#god cursed me by having a badly lit room and having no knowledge of how to counter this

[th1rt33n]

not usually the type of art i do but! i've been getting into working with clay and have been playing a lot of half-life recently so i made a funny little headcrab pot and i'm pretty proud of how she turned out :o)

[moonlit-jeno]

high sex + jaemin

warnings: semi-public sex, minor drug use (weed), alcohol mention

The party’s already in full swing when you get there, your way blocked by people laughing and dancing in their own world. You cringe with every person you elbow past, apologizing mentally. It’s probably unnecessary, most of them don’t even notice.

Mark and Johnny are in the kitchen, making wild drink combinations that have you wrinkling your nose. You try one and nearly throw up. Johnny cackles and pours you all shots.

Chenle’s found the controls to the lighting and he changes them as fast as he can, cackling at the disoriented looks on everyone’s faces. Jeno’s quick to stop him, replacing the controller with a camera and telling him to catch all the drama. The lights settle on a gentle blue that joins with the hazy quality to the living room and makes you feel like you’re underwater, moving in slow motion towards Jaemin. He’s melted against the couch, head tipped back as he finishes taking his hit. White clouds float past his parted lips and he watches with heavy lids as they fill the room. A satisfied groan leaves him and his eyes fall shut.

Jaemin’s beautiful, you realize. He always is, always has been, but it’s different now. Under the blue lighting that fills the room, he looks almost ethereal. The type of pretty that makes you stop and stare when you see them in the street, the type that looks like they’ve just stepped off a magazine cover. You stare for a few long moments, taking in the way he’s got his legs spread wide, head tipped back to expose his neck, the loose collar of his shirt doing nothing to hide his collarbones.

His eyes are shut when you sit down but they slide open when you snuggle up next to him. A lazy smile comes onto his face, then, the type of smile that’s all teeth and happiness with no reason behind it besides the fact that he’s loose and feeling good. He looks you up and down, moves one arm to your back and pushes you onto his lap. His other hand sways gently in the air, the lit end of the joint glinting when you look at it.

“Hey.” You giggle, smiling up at him. He tips his head down to be able to see you better, the hand he’s got on your back sliding up to cup your cheek.

“Hey.” He says back, a little dumbly but it works nonetheless. “You high?”

You glance up at the joint before pouting at him. “Not as much as I should be.”

Jaemin makes smoking weed look like an art form. You watch as his pretty lips wrap around the joint before he tips your head back, leaning forward until your lips just barely brush. And you know the drill, you know what’s about to happen, but you’re never quite as prepared for it as you should be. Jaemin blows the smoke into your waiting mouth with ease, watches as you inhale it, watches as your pupils bloom that much extra and listens to the soft moans of contentment that leave with the smoke you blow out.

It’s easy for Jaemin to close that gap between you, to slide his tongue past your lips instead of smoke. You’re happy when he does, pressing yourself closer against him because he tastes like weed and the cotton candy liquor johnny had poured down your throat and it’s somehow the most addicting thing you’ve ever had.

His kisses are playful, kissing you before drawing back just enough that you have to curl your hand around the nape of his neck and pull him closer. His kisses are slow, acting like he has all the time in the world and refusing to speed up when you get impatient. His kisses are hot, his teeth nipping at your lip before his tongue sneaks out to soothe it, and he’s not shy about sucking on your tongue hard enough to send fire down to your pussy. It leaves you squirming, rocking your hips against him just to get something.

Jaemin stubs the joint out and his hand falls to your lower back, just above the curve of your ass. He feels you rock against him, he must, because his cock is hard and his fingers flex against you, sighs leaving him with every kiss.

“I need you.” You gasp out, moving to press a wet kiss at his earlobe.

“Yeah?” He asks lazily, raising his eyebrows as if he can’t feel the way you’re grinding against him, as if you’re not sliding your hand under his shirt, as if your nails aren’t scratching against his abs. “You need me?”

“So bad.” You moan out, playing it up a bit. He doesn’t need to hear it- he already knows how badly you need him, but he’s always liked hearing you beg. And you’ve always liked begging, especially on nights like these when your inhibitions are loose and you lips are even looser. “Jaemin, please. Your cock is so fucking good, fills me up so well. Want it.”

Jaemin takes his time tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You want it that bad that you’d let me fuck you in a room of strangers?” He asks, sliding his hand down to palm at your ass. “Want everyone you see what a whore you for my cock?”

A quick glance around the room reveals that everyone’s too out of it to notice what’s happening and you bury your face back in his neck. His body tenses under you when you suck a mark into his throat, the groan he lets out vibrating against your lips. “Mhmm, want them to see.”

It’s easy to convince him. He leans into the couch while you undo his belt, tugging his boxers down just enough to free his cock. His eyes roll back in his head when you dig your thumb into his slit, giving him one harsh stroke before sliding your panties to the side, taking him down in one go. Your skirt covers everything, or at least you hope it does. You couldn’t care less if it doesn’t because Jaemin’s cock feels so good in you, stretches your walls in the best way possible and fills your vision with stars. Your head falls back on your shoulders, mouth open in a silent moan, and start to roll your hips against him.

Jaemin looks utterly blissed out, one hand squeezing at your ass and the other landing on your back to pull you flush against him. His groans are rough in your ear and you muffle your whimpers into his neck.

“So big.” You manage your gasp out, rocking your hips and finding an angle that makes you really feel it. Your nails dig into his chest through his shirt and his curse gets lost in your moan, in the bass vibrating through the space around you. “Fuck Jaem, I fuckin- oh God.”

Everything feels like so much, the rawness with which you bounce on Jaemin settling deep in your stomach and making your skin burn. There’s a confusing mixture of desperation and laziness to the way you fuck and it makes your head spin, makes you grab onto your boyfriend to ground yourself. Jaemin clings onto you like he’ll die if he doesn’t and yet he does nothing to chase his high, just pulling you closer against him and sinking into the couch cushions.

“Pretty girl.” Jaemin whispers, brushing his lips against your forehead. It’s not like Jaemin to get talkative when he’s high and his words surprise you, make you gasp and clutch a little tighter at him. “My pretty girl.”

Everything blurs together for you. The music, the lighting, the knowledge that anyone in their right mind could look over and know what you’re doing, the tenderness that Jaemin touches you with compared to the rawness that his cock splits you open with: it all blurs into one endless feeling of ecstasy, consuming you until it’s all you can feel, all you can think about.

Jaemin’s name leave you like a prayer as you come, your orgasm sending you higher up into the clouds than you already were. He holds you through it, whispers “I’ve got you” as you shake apart in his arms, his lips pressed to your neck as he finds his own end.

