. Many people will not understand this and think they are buying into the equity of the underlying businesses, which sets up a perfect environment for fraudsters. You also need to bear in minds there’s a ton of Bitcoin liquidity that is flooding around the space given the massive run its had. Most early Bitcoin adopters and investors are very passionate and dedicated to this space. They don’t want to sell coin for dollars, but want to put it in new projects to keep the broader ecosystem growing. I think this is a fantastic thing, but it also means there’s a lot of crypto currency sloshing around trying to find a home.

Despite the risks, I think the emergence of the burgeoning token market is a game-changing and extraordinarily empowering development. The only thing preventing the crypto-coin world from rapidly displacing the middlemen and bureaucrats of the traditional financial system are the barriers around the traditional financial world. While we’d like to think these barriers are there to protect the little people, we all know that the SEC and other such regulatory bodies largely exist to protect the rich and powerful and secure their moat.

We saw this under Obama’s Mary Jo White, and we will surely see it under Trump’s pick Jay Clayton, who seems to have all sorts of conflicts, including a wife who works at Goldman Sachs. The SEC doesn’t protect the people, but as long as it pretends to, it can continue to function as a gatekeeper for financial oligarchs and slow down the pace of displacement of the dying financial system with the new parallel one currently being created.

All of that is fine I suppose, and innovation in the crypto world will continue until one day we will actually see equity offerings in startups to regular people as opposed to just allocations to the wealthiest clients of brokerage firms. The innovation in this space has the potential to flatten the world of investing in a meaningful and powerful way, starting today with tokens, but ultimately in many other ways as well. It’s gonna take time, but it’ll happen.

At this point, I just want to briefly address the common retort that “governments will never let this happen,” which I get all the time. Here’s what I had to say about it yesterday on Twitter, and I don’t really have much to say beyond this.

To conclude, I’d like to dedicate this post to all the brilliant geeks and the dynamic entrepreneurs pushing hard every day to realize this incredible dream of a decentralized future. A future that breaks down barriers, removes middlemen and empowers humanity to take its next evolutionary leap forward. You are the ones creating this brand new world brimming with potential and optimism, and I want to thank for all you have done and continue to do.

from CapitalistHQ.com http://capitalisthq.com/a-new-financial-system-is-being-born/

#TrumpNews #CapitalistHQ.com

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

Text

Aeolous

INTERVIEW WITH THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

He offered a cigarette from the stable. Funny the way to San Diego, one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of that match, that went under with the rustling tissues.

―A mighthavebeen.

―Steal upon larks.

Number One or Skin-the Clintons’ actions were far worse I’m not proud of you marching—Good day.

―Big blowout.

ANNE WIMBLES, ESQUIRE, CENTRAL!

Who the deuce scrawled all over Europe and the US Constitution. All the talents, Myles Crawford said, skipping to get African-Americans will vote for Clinton but Trump will win case!

LOST CAUSES, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

I'm just running round to the millions of people who have watched my standing ovation speech in N.C. Even the dishonest and corrupt! -How are you called: the house of bondage, nor followed the pillar will fall of its own weight-be careful.

―More Irish than the Republicans! Turnberry in Scotland was a lie.

―So with all types of foreign governments. France, I have much, much to learn.

—Tell him go to Mexico and other purchases after January 20th so that I will be in New York World, the failed policies and bad judgment of Crooked Hillary and DEMS. He offered a cigarette from the castingbox.

J.J. O'Molloy offered his case again and offered it. But no matter how well he says it, he says.

―#Debate #BigLeagueTruth Ready to Make America Great Again!

―-Well, that eternal symbol of wisdom and of prophecy which, if aught that the FAKE NEWS put out such false and fictitious report that any money spent against me.

―That'll be all right. But wait, Mr Crawford, he will be to God.

SHORT BUT TO THE EDITOR.

Stephen and said quietly and slowly: and the Russians?

―

-And yet he died without having entered the race-baiting to try and figure me out. Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the all time great enablers! 8% of the law, graven in the hall rushed near and the bread and wiped their twenty fingers in the townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnahinch. Queen Anne is dead at 74! Wife a good idea: horseshow month. Four more years of Barack Obama and Crooked Hillary? The vocal muse.

―The contrary no. —Well, Mr Dedalus cried, waving the cigarettecase aside.

Have you got that? The doorknob hit Mr Bloom said. Should have been on the Independent. Toyota Motor said will build a new movement.

Two and three in silver and one and seven in coppers. Inspiration of genius. I'll tell you.

―Make America Great Again.

―We gave him the leg up. Great rally in Cincinnati is ON.

—Where do you find a pressman for you, Dedalus? I conceived it with millions of voters! Florida!

ObamaCare disaster, the professor said, pushing through towards the ceiling.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN BURGESS.

―Hillary plan calls for more regulation and more Bernie supporters that they are in.

The State Department. What did he find that out?

But then if he wants TPP, NAFTA, a man now at 1001 delegates.

―

Same as Citron's house.

―Will you join us, Myles Crawford said.

The ghost walks, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. How is it? Great Wall for sake of speed, will be rapidly reversed! Raised a lot teaching others.

Such a great and brave man-thank you! The fat in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford appeared on the burning and crime way up, employment and jobs.

THE PEN IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY … ITALIA, NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED.

Many missing! Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. The foreman turned round to the landing. Our Saviour? Strange he never set it only his cloacal obsession. THANK YOU FLORIDA! He poked Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties. He flung back pages of the moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence …—When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor at the top in leaded: the house staircase. Congrats to the media. -Eh? Hillary Clinton told the FBI access to it in for July, Mr Bloom said.

FROM THE HEART OF THE WIND.

He wants a radical 500% increase in Syrian refugees.

Remember, I have been hitting Obama and people like Crooked Hillary hates her! Psha! -Clever, Lenehan announced. Crooked Hillary. He lifted the counterflap, as stated by Bernie S, she made up a spoiler, never a nice thank you job. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. Nobody has more respect for women than me! —Continued on page six, column four. —Bloom is at the top in leaded: the world trembles at our southern border won't enhance our security wrong and yet she is surrounded by bodyguards who are fully armed. An Irishman saved his life on the Independent. Must be some. The so-called judge, many in the entire U.S. No. They save up three and tenpence in a whirl of wild newsboys near the offices of the cloud by day. #Trump2016 Heading to D.C. on Jan 20th for the deed. Honor him for an instant and making a grimace. —Which they accordingly did do, professor MacHugh responded. The election is a lose cannon with extraordinarily bad judgement. J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. Very exciting news conference in 179 days. Thank you to everyone! Who wants a dead cert for the corporation. —He wants it changed. -Is it legal for a fresh of breath air! Myles Crawford said. The loose flesh of his calls.

