Amelia C. Gormley Quotes

Of course, to my utter mortification, he looked amused. I half-expected him to start golf clapping.
Ooh, epic bitch fit! I give it five stars. Haven't seen one that good in forever, and I live in a town full of queens, so that's saying something. Now, if you've got that out of your system, sit your ass down and let's talk.

I never asked you to take care of me! This? This is exactly what I didn't want. You promised me ... " I shook my head, my eyes burning as I turned my attention back to packing. I jerked the zipper of my suitcase so hard I'm surprised I didn't pull the damn tab off. "Let's be honest, hm? You're not trying to take care of me, you're trying to take care of you. You want to have your respectable, white-bread, married, straight family life as well as your faggy brown boy toy on the side, and seriously? Fuck that shit. I trusted you, Brendan! I trusted you to respect me enough not to pull something like this, not to try to keep me dangling along so you could have it both ways without giving up anything.

Ew. Can you not talk about my dad ogling people? Scarlett Johansson may be gorgeous, but still."
"It'll be a challenge, but I think I can refrain from licking the screen," Brendan deadpanned, placing the wine bottle on the coffee table next to the bowl of popcorn before settling into the chair where he'd been working on his computer earlier.
"Ew! Dad!

The haunting and haunted remnants of an abandoned world. And in Darius's arms each night, when reason returned and they lay together, drained and weary, Rhys decided there was something inescapably beautiful about the fact that they made these memories in ruined places.

Good thing about hanging out with a pregnant woman: designated driver by default.

I don't know your story, and I'm not going to ask for any more than you want to give. But I know, I can just tell from the way you act, that people have tried to take things from you, tried to take you from you. They tried to take away something amazing, something that deserves more, something that wants to shine. I see it. I see the part they never managed to steal, no matter how hard they tried ... Your soul, he whispered, answering the unspoken inquiry.

Forget that voice that says you're a failure if you can't do it all yourself. Listen to the people who are saying you can for once, instead of all the ones who have told you that you can't.

You ain't no plastic doll, boy," he growled, inches away from Rhys's lips. "You just need to be handled right.

I don't know if I'll ever go through with it. I'm just too much of a perfectionist, I guess.
I'd rather be nothing than be middle-of-the-road."
She hugged me tightly.
"You're not middle-of-the-road, Topher. You're fast lane, all the way. You just, you know, need to find the right car.

Yeah, well there's your first problem. You don't get it. You can't even see what you did. You're going to sit here today and you're going to convince yourself that you were right and I was unreasonable and you won't even think about what you just tried to make me into. But hey ... It's not my problem, now. You think what you want. I'm gone."
He sighed and reached for my suitcase. "Will you at least let me help you down the stairs?"
"Fuck off." I'd rather break my neck than let him give me a second of assistance.
"Topher, come on!" Now he sounded annoyed and seriously, fuck him, he didn't get to be pissy over this. I turned around and gave him a withering look.
"Be sure you clear the lube out of the bedside table before you bang your wife in that room. It's a dead giveaway.

So, okay. He was basically an amalgamation of every redheaded man to ever turn my crank (and how!). And he lived in a popular gay resort town, which meant the chances were above average that he might actually be interested. Watching him trot lightly down those stairs to the beach, I realized what my objective this summer would be.
Agent Carlisle, your mission, should you choose to accept it, will be to find out which of these residences belongs to Mr. Strawberry-Blond Hunka Burnin' Love and convince him to do you on every horizontal surface - and against a few of the vertical ones.

I shrugged uncomfortably, leaning my head against hers, almost forgetting Mr. Gardner's presence as Mo and I fell into that sort of exclusionary, near-telepathic best-friends communion. She knew that I would argue that I wasn't ashamed, but that I hadn't quite figured out how to truly mean it when I held my head up high. My entire life, people had been telling me to keep it down and stop being an embarrassment. So, I was still in that "fake it 'til you make it" stage, hoping genuine pride would come if I pretended confidence long enough. For now, I was relying on bravado and a complete lack of give-a-fuck to carry me through.

Are you kidding? If Archer McLovelyArms wants you to spend the whole weekend, you go, girl. Get you some."
She snorted. "His name's Cody Rey."
I quirked an eyebrow, even though she wasn't there, and for the first time in the entire conversation, banter didn't feel forced.
"You sure he's an archer? Sounds more like a gunslinger. Just what exactly is he packing?

I ended up taking Ben & Jerry and the Gallo brothers home that night, so it was a real orgy, if a very maudlin and self-indulgent one.

I know, but there were all those people there, and you just don't go around outing someone like that ... "
"Yeah, well you just don't go around fucking your best friend's dad either, you prick!" For a moment I thought she was going to hit me again, but she pulled it back. "That's a fucking convenient sense of ethics you've got going on there, girlfriend.