Your eyelids feel heavy and your body feels too warm, your throat screaming for water. Jaemin’s stroking your back, whispering that he’ll get you water, that you’re amazing, that he loves you, pretty much whatever comes into his brain. And you don’t want to move, you’re so fucked out and comfortable that you want to stay like this forever, but Jaemin convinces you with his lips and a surprisingly hard smack to your ass.

His cock slides out of you and leaves you feeling so empty that you can’t stop the whine that leaves your throat, pussy aching with the need to have him back. He brushes your complaints away with his lips, leading you to the bathroom with his hand firmly on your waist, his chest pressed flush to your back. Renjun scoffs at the two of you when you push past him into the bathroom, high fiving both of you. Jaemin misses his hand.

You clean up with one of the nice fluffy towels folded neatly in the bathroom, Jaemin wrinkling his nose as he tries to wash the come out of your panties in the sink. He presses a soft kiss to your nose and smiles down at you. “You want to go to my room?”

“I want a burger.” You give him your best puppy dog eyes and you must look ridiculous but Jaemin doesn’t comment, just cooing and laughing.

“You want a burger? Then you’re getting a burger.” He wraps his arms around you and leads you back to the living room. “I’ll get Doyoung to buy them for us.”

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 17

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 2640

Summary: Another memory from the trenches claws its way to the surface after the Lees leave behind wire cutters. 

by @adventuresintooblivion

Thomas was shaking so badly he was convinced that he was rattling Finn to his core. His ears rang from the explosion they’d narrowly avoided.

“This is why you never pretend to be me. Ok?” Finn vigorously nodded his head. Maybe Thomas wasn’t the only one shaking. He ushered his youngest brother off to join the rest of the family. 

Those damned Lees! How am I going to end this without us all getting killed?

It wasn’t until he’d made it a few feet down the road before he froze. If they had enough knowledge to place the grenade in his car, they had to have been watching him. If they were watching…

“Y/N.” He launched himself down the street. His feet pounded against the ground, the soles of his shoes skidding against the gravel or sliding through the mud as he bolted towards the Garrison. 

Men dove out of his way, some of which had seen the grenade. Shouting grew up around him as innocent onlookers saw something for the first time. A Shelby sprinting through the streets. Thomas Shelby of all people. The crowd didn’t follow, only gazed in wonder at the gang leader that hadn’t shown an ounce of fear since coming back from the war.

He didn’t twist the door knob when he arrived, only shouldered the wood. It was well into operating hours and the wood gave easily as he skidded to a halt in front of dozens of men. His eyes scanned the room. He refused to wait long enough for them to adjust, but soon enough he didn’t have to.

“Thomas?” Y/N asked, a hand reaching out to him in the dark as he gasped for air.

He clapped his hand over hers, some irrational part inside him screaming that she wasn’t real. It was telling him that these last few months had been some fever dream, that he’d finally overdosed on opium and was holed up in some bed somewhere, while Arthur ran everything into the ground.

Y/N squeezed his hand, “Tommy what’s going on?”

Tommy. No, she was real. And she was in danger.

His voice cracked as he answered, “Have you seen any of the Lees around? They booby trapped my car.”

Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. His eyes had finally adjusted enough that he could see that everyone was staring at them. Even those who tended to keep to themselves had peeked over their tankards. It took every ounce of discipline he had not to draw Y/N closer, to hide her from the prying of Birmingham.

“You can guarantee no one’s been upstairs besides you?” 

Y/N glanced at the stairs, then back at him, “I guess I’ll have to go check.”

Before he could stop her she strode towards her room, “Y/N!” He followed quickly. 

She was already checking the floor of her bedroom when he caught up. It wasn’t until he found himself glancing to his own rooms that it occurred to him that, instead of her, they were after just him.

He began towards his room as he absently asked, “Where’s Grace?” He didn’t need her following them and getting in the way.

Thomas was answered by a loud thunk and a curse, “She took the day off.”

Y/N sounded more annoyed than usual, but he couldn’t lose focus as he quickly opened his door. As no explosion greeted him, he slowly made his way further and further into the room. After a few minutes, he was startled by Y/N leaning against his dresser.

“I think the Lees don’t know about this place just yet, Tommy.” There it was again. A sense of warmth coiled in his chest as his muscles relaxed. If he could have one thing for the rest of his life, it would be Y/N saying his name like that. With a deep sense of familiarity that made it sound like they’d known each other for a lifetime, maybe even longer.

He cleared his throat, “You’re probably right.” 

Thomas glanced up at her, only to be answered by that playful look in her eyes. He took a deep breath as he stood. The room was actually clear. God, I need a cigarette.

He grumbled idly as his fingers closed around a rectangle of cool metal. He quickly pulled it out and barely registered the feel of it in his hand as he jammed a cigarette into his mouth. Thomas could already taste the nicotine, a part of him buzzing to life as it demanded the satisfaction of the burn going down his throat. 

“Holy shit.” He barely heard Y/N, but after a pause he turned to face her, cigarette still dangling out of his lips. 

Y/N’s eyes had gone wide, her posture rigid as she stared down at his hand. He glanced down, as horror gripped his heart. Did she see a wire?

Her voice broke when she spoke again, “You kept it.” She pressed her hands over her heart, as if to rub away the sting. 

That’s when he realized what he had grabbed. In his hand was his “ring”, a cigarette case with Y/N’s initials engraved on the face in elegant swooping letters. The silver box was heavy against his calloused skin as he reflexively rubbed his thumb over the engraving, more out of habit than anything, over the only spot where it’d tarnished from human touch. For the first time in years, it felt foreign in his hand.

Thomas was at a loss for words until, with shaky hands, Y/N pulled out a familiar lighter from her pocket and lit his cigarette for him. While it could’ve been a part of a matching set with the case, one thing set it apart. Instead of engraved initials, they were inlaid gold that spelled out “T.M.S”.

He nearly choked on the smoke as it filled his mouth. Then, taking a shuddering draw, he reached out and brushed his thumb over his initials. There were a thousand things he could say and a thousand more he could deny. But in that moment, after being rubbed raw by the events of the day, he didn’t much care.

“Of course, I did. Do you really think you mean so little to me?”

Y/N took a deep breath, “I was dead, Tommy. You had every reason to get rid of it.”

His hand closed around hers, and the lighter within, “And get rid of the last piece of you that I had left? No, it’s a part of me now. Just like my cap, even my own name. I am Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, and I carry around a cigarette case that has the wrong initials.” 