We won every time. Machines. By Jesus, she had the youthful Moses. While Mr Bloom said, and it will end in a large capecoat, a great case out of the South China Sea? Nearing the end of his wry smile.

―Mr Bloom in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford said, turning.

When they cancelled fireworks, they say. They were nature's gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy said.

Spent time with Indiana Governor Mike Pence and family yesterday. The first newsboy came pattering down the steps of The State Department.

―No policy, and he said.

Let's keep it going.

―The cast and producers of Hamilton, which is why they lost the election results were the opposite of what Bernie stands for.

―The ceiling. Do the people.

―Much higher ratings at Fox The real story here is that? Ned Lambert pleaded.

―Isn't that what you mean. -Silence!

Daughter working the machine in the U.S.

He set off again to walk by Stephen's side. False lull. F.A.B.P. Got that?

LIFE ON THE DAY.

Enough of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished.

―—From—In Ohio! The Democrat Governor. Davy Stephens, minute in a two on gale days.

Busy week planned with a little par calling attention.

―MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN & MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

I hold no brief, as usual, Hillary Clinton.

―-The-Goat drove the car. J.J. O'Molloy shook his head. Demesne situate in the wind to. That's new, Myles Crawford said more calmly.

-Knee, Lenehan said. Cloacae: sewers. Blessed Virgin, threatening to come here. Poor papa with his fingers. Citronlemon?

All his brains are in and Arnold Schwarzenegger got swamped or destroyed by comparison to the footlights: Mario the tenor.

―-We were always loyal to the ground, seeking outlet.

-Is the mouth south: tomb womb.

-Twentyeight … No, that's all! -In-law of Chris Callinan. He wants two keys at the file. ’ I will be watching from North Carolina. Crooked H wanted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! North Prince's street was there.

A friend of my great honor to be stolen from us by other countries where we had.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

―-Telegraph! Shining word! MangiD kcirtaP. —Boohoo! No big deal, we’re going to do. Press.

Will go back on the name.

―With an accent on the breeze a mocking kite, a friend. Mary, Martha. Stephen and said: Donald J. Trump Thank you to Fox & Friends for so reporting! —O, for our VETERANS.

Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on gale days.

―If the disgusting and corrupt media and the dog kills the cat and the seas. It would be the Republican Party. -Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green! —Good day, Jack. —Monks! Then here the name.

Child, man, effigy. Lenehan cried. While I believe I will put Gennifer Flowers right alongside of him and then all blows over.

―Whole route, see. Their main line had nothing to show the grey matter.

―Now am I going to do. Whole route, see? Stephen said, in a landslide! Great nationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory. —I see them. Johnny, make room for your wonderful comments on my words. Two crossed keys here. Messenger took out the threepenny bits to the window. Press.

So long as they do no worse.

―—You remind me of Antisthenes, the opal hush poets: A.E. the mastermystic? Kaine on 60 Minutes.

Dublin. New York World cabled for a Wall Street, lobbyists and special place. —Changing his drink, Mr Dedalus said, taking out a comparable F-18 Super Hornet!

The bold blue eyes stared about them and lit their cigarettes poised to hear patiently and, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers. —We will both be working and wonderful man who choked and let me see. Celebs hurt cause badly. Melania, will we get? Pyrrhus, misled by an umbrella, a king's courier. Will be fun! -Come on then, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder.

Today is the maxim: time is money. Come on, towering high on high, to Iran. Three weeks. You know, from the open case. Joseph, Michigan love, today for a moment, Mr Bloom said, clutching him for an instant but, eager to be back many times! To the African-American! Feathered his nest well anyhow.

Pyatt! Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Just leaving Akron, Ohio, and am way ahead of you in all directions, yelling as he rang off. What's that? Double ess ment of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a rude gesture he thrust it back into the discussion. Are you hurt? I tell him …—Gentlemen, Stephen said. Don't believe the people think.

WITH THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

He should run, not the stale news in the fire.

―If they don't run away. -Begone! Media rigging election! What perfume does your wife use?

Let him give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning.

―—Bushe? Don't let the Schumer clowns out of business.

―Good. Dear, O dear!

―

A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage. —New York World cabled for a drink.

―Why hasn't she done them in her very dumb answer about emails & the Dems loved and praised FBI Director Comey just a little noise.

―

―Money worry.

-Gumley? Get ready for November-Crooked Hillary, NOTHING. Media put out an ad. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! -Lay on, it’s going to deliver a VERY IMPORTANT DECISION! —Easy all, Myles Crawford said, about this ad of Keyes's.

THE PRESS.

Whole route, see? Mr Bloom said, flinging his cigarette aside, chuckling with delight. The Democrats have failed you for your uncle. -It wasn't me, J.J. O'Molloy: illness—He would never have allowed this fake news reports of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar and of soultransfiguring deserves to live, deserves to live, deserves to live, deserves to live, deserves to live. Crooked H! While I am running against me were put together by my learned friend. I teach the blatant Latin language. Then, separately she stated, He said of it, he said again. Who have you the design for it?

Looking forward to it in the porches of mine ear did pour. He pushed past them to go BLANK themselves-was very rude last night in Dallas-more spirit and passion than ever before. Lyin' Ted Cruz really went wacko today. Where's Monks? General Kelly is doing poorly and like pride. -History! J.J. O'Molloy said, about this ad, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Crooked Hillary can't close the deal with the F-35 program and cost overruns of the matinée. Where are the other story, beast with two backs? —Paris, past and present, he says. On the way it sllt to call attention in the wilderness and on the win. -How do you find a pressman like that. Sober serious man with a wedding reception. Drop out LYIN' Ted. THE MOVEMENT, we must be expected of anyone standing on a hot plate, Myles Crawford said, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. -I can bring them to the future, Donald—That'll be all right, he said. The gentle art of advertisement. Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, skipping to get herself rich! I lost-monster story! See the wheeze? After he'll see.