Would smashing Lukas's face into the doorjamb as he brushed past count as "sticking together," as long as he didn't let go afterward?

Please, can you just stop being such a bitch for two fucking minutes? Jesus."
He ran his hand through his hair, clenching his fingers near his scalp.
I gave him a scathing look and turned away again. "Fuck you. You're not queer enough to call me a bitch.

A half-empty bottle of vodka sat on the bedside table, and his sketchbook was open on the king-size bed. Several sketches, only three of which looked finished, were scattered across the bedspread. Clearly he hadn't been sleeping either.

Swallowing, I picked up the nearest one. A dark-skinned, pale-haired child with an angel's wings - too old to be a cherub, more like a small boy - stood in the middle of a dark forest, looking around in terror. His hand was outstretched, reaching for a shadow disappearing off the edge of the page, the unknown figure walking away from him, leaving him behind.

I drew a shuddering breath and picked up the next one. In this one, that same angel - now a willowy adolescent, his thin, maturing body draped in the ubiquitous short toga with strapped sandals wound around his ankles - stood with his shoulders hunched in the midst of a crowd of jeering figures. He held an ornate harp cradled protectively against his body, trying to shield it from further harm. Its strings were sprung and its frame cracked and bent.

In the last one, an even more mature version of the angel - now a young man - knelt on one knee in another clearing in the woods. He was bruised and bleeding, his toga torn and stained. He held the bloody, tattered remnants of one of his wings, trying futilely to piece it back together.

I added, my voice dropping to the husky growl that made his pupils dilate just ... like ... that.

My forehead hit the table again with a thud. Ow. The words left me in a rush.
"I'm-fucking-the-married-closeted-father-of-my-only-close-friend-in-the-entire-world-and-his-wife-is-going-to-be-here-in-two-weeks."
I heard the hiss as Robin sucked his breath in between his teeth. "Ouch."
"Yeah." I sighed, my forehead rubbing against the table as I nodded miserably. At least he didn't try to deny the idiotic part.
"You know there's absolutely no way that can end well."
"Duh.

Well, look at it this way," Robin reasoned as I sat with him and Geoff at their kitchen table that night, half-plastered from the pitcher of margarita they'd blended up. Was I going to have a tequila hangover in the morning? Oh, honey, you bet your sweet ass I was. And how many fucks did I give?
Not a one.
"Even if you were overreacting to read what you read into this guy's offer - which I don't think you were, though I doubt he actually thought it through enough to intend it to be read that way - you still have to ask yourself: What's in it for you, hanging around some motel room waiting for a married man to make a booty call? What benefit would you get out of that situation, or out of prolonging your relationship with him? He might not have meant it to be an insulting offer, but it was absolutely a one hundred percent selfish offer. There was no upside for you whatsoever, unless the sex really was just that amazing.

The sky should be the limit for
you right now, angel.

Well, I guess I don't say much, unless I've got something to say. Makes me not a lot of fun at parties. I'm really not great with small talk."
Gavin shrugged. "A lot of people feel like they have to fill every silence with noise, no matter how meaningless. I think it's interesting to find someone who isn't afraid of a little quiet.

Gavin's reply was almost too soft to be heard. "That's a crime." "Pardon? What is?" "That you don't get to handle wood as often as you'd like." "Sorry?" Derrick blinked in confusion, missing the innuendo entirely for a split second before his brain made the connection.

I had this coming. I just have to take my medicine. I think I'll spend the weekend brooding about what a shitty friend I am and mourning the loss of the friendship. I might have Ben & Jerry over to keep me company. Or maybe Ernest and Julio Gallo."
"Hey, no threesomes unless I get to watch.

These aren't me!" I screamed in a whisper, two tears slipping down my cheeks. "Whatever you see, it's not me. I'm just a fuck-up who doesn't know anything, not even what he's doing from moment to moment. And I'm scared all the time, and I don't know how to be anything else, except maybe angry and sad."
His arms tightened around me. "I don't need you to be perfect. I don't need you to never make mistakes. I just need you to let me give you as much of myself as I can, and to trust that I will try as hard as possible never to hurt you intentionally. Can you do that? Can you just let me love you?

You want to sub, baby, but you've got no idea what it means. When you give someone the power to do what they want to you, you also give them the responsibility of keeping you safe. Otherwise, you can't ever really give in and let go.

Oh, what? So, because I'm not going to leave my wife for you, I don't even qualify as bisexual?"

"You could, but you're not." The only thing that kept me from trying to outpace him again was the crowd and the fact that I was afraid someone would overhear.

"And just why is that?"

"Because to call a spineless, wishy-washy closet case like you 'bi' would be an insult to bifolk everywhere." I shook my head in disgust. "You're a fucking stereotype, you know that? Bisexuals are fighting to get rid of the misperception of themselves as being greedy or on the fence, and here you are undoing all that.