He’d stepped closer during his little speech. One small step, on right after the other until he wasn’t even an inch from pressing his forehead against Y/N’s. His lips, hovering nearby in some sort of limbo, between the need to kiss her or to keep talking and fill the silence. 

“Do people think it belonged to an enemy?” Y/N chuckled breathlessly. He could hear the sound of tears in her voice as she desperately tried to lighten the mood.

Thomas shrugged, “It’s an easy rumor that helps with my image.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as she finally rested her forehead on his shoulder, “Everyday?”

“Everyday.”

〜

It was the next day; Thomas resisted the urge to pace as he waited for the Inspector to arrive. It’d been a long day of pulling strings, but with the communist’s address in his pocket, he felt oddly hopeful. Now he just needed Ada and Freddie to be anything but stubborn.

Inspector Campbell rounded the corner. In the rain it was difficult to see, but something about the man seemed more haggard, more animalistic. It wasn’t until farther in the conversation that Thomas realized how wrong he was to bring an innocent man into this. But he’d offer up all of Birmingham, if it meant Ada wouldn’t get caught up in all this.

The officer began his tirade, threats against his family. Each one was something he’d anticipated before coming here. The Inspector somehow managed to always ride the line between predictable and problematic. Though, even Thomas had to admit he was seeing red a little by the end. It wasn’t until the Inspector made his last comment that he was caught off guard.

“You know, despite our little feud over these guns, I’m actually surprised by your restraint Mr. Shelby.”

Thomas blinked away the rain, “Pardon me, Inspector?”

He shrugged, “Well, after we grabbed your little friend off the streets, I was expecting more retribution than getting off scot free. Maybe Ms. Y/L/N isn’t as important to you as we thought. Oh well, what’s one more broken girl in Birmingham.”

Inspector Campbell turned to leave and in that moment that it took for his words to sink in, Thomas’ world exploded. 

It was HIM.

Thomas’s gun was out of it’s holster before he could stop himself. White hot rage coursed through his veins, his finger twitching on the trigger. Aunt Pol’s voice in his head, reminding him of something called consequences, was the only thing that gave him pause. Then the Inspector was gone.

Thomas knew he looked wild as he lowered the pistol. The image of Y/N shuffling toward him, supporting herself with garbage, burned itself on the back of his eyelids. She was there when he closed his eyes. She was there when he opened them, shadowed by the rain. Her face was turned up in pain. Then it was Arthur he heard, first telling him about the copper that had ambushed him outside.

He stood there for a long time, rain soaking through his coat. It wasn’t until a shout from down the road caught his attention. Y/N, not the ghost, was striding closer beneath an umbrella.

“Tommy? You ok?”

He forced himself to nod, “What’re you doing out here in the rain?”

She raised her eyebrow, “Did you forget? It’s Wednesday.” 

〜

[Two Months before Somme]

“Christ Tommy, you’ve got that stupid smile on your face again.” Freddie elbowed him with a grin.

Thomas blinked, “What smile?”

Freddie didn’t answer, only rolled his eyes. The day had actually been a slower one for once. Something in the air had changed and a hush had settled over the soldiers in response. Everyone knew something big was on the horizon, but only a select handful would know for certain. And it definitely wasn’t Thomas.

Instead, Freddie asked a question, “So, when is Y/N gonna become queen of the Peaky Blinders?”

“Queen, huh? What’s that make me?” Thomas snorted.

“You’re dodging the question. I know you’ve got no one back home waiting. And I’ve got that little thing called eyes.” 

Thomas ducked his head. He didn’t like talking about the life he could have had. But then something else about what Freddie had said caught his attention.

“It’s that obvious?”

Freddie nodded, “Hopper’s convinced you have a thing for the blokes. Even he sees how you look at her.”

Thomas grimaced, “Well, as long as he’s paying attention to me.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

“What question?” Y/N huffed as she tossed a bag down beside the two men. Thomas could already smell the cured meats, she’d been “acquiring’ again. 

He quickly shook his head, “Nothing. What’s all this for?”

Y/N flopped beside him, “Made a deal with a regiment or two. If I can get them tasty food, they can get us better guns that aren’t falling apart.”

“And how do you know they won’t turn you in?”

She flashed him a feral grin, “Last time they asked me for whiskey, remember that?” He nodded. “Well, I’d gotten it from their commanding officer. Who is still pissed about that by the way.”

Thomas found himself laughing. It was then that Freddie glanced between them.

Freddie gracelessly stood, “Well, I gotta head out and do the thing. I’ll see you two later.”

“There’s a thing?” Thomas waved away Y/N’s question as Freddie squelched away in the mud.

Queen of the Peaky Blinders.

Thomas ran his fingers through his hair, “So besides wrangling up stolen goods, what have you been doing all day?”

“Christ, don’t get me started.” When he gestured for her to continue she settled in to explain her little misadventure. “Turns out that the Acquisitions Officer is on the hunt for whoever has been taking socks from the stores. He assumes it’s me, which is fair, but it’s not for once and I’ve been dodging that man all day. Not to mention I got a letter.”

He glanced at her, “That’s a first. From who?”

Y/N grimaced, “My dad, the coward he is.”

Thomas scooted closer, his arm brushing against hers, “What’d he do?”

“Idiot didn’t realize he was too old to draft. So, instead of there even being a possibility of him going to war, he smashed his own knee cap. I’ll give him credit for the no hesitation.”

She took a steadying breath, “However, could you imagine what would happen if you’d done something similar? Everyone was already terrified of what would happen to them. So when word got out about what the Old Man did, other’s tried to do the same thing. Except, most people can’t just break their own knees, so they got drafted anyways. And for everyone else? They’d given up before they were even shipped out.”

“He’d rather cripple himself than go to war?”

Y/N nodded, “It’s why I’m here. Almost everyone who worked for my dad got drafted, but upper management was too old. I was the only one left to look out for them.”

“And that’s your job why?”

“I’m the Boss’s daughter, it’s always been me.”

He nodded, “So what’d you do with the letter?”

Y/N flashed him a grin, “Burned it. Got myself a bit while doing it though.”

“Oh you poor thing, if we make it through this will you marry me?” the question was out of his lips before he could stop himself.

Y/N raised her eyebrow, “Are we going around using that for every little inconvenience now?”

He shrugged defensively, “Maybe I just like to say it.”

Y/N barked with laughter, “Keep this up Shelby, and you’ll actually have to get me a ring.” He stared at her for a moment stunned. Had that been an actual ‘Yes’?

Thomas groaned, “Where the hell am I gonna find a ring in a war camp?”

“That’s up to you.”