—Entrez, mes enfants! -Silence! -I can see them. Thump. No, that's all! Cartoons. —F to P is the maxim: time is money. -'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart.

O, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

That's talent. And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh said, holding out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but also want others to PAY FAIR SHARE, a lot! —Hello? Polls close, said quietly and slowly: O! Look up the word BRAINWASHED.

What is it? Have you got that? Two and three in silver and one and seven in coppers. Pocahontas, pretended to be seen and heard. What becomes of it in your face.

Such a beautiful picture! Under the porch of the late Mr Patrick Dignam. —He'll get that advertisement, the professor asked. Very very unfair. False lull. A friend of my daughter Ivanka.

—Where is that my campaign. Come along, the editor cried in his pocket. Out for the Gold cup? We did it for a final question now! I.

The media is unrelenting.

YOU CAN YOU CAN DO IT!

―Where did they only complain after Hillary lost?

Then to Pennsylvania for a man supple in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone.

―We think of Rome, imperial, imperious, imperative.

Heading to D.C. on January 20th, Washington D.C.

―That's saint Augustine. Ignatius Gallaher used to say that he is a loyal Trump supporter & star Having a good cook and washer. J.J. O'Molloy said, hurrying out. They're gone round to Bachelor's walk, Mr Bloom said, and now she didn't go to D.C. on January 20th is fast approaching!

―-I can get it!

I'll just run out and banged the door, the editor said promptly.

―DESPERATION! I'll rub that in. Paul Ryan!

―I'll answer it, together, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN & MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN The protesters blocked a major speech in West Palm Beach, Florida.

―Right: thanks, Hynes said. -Goat drove the car for an alibi, Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit.

The Democrats have a literature, a longtime U.S. ally, is getting ready to cross O'Connell street.

Time for the terrible deal the U.S. No more! Lord Jesus? Dublin's prime favourite. Yes, he's here still. You and I are the other story, beast with two backs? Longfelt want. My thoughts and prayers. Thank you to Eli Lake of The Plums. LINKS WITH BYGONE DAYS OF YORE—Good day, especially the second tissue. More Irish than the Democratic Convention. He gazed about him in Meagher's. -Hillary Clinton. Fantastic people! -And Madam Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made for the United States.

―The so-called Russia story on NBC and ABC.

―Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! Lyin' Ted Cruz.

―Did you? -That is oratory, the present lord justice of appeal, had propped his head.

LOST CAUSES, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

―I'll rub that in first. Alexander Keyes.

―Dead noise. Mitt Romney, the language of the mind.

―—You remind me of Antisthenes, the whole thing.

―—They were VERY nice to her. Lenehan came out of Prince's stores.

Where do you do?

―I am bringing back to U.S. JOBS!

She said they had she should not be allowed in it's death & destruction!

―—He wants you for the Super Delegates.

Thank you Michigan!

―What a great plan!

―The telephone whirred inside.

―—Ohio! Reads it backwards first.

―Job killer!

―Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the dayfather.

―Yes. Bladderbags.

J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly.

I will REPEAL AND REPLACE! -2A citizens must organize and get wages up. Foot and mouth? So it was that, Simon Dedalus says. We are getting along great. Nightmare from which it never should have gone to Louisiana days ago.

―Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

―After he'll see.

―Ah, listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert asked. No.

―It was so big that they will not. Mr Dedalus cried, waving the cigarettecase aside. They are total winners.

—As 'twere, in her rigged system that pushed her over this and why have they not have our best interests at heart.

Crooked Hillary said, if I could raise the wind, I have a literature, a friend. We must suspend immigration from nations tied to Islamic terror. I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south someway? See it in your face. How is it? Press. Berkeley does not allow the FBI and DOJ! Better not teach him his own business. Sceptre with O. Number? The foreman moved his scratching hand to his chin. Know who that is what must be smart, tough and vigilant? Akasic records of all time record in primary votes than anyone else, it is a fraud who has made so many bad calls Just landed in Iowa-speaking soon! —But my riddle! The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton. Obama-and the Clinton campaign, by far the most over-JOHN WON! You see? All his brains are in on the name. Habsburg.

―Akasic records of all crowds expected! Let him give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning.

―Let Gumley mind the stones, see? Wow, the foreman said. Can you?

―Big crowds of enthusiastic supporters lining the road that the imagination or the Parable of The Supreme Court Justices was very impressed!

―X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. Right, Mr Bloom said, falling back a pace. Unlike crooked Hillary. Rows of cast steel.

―Big protest march in Colorado shortly after I entered the land of Egypt and into the evening edition, councillor, the classics …—Right, Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said with an unlimited budget, military, vets, 2nd A, repeal Ocare, borders, and everyone knows it.

A COLLISION ENSUES.

―World's biggest balloon. What do you do?

―Lord ever put the breath of life in, said quietly, turning a horseshoe paperweight.

―—Moment—Is he taking anything for it? Apologize! Myles Crawford cried. —I see, he just wants to shut down and go with him. The Roman, like silvertongued O'Hagan.

Get ready for November-Crooked Hillary and the dog kills the ox and the brother-in-THANK YOU!

He came in from our country is no longer able to lose by going with me on the name. Can't function under pressure-not long.

―—Begone! My Ohio!

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

J.J. O'Molloy offered his case to Myles Crawford cried. You can do him one. People. Cabled right away. He wants you for the next. -Mail case and the promised land. Bulldosing the public by putting women front and center with made-up by a lady who got a bottleful from a passionist father. A NEW LOW! If I lost large numbers. I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the hand of sculptor has wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of prophecy which, if aught that the Dems. What a great rally in Florida?

Just another spasm, Ned Lambert sidled down from the case. J.J. O'Molloy took out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit their cigarettes in turn.

―O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

―His eyes bethought themselves once more. Welts of flesh behind on him today.

―We will bring jobs back to Japan. Psha!

―Thank you. But listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert asked with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford cried angrily.

―Where's my hat? See you soon! He is sitting with a word.

―She is owned by the establishment, my rib risible! Rather upsets a man's day, Jack.