“You’re the one that usually finds things,” he grumbled exasperated. 

She reached down and pulled something out of her pocket, “Here. This can be your ‘ring’.” 

He gazed at the cigarette case for a long moment before producing an almost matching lighter. The air had almost grown solemn, the whole world was holding its breath to see if either of them were brave enough.

With a reverence he didn’t even show Aunt Pol’s God, he placed the lighter in Y/N’s hand. And in return, the cold metal of the case slipped between his fingers. Something about the moment felt final, monumental almost. As if these two trinkets had actually been rings exchanged in a church.

“How is it that we even have the same taste in accessories?” Y/N joked, but he could have sworn her grip tightened around the lighter that was once his.

He tugged on his cap, “Dunno, I had mine made after my first job. At least the first one that went right.”

Y/N gasped in mock horror, “The great Thomas Shelby making mistakes?”

“That’s no way to talk to your husband.”

She curled over laughing.

[casualmaraudering]

/ so, inspired by a fanart i did recently have some fem sirius being a lesbian and having a lot of conflicting feelings!

cw: internalised homophobia, religious (catholic) themes, very brief contemplation of nudity (i guess)

*

*

“-inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me,” Sirius slowly whispers to herself, head low, breathing in the scent of smoking incense and burning candle wax.

The chapel is empty - rightfully so, seeing as it is nearing 1 am by now. Only the faint light of the candles atop of the altar shines in the room - it’s far too cloudy for the moonlight to come through the stained glass. There’s no sounds in the air, aside an occasional ambience of the night.

Being by herself, and with no chance of anyone interrupting her, Sirius kneels at the kneeler in the main portion of the small chapel. Rather than in front of the main altar, she’s at the side one, with a marble statue of Virgin Mary right in the centre. She had been taught by a nanny - the one who cared for her since birth - that it’s Mary you should go to if you seek guidance and, most of all, forgiveness. The purest of souls, she had been, and that she continues to be, blessing peace onto those who truly seek it. It’s what she had believed in, and poured that belief into Sirius, urging her to pray, rosary in hand, every night before bed.

It has been years since then, though. Sirius’s view of the world is so much different, now that she’s nearly an adult woman. She has met a great number of people, read a great number of books. Her beliefs are so much more than what they’ve been when she was little, mindlessly following her parents’ every step and command. She is worth more than that, now she knows.

And yet, here she is, once again, kneeled with a rosary in hand, just as she had been as a child. Except when she was small, things had been so simple. That whirlwind of emotions inside her chest and constant battle in her mind were nowhere in sight, not the way they are now, ever-present, constantly nagging her and making it hard to breathe.

She prays for so many things. Forgiveness. Guidance. Knowledge. An answer of any kind, really. A push towards one of the sides of war her mind and soul are battling. She doesn’t know who to believe, she doesn’t know if she should feel dirty or proud, whether she should seek penance and plead remorse, or let go and follow her heart.

If only Mary could answer her. Just that one question. Yes, or no.

Is what the people say true? The nuns and pastors and her parents, are they right? When they say that people like her are a plague on this world, that they’ll burn in hell, is this what awaits her?

“Is it wrong of me to love a woman?”

No answer ever comes, of course. None ever does.

God works in mysterious ways, Father Connolly would say. Frankly, Sirius thinks he’s full of shit.

She has gone through almost twenty beads on her rosary when she hears the unmistakable sound of the chapel doors opening.

She freezes, breathing out quietly, squeezing the rosary in her hand, waiting for a teacher to call her name. She’s no stranger to detention, of course, but maybe this time she could talk her way out - she left her bed, yes, but only to pray in the chapel. Surely whatever nun caught her out of bed after curfew will understand that.

“Sirius?”

At the sound of that voice, her breath catches in her throat. The very same voice that got her kneeling here tonight, torn from the inside, aching with confusion. Burning with desire.

“Remus,” she replies, hoping her voice sounds at least a bit relaxed, not giving away the sudden pace of her heart and the coil in her stomach. She shoves the rosary into the pocket of her jacket, and she quickly turns around, standing up.

Remus walks towards her from the darkness, lit by the gentle candlelight. For the first time, Sirius sees her with her hair loose, falling in curling strands around her face and down past her shoulders, resting on her chest. She’s wearing a nightgown - a white, thin fabric, from the looks of it.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Remus says at sudden, gesturing at the kneeler.

“I was done anyway,” Sirius replies with a smile. She sits down on the kneeler, trying to appear relaxed.

Remus nods, and steps closer to sit right next to Sirius, leaning against the brick wall of the altar, facing Sirius with her head just slightly cocked to the side.

“What are you out here for this late?”

Sirius chooses to shrug - she can’t exactly say why. It’s not like she could tell anyone at all, yet alone Remus of all people.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replies finally.

“So you decided to pray?”

“You have said before that I’m ‘the religious type’,” Sirius reminds her with a smile. “It’s just… I had a nanny growing up. My parents are pretty well off, and it’s like a thing in our family to have someone take care of the kids full time. And that nanny would have me pray before bed, every single night. She said that if I ever need guidance or forgiveness or comfort, I should pray to Mary.”

“And you’re looking for guidance? Or forgiveness?” Remus nudges her with her shoulder, smiling in that particular way of hers that makes all of Sirius’s insides feel as if she’s on fire in the most pleasant of ways.

She looks gorgeous in the faint candlelight. Her hair is wild, curling here and there, a few strands over her face yet she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Sirius can just faintly see the scattering of freckles on her nose - a nose flushed red just slightly, likely cause of the cold outside. Her lips are red too - plump, smooth, soft.

And once she lets her eyes wander, Sirius can’t stop it. Her long neck, the necklace she always wears resting on it. Her collarbones, barely visible from under her hair. A few freckles disappearing under the edge of her gown.

She isn’t wearing a bra, Sirius notes, cursing herself for even noticing. And yet, when Remus leans back on her forearms and turns her head to look around her chapel, stretching her body in an outright sinful way, Sirius can’t not look. The curve of her breasts hidden by the thin fabric - just barely there and yet at the same time drawing her eyes in, taunting her.

“Say,” Sirius says at last - slowly, carefully choosing every word that falls out of her mouth, still letting her eyes bask in the glory of the woman before her. “-do you think that if something is out of your control - you try to go against it as much as you can, but it’s not possible… is it sin? You can’t help it no matter how hard you try, it’s like… engraved into you. Is it still unforgivable?”

Remus is silent for a moment, her head still turned forward towards the chapel. And so Sirius’s eyes remain fixed on her, the curve of her body, the way the fabric falls around those curves, covering some but still letting her see just enough of her silhouette.

Licking her lips, Sirius’s mind wanders back to the thoughts she rarely lets herself have - what would she look like without that nightgown covering her? What would it be like to see her here, posing on display, her whole body uncovered and shameless?

Is loving a woman so bad, if clearly women were made to be worshipped? Sirius can’t imagine not letting her eyes sway around Remus’s body, wishing so badly to as much as see it, touch it just once. It would only be natural to follow those desires. And if this is the forbidden fruit, as if Eve were the forbidden fruit… Adam had succumbed to her. How can Sirius not?

“You are who you are,” Remus answers. She turns back towards Sirius, scooting a bit closer. “-and don’t the texts say that God made us in his image?”

“They do, but-”

“Then how could something within your nature be wrong? If it’s that much out of your control that you can do nothing to stop it, how different is it from breathing? From eating? From living? It’s a natural part of you, and it was intended to be a part of you. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness if there’s nothing to forgive.”

Sirius lets her eyes hit the floor, breathing slowly.

If what Remus says is true, why has she heard, over and over, that people like her are not welcome within their communities? Why have all of their teachers preached against it and acted as if it’s the greatest sin one could commit?

“I know a lot of people talk, but often enough, they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Remus continues, seemingly reading into Sirius’s thoughts or straight into her soul. “We’ve had so many classes on it, read through pretty much every page of the Bible. Do you remember any lines that said it’s sinful? Even one?”

She doesn’t. Maybe she’s forgotten, but honestly, she would have remembered. It would be engraved into her conscience just like everything she had heard people say about it. Her thoughts circle around it every night, when she can’t sleep. Every word, every threat, every stab right in the heart. Sinful, unnatural, wrong, Adam, Eve, Hell.

And yet she doesn’t remember stumbling onto it in the one source that does matter most.

“Of course, you could always read through it again, but I don’t see the point, honestly,” Remus keeps talking, shrugging at her, once again with that smile. “I can tell you, if Mary could tell you, she’d say that you’re good. It might seem terrifying at first, but you’re not the only one that feels this way.”

Sirius blinks slowly, brows furrowed in confusion. It’s as if-

“D-do-... are you-... what?”

Remus laughs - and truly, it is a marvellous sound, one Sirius could compare to what she thinks a choir of angels would likely sound like - and she gets up, brushing off any dirt from her gown.

“I know what you’re talking about, yes,” she confirms, taking a step back, but turning around so she can still look Sirius in the face. “Trust me when I say it - you aren’t the only one.”

She smiles, and Sirius feels like her brain isn’t quite catching up with what’s going on at the moment. And then Remus takes a few steps towards her and brushes a strand of Sirius’s hair behind her ear, her face close enough that Sirius sees the reflection of flickering candles in her honey eyes.

It’s a short, fleeting moment - Remus is there, with her eyes and freckles and hair and nose and smile and smell of chocolate and vanilla -and then she’s gone, taking a step back, then two, then three.

“I’ll see you around. Goodnight, Sirius.”

She steps away. Turns around. And with that she leaves, her white gown fluttering with her movement, her hair bouncing with her step, disappearing into the darkness. Sirius is left to herself in the empty chapel, heart hammering, chest flaming with emotion, stomach tight with desire.

God have mercy on me.

[alexblakeisgay]

C31H64

Ship: Alex Blake/Reader

Summary: “Please what?” Alex nothing short of taunted.  “Use your words.  Your parents are paying a lot of money for you to learn linguistics, afterall.  If only they knew to what use you’re putting those skills...”

Warnings: age difference, explicit sexual content, mommy kink. wax play

Word Count: 2024

You panted softly, chest heaving, as waves of pleasure washed over you as you came down from your orgasm.  You whimpered softly as Alex continued teasing your pebbled nipples, prolonging your climax until you could barely stand it anymore.  “Please, Alex... Alex...” you begged, overstimulated nearly to the point of crying.

“You’re such a good girl,” she cooed, giving in to your pleading and allowing you to catch your breath.  She stroked your hair, twirling one of the slight curls that only appeared when your hair was damp with sweat around her finger.

Your turned your head to face her, a sated smile on your lips.  “Thank you, Mommy,” you rasped out, throat hoarse from screaming your pleasure.  You hummed a pleased little noise as she patted your cheek in silent praise.

She leaned in as if for a kiss, then at the last moment, she ducked her head to the side, husked beside your ear, “I brought you a gift.”  Her teeth scraped along your earlobe teasingly for a moment before she stood from the bed, heels clicking against the hardwood as she moved across the room.

When you finally managed to muster enough brain power to carry on a conversation, you asked, “Does it have anything to do with the fact that I’m all tied up and at your complete and utter mercy?”  As if to punctuate the statement, you twisted your hand about where it was tied to the bedpost by one of her silk scarves.

Her eyes flashed with that look of mischief she got right before you ended up regretting your overly free tongue.  “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak,” she scolded, slapping your thigh, hard enough to sting. “If you’re not going to thank me, you can remain quiet.”

“So, what is the gift?” you asked, then winced at the expression on her face.  “I mean, thank you, Mommy... What gift have you decided to bestow upon me?”

She smirked, but didn’t respond, instead drawing out your anticipation. Pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed, she surveyed you, tied spread-eagle, utterly helpless, just the way she liked. You squirmed a little – as best you could while restrained – under her intense gaze.  Those burning eyes were enough to have you dripping once again.

She didn’t miss the wetness leaking from your needy cunt, judging by the way her tongue flicked out to trace an agonizingly slow path across her bottom lip.  God, how you wanted that tongue on your clit...

You let out a little whimper at her continued silence – normally you were a master of delayed gratification, but in that moment, you was desperate, impatient.  You tried so hard to be a good girl for her, eager to hear her praise you, but somehow she always seemed to break you down to a writhing, needy mess.

Your mewls only fed Alex’s playful mood.  You could see her eyes sparkling with mischievousness and knew that she had something up her sleeve that would truly test you...

From the pocket of the crisp white blouse blouse she wore open over her bare chest and lacy black panties, she pulled a book of matches.

“Matches?” you asked, unimpressed.

Alex shot you a glare and you knew immediately that you were in trouble.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” you apologized, doing your best to look forgivable and submissive.

There was an abrasive sound, followed by the hiss of a match catching light.  “I shouldn’t reward you, given your lack of decorum,” she drawled as the match slowly burned down to her fingers before she blew it out at the last second.  “But I’ve decided to be forgiving.  Thank me at your leisure.”