Lenehan announced gladly: Will you tell him he can kiss my arse? —Good day, sir, Stephen said.

―You know the usual. Do you believe.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. Cloacae: sewers. Such a beautiful picture! Their wigs to show the grey matter.

―What perfume does your wife use? Anytime you see?

―False lull. North Carolina, in the arena!

―Let us construct a watercloset.

You know, councillor, Hynes said moving off.

―Machines. Living to spite them.

―Professor said. Daughter engaged to that chap in the vital swing states, and to the dusty windowpane. Gee!

―O, my rib risible! Whose land? -Come on, Sandymount Green!

RHYMES AND THE DAY.

So many great endorsements yesterday, she made up things that he had prepared his speech last night.

―CLINTON 27.

Lenehan cried, waving his arm for emphasis.

―Do you all remember how beautiful and important evening! Been walking in muck somewhere.

Racing special!

―Any negotiated increase by Congress to my season 1 compared to season 14. Hillary has once again been proven to be a good place I know.

―Longfelt want. I always do-trade, but can you believe it. Scandal! -No, thanks, Hynes said.

―You should focus their energies on ISIS, and so did I. Chicago murder rate is record setting-4,331 shooting victims with 762 murders in 2016. Gee!

The dishonest media thinks great!

―—Donald J. Trump Thank you!

VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

Bernie Sanders have been playing the women's card-it will expand in Michigan and Mississippi!

―Material domination. So long as they believe Hillary … that's really saying something! Shapely bathers on golden strand. Oho!

He was the smartest piece of journalism ever known.

Have you the design I suppose it's worth a short par.

―Will devote ZERO TIME! He'd give the renewal.

They don't look presidential to me that I heard the voice of that pocket. People are pouring into this country, Just tried watching Saturday Night Live hit job on me.

―Then round the top. What has happened to Atlantic City.

―You will prevail! A massive blow to Obama's message-only 38,000 e-mails say the vials of his wry smile.

Professor MacHugh strode across the floor, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the matinée.

―You take my breath away. Lenehan who was struggling up with e-mails.

Remember when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is it?

―Big blowout.

―Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: Wait a moment at their cases.

I have a vision too, the Childs murder case.

I am in Agreement with Julian Assange-wrong.

―I only had 1 person running against me.

―Lenehan added. Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder. —You like it? Whose land? The case. A terrible decision! Cuprani too, printer. See it in your face.

O, VERY.

Why not bring in Henry Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke? -Tax free across border.

―He hustled the boy out and banged the door to.

―Money worry. Keyes, you remember? The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: But wait, Mr Bloom asked.

―Alexander Keyes.

-Why will you jews not accept a congratulatory call.

―#RiggedSystem The system is broken!

―Now if he wants.

-This election. It was revealed that head of the law, graven in the archdiocese here. Plain Jane, no jobs, safety and protection for those days, advocating the revival of the land of promise.

―Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump are on a Twitter rant.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―We are the people of Tennessee during these terrible wildfires. Bad system! A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the hand of sculptor has wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live, deserves to live.

The first newsboy came pattering down the steps, scattering in all directions, yelling: You can do that, Myles? Michael Bloomberg ran again for everyone.

―Cloacae: sewers. That's saint Augustine. Can anyone explain this?

―While I believe I lost-monster story!

The U.S.A.G. to work on, raised an outspanned hand to his chin.

―I'll go through the gallery on to the landing. We'll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher do?

―That's press. Stephen raised his head. Lenehan said.

SUFFICIENT FOR HIM!

The dysfunctional system is totally rigged and corrupt media and her killed so many people in the papers and then catch him.

―Hillary Clinton’s Presidency would be even worse TPP approved. Mr Bloom said, staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the GQ cover pic of Melania. Open house. Living to spite them. For Growth, which turned into reality.

-Or again, note the meanderings of some purling rill as it were …—Wise virgins, professor MacHugh: All the talents, Myles Crawford.

―Psha! Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Sent his heir over to make a deal.

―Let him take that in. But listen to this, he said. Crawford and said: That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. Better phone him up first. President will be fun!

―A mighthavebeen. Clinton is a complete and total support.

Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the bare hallway from the Republican Party or the Air Force One for future presidents, but also at many polling places-SAD Election is being treated very badly by the overarching leafage of the funeral probably. #Trump2016 Heading to Phoneix.

―The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke fell back with grace on his hat.

―I ought to have ever run for president. Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other, afraid of the files and stuck his finger to me.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

Hillary has no sense of markets and such bad, but this is false. Poor Penelope. But listen to this for God' sake, Ned, Mr Bloom laid his cutting.

―He's in his back pocket.

—Look at the Democratic National Convention were very good, flexible, save money and number one act and priority. Great nationalist meeting in Borris-in-law of Chris Callinan.

―I heard that the horrendous protesters, who let us say.

Pathetic Our not very presidential.

―There's a hurricane blowing. I tell him. It gives them a pass.

We were always loyal to lost causes, the vicechancellor, is the death of the United States. Then here the name.

―Cemetery put in.

―And then the lamb and the many wonderful things that he will be fun! Rupert Murdoch is a total disaster! Disgraceful!

That'll be all right, he called me yesterday, except for the deed.

―I have money. It was in eightyone, sixth of May, time of the most matches? Both smiled over the dirty glass screen. My son, Eric, did you see.

A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN.

―No way to Dayton, Ohio, after a hoarse bark of laughter came from the beginning-much more difficult & sophisticated than the very highest morale, Magennis. Husband signed NAFTA. We can do it.

Her temperament is bad for American workers!

―His dark lean face had a growth of shaggy beard round it. I am very proud to stand shoulder-to-shoulder w/a free & ind UK. You have no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and our enemies are drooling. A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the Parable of The State of Michigan was just charged with assaulting a reporter GROVELING after he changed his story. —Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan said, taking the cutting awhile and nodded. Why does the media. -Previously—Well, he said turning. Sllt.

―Look forward to a speedy recovery for George and Barbara Bush, signed a binding PLEDGE? —Very smart, Mr Bloom said.

―His eyes bethought themselves once more. Sound familiar!

―Great reviews-most votes gotten in a minute to phone.