Before you had the chance to say thank you, though, another match hissed to life.  “Is...  Is this my gift?” you asked, once again forgetting that you didn’t have permission to speak.

“What did I say about speaking out of turn?” Alex snapped.  Eyes narrowed, head cocked, lips pursed, she wore the look reserved for when you were on your brattiest behaviour.  “I may feel inclined to start punishing you instead of rewarding your – up ‘til now – perfect behaviour.”

You nodded, but remained silent.  Your cheeks burned, somehow simultaneously not wanting to disappoint, but also wanting to find out exactly what punishment she had in store...

“Now...” She lit another match, this time using it to light a series of candles displayed on the bedside table.  “I’m going to make you scream and I want to hear a proper thank you before you’re allowed to cum.”

Your eyes were affixed to the candles, watching the flames flicker about with the puff of your breath.  In spite of yourself, an anticipatory shiver ran down your spine, the knowledge of what was next simultaneously thrilling and intimidating. Heat pooled in your core, sending a gush of wetness down your thighs.

Alex smirked at your desperate neediness and she took a moment to drag her fingers along your thighs, through the rivulets of your juices, then brought her fingers to her lips, pink tongue darting out to taste you on them.

“Mommy...” you whimpered, pleaded.

Without further teasing, she chose a deep red pillar candle with precise fingers, then met your gaze with a quirked brow and a teasing smirk.  But instead of dripping the wax on your waiting bare skin, she let the molten wax dribble down the pale skin of her own forearm.

She carefully studied your reaction, the way you couldn’t take your eyes off the red river on her forearm, the way you licked your lips, the way you momentarily attempted to reach for her before remembering you were tied down.

“You want to kiss it better?” she asked, amused, peeling the wax off her skin.

You nodded eagerly as Alex presented her arm in front of your face, a faint pink stain of warmed skin standing out against the delicate white.  You eagerly pressed your lips to the soft skin, tenderly kissing over and over, letting your tongue daintily lavish attention on her.

She let it continue for a moment or two before snapping, “That’s enough.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” you responded respectfully, though you hadn’t been prompted, your cheeks flushing.  You knew she was being generous, letting you get away with bratty behaviour she might ordinarily have scolded you for.

“Good girl.”

This time the candle she selected was a long white taper.  She held it several feet above your body stretched out below as she examined you with considering eyes, deciding where best to land the first drop, enjoying the anticipation on your face.

The first drop fell several feet before splattering on the skin of your belly and even though you’d been expecting it, it still surprised you a little.  It wasn’t nearly as hot as you’d been expecting and far more pleasant and it had you eager for the next drop.

Several more drips followed experimentally, gradually lowering the height until it felt like concentrated drops of a too-warm shower, stinging your skin for an instant before hardening as the heat sunk in and spread pleasantly through you.

The candles in Alex’s hands slowly changed from the single drops of the tapers to the deep pools of wax from the larger pillar candles.  Thus far, the drops had been deliberately placed on your torso, avoiding anything particularly sensitive, but you had a feeling that that was about to end, judging by the way she was eyeing your breasts and grinning mischievously.

This time, the wax fell in a large splash over your left breast and you inhaled sharply.  “Oh, God, fffff-” you started, but managed to stop the curse from falling at the last moment.

The next rush of wax came in the form of a slowly poured river down the valley between your breasts that curved its way along your ribs before solidifying.  After that, it was slow, purposeful drops on your nipples, causing you to writhe.  Then it was on your thighs, completely surprising you.

Subspace came on in a sudden rush that completely overwhelmed you, making your head swim like the warm floaty feeling brought on by being tipsy but not completely drunk.  What happened next, you seemed to witness rather than actually feel, in a sort of out-of-body experience and it wasn’t until Alex carefully dribbled wax down the crease of your thighs that you came crashing back into your body.  The scorching liquid slid down the outer lips of your pussy, eliciting a surprising jolt of pleasure.

You couldn’t help it this time, crying out, “Fuck, oh God, fuck!” You arched your back, the tendons in your neck stretching and tensing.

A single careful drop of wax landed on your clit next and you could barely stand it, very nearly sobbing as you begged, “Please...”

“Please what?” Alex nothing short of taunted.  “Use your words.  Your parents are paying a lot of money for you to learn linguistics, afterall.  If only they knew to what use you’re putting those skills...”

“I need...” you struggled to string words into a coherent sentence, “Please, I need to cum!  Please...please let me cum!”

Alex clicked her tongue scoldingly, a smirk on her lips.  “No, I don’t think I will...”  She wasn’t usually this strict with you, tending towards indulging your requests, but you couldn’t help but enjoy this dominating side of her...even if her refusal seemed unfair just then.

You whimpered and mewled and writhed as she now concentrated her efforts on drizzling wax around your pussy as if testing you. You wanted so badly to please her, to be her good girl, but she seemed determined to push you to your very limits.

Eventually, she seemed to take pity on you. Gentle fingers stroked along your jawline.  “Look at me.”

Your eyes immediately flew open and shot up to where Alex was standing over you. There was softness, fondness in her eyes as she looked at you...and no small amount of arousal as she examined her handiwork.

“Look at yourself...”

You obeyed, taking in the sight of your torso painted with hardened wax in a colourful tableau of your pain and ecstasy.  You wanted to say something – to thank her, as she’d requested – but you couldn’t quite seem to form any words, even a single thought, beyond your desperate need for release...

“I’ve turned you into a work of art...” she said, voice husky, leaving no doubt as to whether she was turned on as well.  “If only I could keep on display forever...”  She surprised you then by untying one of her wrists.  “You have two minutes.”

You wasted no time in plunging three fingers deep inside your cunt, practically shrieking in relief as you did so.  You were soaking wet and your juices were running down your fingers and collecting in your palm; you smeared it along your slit, then returned to fucking yourself. Your hips rose to meet each thrust of your fingers eagerly.  Your thumb found your clit and pressed harshly against it before circling it again and again, causing your pussy to tighten around your fingers.

You weren’t entirely aware of the correct passage of time, but you would’ve been willing to bet that by the time you were screaming out your pleasure under Alex’s watchful eye, it was probably the fastest you’d ever brought yourself to orgasm.

Your body went slack, one arm still attached to the bed frame, the other still flicking against your wax-covered clit, enjoying the way it sent aftershocks of bliss through your body.

Your eyes fell shut, but the dip of the bed next to you, the gentle waft of Alex’s perfume, the soft press of lips to your temple all told you that she’d lay down next to you.  She untied your other hand, then pulled you into her so that your head rested in her lap.

As she gently stroked your hair, murmuring sweet nothings and praising you for how well you’d done, you could feel your eyelids getting heavy, barely able to stay awake long enough to hear her whisper how much she loved you.

[emmaniamh13]

I can make it better, I can knead you tighter

Summary: Yoongi has been working 24/7 lately and Namjoon has had enough of seeing his best friend resembling a corpse walk through their apartment door at ungodly hours. So he forces him to relax. Little did he know, Yoongi would find a more fitting stress reliever for his body but Namjoon really didn't need to know that much.

Tags: Semi-Public Sex; Rimming; Fingering; Anal Sex; Bottom Yoongi; Top Taehyung; Slight Dom/Sub; Unprotected Sex (Stay Safe Kids)

Part 01 ; Part 2

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door fell shut with a loud bang. Yoongi just wanted to get to his bed he was too tired to care about making too much noise

"Hyung is that you? God do you know what time it-"

Namjoon stopped in his steps after coming around the corner

"Dammit Hyung!" he cursed lowly "Have you looked in the mirror? You look like you've been hit by a bus. Multiple times" he emphasized with a frustrated huff

Yoongi just shrugged and tried to move past the younger, not in the mood for the other to pester him about his habits.

But Namjoon didn't let him, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards the living room. Before Yoongi could process, he had been pushed onto the couch and locked into place by Namjoon's frame.

"I'm not letting you do this to yourself anymore Hyung! You're gonna take a few days off and if I have to imprison you for that to happen then so be it" he spoke while folding his arms in front of his chest for emphasis.

Yoongi just stared up at him bewildered, his tired mind trying to figure out what his friend and roommate  expected from him right now. When it looked like nothing more would come from Namjoon he felt like he needed to respond.

So he did.

"What?"

And he watched Namjoon deflate slightly

"Hyung" he whined

"Pay attention, will you? I'm not letting you go to work for the next few days that's what"

Now Yoongi had enough time to process and when the pieces slotted together, he literally jumped of the couch to protest only to be pushed back down by his dongsaeng, landing on the soft pillows with a huff

"Namjoon what the hell" he growled but the other just continued to block his way, unfazed.

"You have to promise me, you'll stay home tomorrow and actually sleep a little"

"The hell I will" the older threw back "I need to finish that project and you know it"

Namjoon nodded "Yeah I know" he answered matter-of-factly "but that project isn't due until the 20th and I know for a fact that you're nearly finished, so a few free days won't hurt" he stated

"Namjoon" he warned "Let me sleep I need to be out early tomorrow"

"You're not going anywhere tomorrow and that is final" Namjoon didn't move from his spot and his features seemed to brighten suddenly, and Yoongi sighed. That could only mean he had some sort of idea and most of them he's had, ended badly for Yoongi. Not that Namjoon didn't always have his best interest at heart, Yoongi was aware, but Namjoon's idea of fun and relaxation was quite different from his own- to put it nicely

"Except to a Massage Parlour"

Yoongi's eyes went wide

"What"

"You heard me. I'm gonna book you an appointment at this really good one not far from here. You'll love it I promise" he sounded excited but Yoongi just groaned

"Just please let me go. I'll try to take more breaks in between I promise" he started to whine, his body screaming desperately for much-needed rest

But Namjoon only shook his head "That's the plan and that's final. I'll drag you there if I have to"

"Okay. Okay I'll do it just let me get to bed. Please" if he weren't so sleep deprived he would have rather shoved his way through Namjoon's human barricade but well, that sadly wasn't the case

Namjoon lit up and immediately helped Yoongi off the couch to bring him to his room "Perfect! I'll ring first thing in the morning"

Yoongi only nodded slowly and waved him off, mumbling some curses under his breath as they walked into his room and as soon as Namjoon let go he let himself fall, sighing as he felt the familiar feel of soft mattress underneath.

He was out like a light.

He woke up to his alarm, groaning at the loud noise blaring through his ears and hitting directly against his brain.

A headache. Just great.

He didn't stop groaning, nearly falling off his bed in the process of trying to roll out of it. The all-nighters and dozen coffees probably weren't the best routine-idea he’s ever had.

He felt like shit. But he didn’t dwell on it.

He’s plan was to go to the kitchen to start his day with a coffee; the first out of another dozen he guessed; until he noticed that he couldn't. His door was locked.

Fucking locked.

Rattling at the door, he got more furious by the second. "Namjoon!" he barked "Did you lock me into my fucking room?" He yelled for him again when he didn't hear anything

"Yep" he heard the shout back

"What the fuck!"

"I told you, you're going to stay at home today and you agreed. Luckily I know you well enough to know that you'd try this" his voice sounded closer this time "You're going to stay in this room and do anything but work, then I'm going to drive you to the parlour. You'll feel better afterwards I promise. You're going to feel brand new in that worn-down body of yours" He was right in front of the door by now

"Open the door right now or I swear I'll-"

"I'm used to your threats by now so they're no use" Namjoon deadpanned "Go to sleep Yoongi or I'll knock you out so that your body has a chance to rest, you inconsiderate idiot"

"You can't just lock me in here! I'm a grown man and I can do whatever-"

"Yeah you might be but you're a man with absolutely zero consideration for the body you're inhabiting. So fuck off and rest for once.” he continued humorously “I'm going to work! See you"

---

He got pulled through the door so fast he didn’t even know what happened. All he knew was that Namjoon grabbed him, threw him into the car, drove like an idiot , nearly crashed into a fire hydrant, ended up here and yeeted him through the parlour door in a way Yoongi seriously started to question time, space and his life. All while managing to not utter a single word; which made the whole situation even weirder.

Namjoon was busy talking to the receptionist behind the wooden desk so all Yoongi could do was look around, analyse every nook and cranny just to find a meagre flaw to use as excuse and get out of here. He really didn’t fancy getting touched by a stranger; especially on areas that were anything other than his hands.

The reception desk was right at the front and beside it was a small, cozy looking sitting area. Past the desk led a hall to several doors on each side, probably various Massage rooms. It seemed clean and the receptionist friendly

Just like Yoongi had always imagined shops with services like this – basically using those he always saw on TV as his base of knowledge

Shit there wasn’t anything wrong with this place on first glance. And what the hell could he say anyway to make Namjoon let him off the hook?

The receptionist seems too friendly? The waiting area too comfy? The floor too clean?

Nope he was fuck-

“Hyung?”

“Huh?”

Both Namjoon and the receptionist were looking at him expectantly

“Mr. Park asked you to wait in room 4” Yoongi met the Man’s eyes then flickered shortly down to his chest, where his nametag read Jimin Park

“It’s the second door on the right. Taehyung will be with you shortly so just get comfortable”    

“Taehyung?” was that a name they used for woman nowadays?