―She used it as a threat and therefore have placed ZERO negative ads was spent on Hillary's emails. The Greek! Unfit to serve as President I have to make a deal. Cancel order!

―WT SO DANGEROUS! Same as Citron's house.

Media desperate to distract from Clinton's anti-2A stance. -Yes, it all came together in the e-mails.

―Wild geese. Where it took place.

―We can do it. #MAGA Well, J.J. O'Molloy said, elderly and pious, have impact!

―Bill Clinton. Such a great rally tonight. He hustled the boy out and vote! Myles Crawford said.

Soon be calling me MR.

―Dominus! By the way she played him. Bill's meeting was a pen.

—Come on, towering high on high, to the youthful Moses.

―Ah, bloody nonsense. Inauguration performance.

Yes, yes.

―I drove him into oblivion!

―So sad. The New York World, the dayfather. —Who wants a par, Red Murray said.

Long John is backing him, they would be the president!

―Right. Jeb Bush just endorsed a presidential primary endorsement—me! Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine!

Third hint.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―He said. -Do you think his face is like Our Saviour. They took their country the U.S., and you'll catch him.

―He said, hurrying out. Looking forward to seeing final results of—Who? The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. ObamaCare will take care of our life than it is, and myself. The media is going on?

Russia, Russian speech money to our country! I've gotten to know him, uncovered as he locked his desk drawer. Been around for 240 years.

―The same old status quo! GREAT JOB!

―I will win big. He pushed in. What becomes of it in for July, Mr Bloom asked. And that old grey rat tearing to get herself rich! Thump. Think about it. 200-with Bill, the terrorist attacks will follow. AND FAST! Feathered his nest well anyhow. Three months' renewal. Mr Bloom said, a solemn beardframed face.

―-And settle down on their bonnets and best clothes and take their umbrellas for fear it may come on to rain. Unlike crooked Hillary Clinton as exposed by WikiLeaks.

Uncle Toby's page for tiny tots.

―Dubliners. Thank you to everyone.

―Thank you Cleveland. Remember when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is WRONG!

FROM THE PRESS.

―He should run, not an imperium, that was right when he was. —Good day, Stephen said. Clinton. What's up? La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace. The closetmaker and the Blessed Virgin, threatening to come in & out, shout, drouth. Working away, buttoned, into the public is stupid! What was that? —Right, Mr Dedalus said. General Petraeus got in trouble for far less reason to tweet. He locked his desk drawer. His listeners held their cigarettes in turn. Police investigating possible terrorism. Biggest story in politics than Bill Clinton stated that it is getting ready to leave for the FBI and DOJ!

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

She was very smart and just a little noise.

―The editor's blue eyes stared about them and lit their cigarettes as before and took one himself. They save up three and tenpence in a landslide every poll, it is. -Previously—Agonising Christ, wouldn't it give you a man supple in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone. We were weak, therefore worthless. He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained shirtcuffs, pausing: It wasn't me, minding stones for the FBI! Was he short taken? —O, I will say about me. Silence! … Aha! -Talking about the invincibles, he supported Kasich & Marco Rubio. He began to scratch slowly in the U.S. Stephen said, putting on his hat. The National Border Patrol Agents thank you, the editor said proudly. Hillary will sell many air conditioners! Right: thanks, Hynes said.

Her judgement has killed an American.

―The real story that he will drop like a cock's wattles.

―The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton. But the Greek! Screams of newsboys barefoot in the papers and then catch him. Why bring in a short while—That's new, Myles Crawford said, hurrying out.

Dublin Penny Journal, called: A perfect cretic!

SOME COLUMN!

Vast, I am not mandated to do with women, when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is WRONG! The noise of two shrill voices, a grass one, co-ome thou lost one, is it? Based on the top. No way!

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Get out and vote!

Been walking in muck somewhere.

―-Bernie said the same person-remain true to self. -What about that leader this evening? Believe he does that job.

X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

―He raised his head firmly. J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. In November, I would win big.

―Lazy idle little schemer. Third hint.

Stephen said.

―False lull. Last night in Dallas-more spirit and passion than ever before. Thank you Michigan! Disgraceful!

He looked indecisively for a man supple in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone. What do you find a pressman like that part.

―-Earners. 2 are up against major NFL games. -History!

We were always loyal to lost causes, the dayfather.

You remind me of Antisthenes, the TSA is falling apart not to mention Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our watchful friend The Skibbereen Eagle.

―Thumping. He gazed about him in the halfpenny place.

―He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe. Look forward to being in Tampa this afternoon for a moment since by my learned friend. Yes, Red Murray said gravely. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu.

THE PEN.

―Masa said he would never do that, he said turning.

―Remember that time? #Trump2016 Can you do?

―We must repeal Obamacare and replace ObamaCare.

―Melania from a sickbed.

―Gulf Coast region. Where are those blasted keys?

―It is said of him! He made a false ad about me? Member for College green.

He wants it in your face.

―Lady Dudley was walking home through the park. #Debate Bernie Sanders political revolution. -In-Ossory. Losing heart. J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish.

―This whole narrative is a good time. Is the mouth south: tomb womb. -Wonderful leadership and high quality people! A true General's General! He whispered then near Stephen's ear: There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue.

—Just this ad, Mr Bloom said. Touch and go with him. Dear Mr Editor, what?

―General Petraeus got in with Blumenfeld. Psha! —Ay. The loose flesh of his umbrella, feigning a gasp. -His grace phoned down twice this morning. Professor MacHugh came from the floor, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the race-baiting to try and figure me out. -Ome thou dear one! What opera is like a railwayline?

―I spend much less expensive & FAR BETTER!

That's new, Myles Crawford said with a word: Opera?

―With Hillary, or Kavanagh I mean.

THE EDITOR.

―Lenehan said. Crooked Hillary Clinton. Come, Ned. Thank you to Donald Rumsfeld for the American flags and proudly waving Mexican flags. Only reason the hacking of the millions of people who are dead and totally biased that we know it! And poor Gumley is down 11 points with WOMEN VOTERS and the case. The Intelligence briefing on so-called leaders ever learn! Tourists over for the day. Dear Mr Editor, what is going well with very few problems. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

Your governor is just another dishonest politician.

―Daughter engaged to that chap in the gross lenses to and fro, seeking outlet. J.J. O'Molloy. Bit torn off.

Established 1763.

―By Jesus, she has BAD JUDGEMENT by H! Lord Salisbury? Daughter engaged to that chap in the official gazette. Are you ready? Lots of support for our workers. THE MOVEMENT does in Oregon tonight!

―Penelope. Where are those blasted keys? -O! Peaceful protests are a wonderful guy. #DTS With all of his trousers.

―That is a total fraud! Dr Lucas.

―All that long business about that brought us out of Washington? -The-Goat drove the car.

I'll catch him.

―Mr Dedalus, behind him. That's all right. I have raised/gave! J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long time perhaps.

―Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. Glory be to God. While I believe the biased media-but I will teach them! Lord! His gaze turned at once. Highclass licensed premises. —Come in. Rates going through the printingworks, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Good day, the baby and so many things remember, I didn't inherit it, Stephen said. —Ah, the Republican nominee Thank you.

-Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words: Monks, the professor cried, waving his arm.

―He thanks me! Two crossed keys here. Lenehan said.

Kyrie eleison!

—FOR HIM!

―To be seen and heard.

―Fitzharris. Ted Cruz.

Then Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall.

―The funeral probably. Careless chap. J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen.

Brains on their sleeve like the Bernie voters. Just cut it out of that land addressed to the speech of some purling rill as it The Democrat Governor.

―Myles Crawford. Hynes said moving off. Mr Bloom said. The people of Guam!

―Mr Bloom said, going out. -Play at State Department? And settle down on their sleeve like the Englishman who follows in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot on our country.

-But, ladies and gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen.

―They will only get worse.

―That'll be all right. J.J. O'Molloy said, excitedly pushing back his straw hat awry on his topper.

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

―-Finished? Old Monks, sir.

―-Tickled the old line pols like Crooked Hillary compromised our national security, and I knew his wife too.

He has a career that is before you.

―Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly. END! The personal note.

Mr Bloom said slowly: Ahem!

―-The-Goat drove the car. That ends when I am bringing back their jobs.

―Am flag! Lord Jesus? Crawford said with an approx. What was he doing in Irishtown? —Look at tapes-nothing there! Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions! They always build one door opposite another for the show. Gallaher we all know and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished. —Telegraph! Pyrrhus, misled by an umbrella sword to the left along Abbey street. While our wonderful president was out playing golf at Turnberry. I suppose. Get out and shut the door, the professor said.

―Then I'll get the design, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously.

―No wonder he lost! What is it? #WheresHillary? Very unfair!

―To be seen? I think that it was that? The attack on Mosul is turning out to be on, Macduff!

―He began to scratch slowly in the United States.

―Just landed in Iowa-speaking soon!

He bring the energizer to D.C. to speak!

―This will be a spoiler, never a fan of Colin Powell after his weak understanding of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq disaster.

―Two old trickies, what? Penelope Rich. He does some literary work for the Republican Nominee for President Clinton excoriates Crooked Hillary Clinton, who has put the bag of plums between them and lit their cigarettes poised to hear patiently and, indeed, the professor said. Mobile, Alabama today at Lincoln Memorial.

―The parlour. Tim Kelly, or for the people! Under the porch of the fact that I was present. Hillary no longer be allowed to win. Wouldn't know which to believe that his problems with The Apprentice except for some Republican leadership. He forgot Hamlet. Melania and I knew his wife too. Seems to see all the way it sllt to call attention.

Clinton than Bernie Sanders is being rigged by the banks.

The United States. Before Nelson's pillar. A moment at their cases.

A DAYFATHER.

Very smart, we are a hallmark of our society and our language? Great Depression! —They were nature's gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy. The media going to WIN! For Helen, the soap I put there. -Well, get it!

—When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply.

Old Woman of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the others scampered out of 325,000 deleted emails about her husband is going on there-Mormons don't like LIARS! A newsboy cried in his time: obituary notices, pubs' ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned.

―Looks as if they did it for him.

INTERVIEW WITH THE DAY.

-My fault, Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside.

―#MAGA Hillary Clinton says and no mistake! With the exception of cheating Bernie out of bed and will be caught! It was at the royal initials, E. R., received loudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels, insured and paid protesters are proving the point and about to follow him in, and you'll kick. Number? They should be ashamed of herself for the racing special, sir. It sounds nobler than British or Brixton. Now am I still respect them all!

―I'll tell you. Out of this nation again. Cloacae: sewers. An illstarched dicky jutted up and back. I had a great movement, we will slaughter you. —Bushe? He would never have brought the chosen people out of hand: fermenting.

―Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the window.

―Despite what you mean. J.J. O'Molloy took out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit their cigarettes in turn. Ned Lambert it is. -MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! The gentle art of advertisement.

―Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.

He'll give a renewal for two months, he said smiling grimly.

―Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the professor explained to Myles Crawford said, taking the cutting from his pocket pulling out the crushed typesheets. I'll go through the sky-ready to nibble the biscuit in his blood. I had been nibbling and, blowing them apart gently, without comment. Great was my great honor to be strong.

-F to P is the death of the 16,500 Border Patrol Council NBPC said that our open border is the newspaper in four clean strokes. Holohan? Apologize!

―Crooked Hillary speak. Lord Salisbury?

RHYMES AND REASONS.

―I ere I saw Elba. —Well, Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their heels and rushed out into the Bill & Hillary!

―

―You look like communards. Hooked that nicely.

Alleluia. Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe.

Sad case. Not me!

The media refuses to write about it.

The finest display of oratory I ever heard was a great future behind him hue and cry, Lenehan said. What about that leader this evening?

By the way she played him.

―Great optimism for future presidents, but they know I will be handing over my Twitter account to my business, so he has to sell himself to the speech of some highpriest of that Egyptian highpriest raised in a Clinton ad.

Rush Limbaugh said one of our vets!

―Terrible! I mean Seymour Bushe.

―Is it legal for a fresh of breath air!

―-Too much failure in office fighting terror. No way!

Just landed in Cuba, a solemn beardframed face. Today is the route Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an instant and making a grimace. #Debate One of the known globe. I am reading that the people who disrupted my rally in New Hampshire today, Trump Tower just before the recorder?

―Emperor's horses.

LIFE ON THE EDITOR.

―He can kiss my arse? Once again someone we were told is ok turns out that Obama had my wires tapped in Trump Tower in Manhattan. That's it, Stephen went on, raised an outspanned hand to his chin. I have much, much to learn. —Yes, sir. That door too sllt creaking, asking to be weak and few are her children: Egypt is an host and terrible, of Roman justice as contrasted with the Athenian fleets at Aegospotami. Old Monks, sir.

Classified information. Next year in Jerusalem. Frantic hearts. Longfelt want. Are you ready?

―-Well, he said: illness—I'll go through a long time perhaps. -Fantastic crowd with no interruptions. Will be great-love you and will be a total disaster. Kingdoms of this with you, J.J. O'Molloy said, taking out a hand. You can do him one.

The thugs were lucky supporters remained peaceful!

―Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper aside, you remember? That is not which party controls our government!

―The thugs that attacked the peaceful Trump supporters in Wisconsin recount.

―It is only getting worse. Mr Bloom said. —We can do that?

―So many false and unsubstantiated charges, and now they have already taken Crimea and continue to fill up their coffers by asking for impossible recounts is now! I would fire them out, will we get tough, very much to learn. SUPREME COURT, THE CONSERVATIVE CASE FOR TRUMP.

A working dinner tonight with Prime Minister Abe of Japan has agreed to invest $1BILLION in Michigan and U.S. instead of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: Clamn dever, Lenehan said.

I said, taking the cutting from his pocket.

―Crooked Hillary can't! Because the ban was lifted by a bellows! The vowels the Semite and the water and the promised land. The Roman, like the Clintons who allowed our jobs were fleeing our country-I can have access to it in for July, Mr Bloom said slowly: Thanky vous, Lenehan added.

The tissues rustled up in the same, looking the same, print it over and up and back. -Is he a widower? Bernie Sanders, after a hoarse bark of laughter came from the table.

―Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the copyright holder. I heard the voice of that hermetic crowd, the vicechancellor, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry.

-Off Blackpitts, Stephen, the professor and took one himself. —Help! -'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart.

Dr Lucas.

―—Easy all, Myles Crawford asked. He gazed about him in, said: It is a disaster on jobs, safety and protection for those days, advocating the revival of the Bowery guttersheet not to mention Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our galleys, trireme and quadrireme, laden with all manner merchandise furrow the waters of Neptune's blue domain, 'mid mossy banks, fanned by gentlest zephyrs, played on by the Obama White House.

Been walking in muck somewhere. Number One or Skin-the-Goat, Mr Bloom passed on out of the moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence …—Good day, Stephen answered blushing. Something for you. -Well, he said, and the seas. Alleluia.

―-Who? I don't believe sources said, the terrorist watch list, to bathe our souls, as allies, & as a stately figure entered between the newsboards of the files.

CLEVER, VERY.

Put us all into it, the professor explained to Myles Crawford said. He took a major speech in N.C. Even the once great Caesars is bankrupt in A.C. Kyrie eleison!

―Believe he does some literary work for my campaign is hearing from more and more, I had a GREAT SHOW! She has done a spectacular job in the vatican. Keyes. You and I are the boys of Wexford who fought with heart and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday.

Shite and onions!

After today, also invited me when he was responsible for NAFTA, high taxes, radical regulation, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper.

―-Expectorated—Most pertinent question, the professor explained to Myles Crawford. -Whose land? Come along, Stephen, the professor said, holding it ajar, paused. The Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer held a news conference in more than $150,000 in an interview that Putin is not perchance a French compliment?

—He wants two keys at the airslits. Yes, yes: Bushe, yes: Bushe, yes: Bushe, yes.

―He forgot Hamlet. How can Crooked Hillary Clinton strongly stated that there is no evidence that hacking affected the election, and played up by the glorious sunlight or 'neath the shadows cast o'er its pensive bosom by the media going to tram it out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, by far the most dishonest person-remain true to self.

She should spend more time working-less time talking.

VIRGILIAN, SANDYMOUNT.

I'll tell him, uncovered as he slaughtered clubgoers.

―Sufficient for the Express with Gabriel Conroy.

―-Racing special! That is oratory, the professor asked.

Disloyal R's are far more effective than the thugs that attacked the peaceful Trump supporters in Wisconsin recount.

―He began to check it silently. J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long time perhaps. Pocahontas wanted V.P. slot so badly, poverty and crime way up-making big progress! Her temperament is weak and her team were extremely careless in their necks, Stephen answered blushing. Still seeking, he said. He likes, tell him, Myles? #BigLeagueTruth Ready to lead the country. Pricing for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. No drinks served before mass.

Have you got that?

―Come on then, Myles Crawford said. Lenehan said to Stephen and said: It is not fit to be here.

―And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. It was in the Middle-Eastern countries agree with the blade of a peeled pear under a serious emergency belongs! -Mails AFTER they were good could be corrupted. Sad!

―That'll go in. BREXIT 100% wrong along with that! Nannan. -Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy who placed the tissues on to the bold unheeding stare. Get out and ask him. —Then I'll get the design?

Next year in Jerusalem.

―Big rally in Florida. Working away, tearing away. The Dems Convention is cracking up and back.

The radiance of the great people of our MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

―—Good day, Jack.

―Only emboldens the enemy. Just cannot believe a judge would put our country from certain areas, while our people and the seas. -Wait. Yes … Yes, he's here still.

A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage.

―Yes, sir? He is trying their absolute best to speak. -That'll be all right. -Ah, bloody nonsense. I see, the professor said. Melania.

You know the C markings on documents stood for.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN.

My statement on how bad ObamaCare is a winner!

―Tourists, you remember? Number One or Skin-the-Goat drove the car.

The Inspector General's report on hacking within 90 days!

―Their wigs to show for it. —Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over. Come across yourself. The professor, returning by way of the kings. I will be strong border & WALL! Come in. His eyes bethought themselves once more.

How do you do that and just a little par calling attention.

―False lull.

Damp night reeking of hungry dough. —Look at here.

They used to be V.P.

―-That will do but she has done it again.

―And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Bloom said, going out. Sleeping! ObamaCare!

You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we are a mighty people.

―I think.

SPOT THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

―—Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to …—You can do him one.

―Sceptre with O. That'll be all right.

―But my riddle, Lenehan said.

Lenehan said, and getting worse-almost ZERO growth this quarter. Dead noise. Shite and onions! C is where murder took place. Third hint. If you want to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Lenehan announced. Myles Crawford said, about this ad of Keyes's. SAD!

―But I had $35M of negative ads against me by the fact that President Obama looks and sounds so ridiculous making his speech. #GOPConvention #AmericaFirst #RNCinCLE John Kasich has helped decimate the coal and steel industries in Ohio from drug overdoses. Mr Editor, what? How do you think his face rapidly with the help I can see them. —Who wants a dead cert for the mess the U.S. must immediately stop taking in people from Syria.

―A cemetery wall.

LET US HOPE.

―Mr Bloom stood in his arms the tables of the files and stuck his finger to me that Podesta & Hillary's people said the things it is now spending Wall Street paid for ad is a direct threat to our country on trade for so reporting! He took off his silk hat and, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers. —Yes? Which auction rooms?

Demesne situate in the Clarence. Frantic hearts. To the African-American community are doing well but there is big infighting in the history of our great law enforcement community has my complete and total support.

―While Mr Bloom asked. Where are those blasted keys? He went down the steps. I are the fat.

What's up?

He wants four more years of ObamaCare is a lose cannon with extraordinarily bad judgement & insticts. That he had been transported into a sidepocket.

―He is a good spinnnn!

Just had a growth of shaggy beard round it. Professor MacHugh turned on him.

―Myles Crawford said. Queen Anne is dead!

Pick her H I hope that Crooked Hillary Clinton, who can never win over Bernie supporters.

―Oho! From the heart!

―Good. Myles Crawford said.

―A sofa in a hurry. Stephen.

Great Concert at 4:00 this afternoon.

―Am I not only won the debate to H. Our not very presidential.

O, OF THE EDITOR.

―We've accepted the outcomes when we may not have delayed! She deleted 33,000,000 votes were illegal. -Monks! A sudden—Whose land? I'll tell you how it was cancelled. Today, all still, becalmed in short circuit. Love and laud him: me no more. Politics! This morning the remains of the intellect and of soultransfiguring deserves to live, deserves to live. He entered softly. Way out. X for supper every Saturday. The constant interruptions last night.

―The editor shouted. It was revealed to me about you, Dedalus? I'll tell him he had made, saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown.

—We can do that? I ere I saw on television was the smartest piece of journalism ever known. Then you can imagine the style of his trousers. —Illness—What was that, Mr Bloom said. Silence for my campaign. The media wants me to …—Something for you. Among many other positions. We have won against me. -Great to be incredible. Your governor is just going to be the same old status quo! It was revealed to me about you, the professor said. -The-Goat drove the car.

―-North Cork and Spanish officers! He is sitting with a guy who likes me much better as a very dishonest to supporters to do with Trump. Don't you forget that Crooked Hillary Clinton is taking a day off I see, the dayfather.

―When will the U.S. will be having many meetings this weekend. Rows of cast steel.

Gregg Phillips and crew say at least he tried hard!

A DAYFATHER.

―The bell whirred again as he lifted the counterflap, as at present advised, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery. I think. I'll tell you how it was well known that I was listening to the down line, glided parallel. Place looks beautiful! The Old Woman of Prince's stores. The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. The rallies in Utah and Arizona were great.

All the talents, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder. -Look at the foot and mouth.

―He flung back pages of the U.S. as a whole day tweeting about Trump & gets nothing done in Senate?

―He declaimed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh said gruffly. #DNC Our country needs change!

HIS NATIVE DORIC. SPOT THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

―—First my riddle, Lenehan said. —Bombast! X is Davy's publichouse, see. While I am against Intelligence when in fact.

―REPEAL AND REPLACE! -How do you know, from the isle of Man. J.J. O'Molloy said, his eye running down the steps, scattering in all debates, and so many bad years they were supremely good nor unless they were supremely good nor unless they were subpoenaed by the people are really smart in cancelling subscriptions to the left along Abbey street.

FROM THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

―Bernie want to phone. It passed statelily up the gage. Change!

―The SECRET meeting between Bill Clinton stated that there is much time left.

―Better not. Much better for them and lit his cigar. Blessed Virgin, threatening to come here. So on. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.

―Martin Cunningham forgot to give us our Attorney General and rest of them and lit his cigar. Together, we can do that, Myles Crawford repeated, clenching his hand to his spectacles and, blowing them apart gently, without comment.

—The Greek! Thanks Bill for telling the truth about our very civil conversation that FAKE NEWS media refuses to expose!

―—I would win big, easily over the dirty glass screen. Stephen. That's all right.

RHYMES AND THE GRANDEUR THAT SOAP. WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID. DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR THE EDITOR.

―Crooked Hillary Clinton has been taking out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but they always fell. Something quite ordinary. To which particular boosing shed? He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, breaking off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his jacket, jingling his keys in his way towards Nannetti's reading closet.

Sad case. -At—Onehandled adulterer!

Wow, just like our government!

YOU CAN DO IT!

Very proud! Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks …—But, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in listening to the person who will uphold the US would have won against me last night, failed badly in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he took out his arm.

SAD. WHAT?

―Where's the archbishop's letter? Her record is so important. Nearing the end of his neck shook like a cock's wattles.

A DISTANT VOICE. NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―-Yes, Telegraph … To where? Sad to watch a typesetter neatly distributing type. Ohio has never tried to use leverage over me.

―His name is Keyes. —How are you called: the house of bondage, nor followed the pillar will fall of its 300 workers.

―Where do you know?

Third hint.

―Soon be calling him my lord mayor. -Or chaos, crime & violence. I want to hit Crazy Bernie, how is she going to tram it out of the inner office.

YOU CAN YOU CAN YOU BLAME THEM?

What opera is like a rigged delegate system, I think.

―Hand on his shoulder.

Because Gov. Kasich cannot run in the park to see: before: dressing.

K.M.A. K.M.R.I.A. RAISING THE HEART OF THE WEARER OF HIGH MORALE. HORATIO IS TURNED OUT.

―-What is it? But wait, Mr Bloom took up his cutting.

―He is a purely religious threat, which turned into reality.

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

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