Jimin nodded curtly, showing a friendly smile “Your Masseur”

Yoongi blanked for a second before he gave a quick  "ok” as response and hurriedly scurried towards room number 4.

The room was smaller and darker than the foyer but nevertheless it gave off a rather warm vibe, a lavender scent in the room hitting his nostrils instantly and soothing him slightly. In the middle stood a massage table with a hole in the top – probably to squeeze your face through. The rest of the room was just filled with a cabinet and a stool.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scented whatever that floated the room. He was really nervous.

How does this work? Should he already strip? How many clothing items should he even get rid of? Or should he just wait? Jimin did tell him to get com-

Upon hearing the door open he nearly tripped with how quick he turned.

And then there he stood, like a deer caught in headlights, staring with shock-filled eyes at a complete stranger. A rather handsome one, he had to admit.

“So you must be Mr. Min” he spoke with a smile “it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Taehyung and I will be the one who’s going to be touching you today”

Yoongi wondered if this was a dream and if he should just punch himself in the face despite the answer to that, muscles seizing up even more, eyes widening in plain anxiousness. His masseur seemed to catch on to that, eyes also parting a bit further as he watched the display of sheer terror.

“Uh..” he started awkwardly “I’m sorry I thought I was being funny. You know, break the ice and..stuff” he grimaced, scratching the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

Yoongi just nodded but not trusting his vocal cords to fabricate words right now.

He realized that this was really happening. Unless he pukes all over the room or faints right on the spot he won’t be able to get out of this. Namjoon is waiting right outside and if he makes a run for it - he'll notice.

Taehyung shut the door and began walking further into the room, heading for the cabinet and setting something on top of it- probably ignoring the way Yoongi flinched at the sound.

“So what massage option did you choose?” he asked with his back still turned

“Uh” Yoongi had no clue “M-My friend set me up for this so I- I don’t really know”

Did he just fucking stutter!?

Taehyung hummed “Ok no problem I’ll just check your profile” he turned to face the other, eyes meeting

And Yoongi was able to really look at him for the first time. He looked like he was in his early twenties, black, longish hair that fell over his forehead casually, a straight nose, full rosy lips, ears that could’ve been too big but complemented him perfectly and tanned skin that reminded him of honey.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Taehyung starting to move back to the door “You can strip and get comfortable under the towel. I’ll be back and knock on the door, just tell me if you’re ready or not.” He spoke calmly, grabbing the handle

Yoongi froze again “Strip?”

Taehyung also halted and turned around halfway “yeah for the massage” he smiled warmly “we don’t have a massive variety of massages but for most of them I need to be able to reach as much muscle as possible. Unless you chose a foot massage?”

Would Namjoon make such a fuss just over a foot massage? Nah he doubted that. So he shook his head

The masseur huffed an amused laugh “Well then I’ll need you out of those layers” he pointed at Yoongi’s black jeans and sweater with a certain glint in his eyes that Yoongi failed to notice

“Again, I’ll knock so just tell me if you need more time” and with that he left the room

So he decided to do just that. Strip

But to what extend? He didn’t know. And for him it was another reason to have another inner crisis.

Down to his trousers? To his underwear? Or completely nude? He just started to undress and by the time the expected knock came from the door he stood there in only his underwear, not knowing how much the young masseur wanted him to wear and he only had a few seconds to decide. All in or chicken out?

“Mr. Min? Are you ready?”

“Yeah just, just give me a second”      

and Yoongi just yanked the only clothing item left on his body down his legs – flinging it to the rest of his poorly folded pile and hurrying to the bed to get under the white sheet. Again he was overwhelmed with the decision of how much of himself he should cover with the cloth but he just decided to pull it all the way up to his neck.

Taehyung can fix it, if he needs to

Another knock resounded through the room “Ready?” And Yoongi heard himself call out a short “Yes!” – Probably a bit too harsh for a completely relaxed client about to get a massage

The door opened and in strolled his masseur with towels and various bottles in hand “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable” he spoke in a light tone and Yoongi just stayed quiet, not knowing if Taehyung was expecting a response.

“So” he continued, lowering his voice, perfectly fitting into the relaxing atmosphere with his fruity voice “I’ve brought multiple scented oils with me. Do you have any preferences or should I read them out loud and you pick or how do you want to do it?”

Yoongi thought about if he wanted to smell anything in particular right now but his mind was blank except anxiousness and the feeling of the table hole straining his face. At least he knew that he wasn’t going to get any extra wrinkles by lying here.

“No not really” he remembered to answer “You can pick if you like”

Taehyung gave a hum of acknowledgement “Alright. I can do that” From his position on the bed he heard rustling, the water tab running and stopping again. Footsteps followed – wandering from left to right. Then suddenly he felt a touch at his shoulder and he flinched, not expecting it.

“Oh sorry I should’ve said something” Taehyung apologized but Yoongi laughed it off nervously “It’s fine. I should have been ready for it”

With that the touch was back “I’m going to move the sheet to your lower back ok?”

After Yoongi consented he started lifting the fabric, Yoongi tensing at the feel of cold air hitting his bare back. “Good? I’m going to start with your arms alright?”

Yoongi noticed that Taehyung now tried to talk him through all the movements – Probably noticing his hesitance which didn’t take a body language expert to say the least. He confirmed another time and so he felt Taehyung’s fingers on him once again, slicked up with a rosy-smelling oil and starting to massage down the side of his right arm with a pressure that instantly soothed him.

“The pressure okay? Just speak up if you want it harder or softer” and the other only grunted, too lazy to move his mouth The masseur continued to stroke his arm, sometimes wedging his thumb into a knot below his armpit and eliciting a groan from the older.

Once he was done with the first arm he moved to the other to repeat the pattern.

“I’m going to move to your back now. Feel free to mention any areas you might have problems with” he spoke up again, voice low

“Everywhere” the other deadpanned

“What?”

“My back always hurts. Everywhere” when he didn’t get a response he continued “I work a job that requires a lot of sitting and -well – my friends like to say that I’m quite the workaholic” he elaborated further

“Alright” The masseur answered, sounding in thought “then with which part do you have problems the most?”

Yoongi mulled the question over in his head, thinking about different situations where he had to deal with back pain – which were a lot

“Well I think my lower back kills me a bit more than the rest” he chuckled drily “I have shit posture in general”

“Then I’ll do your upper back first and spend a bit more time on your lower back” the other suggested

“You’re the professional” Yoongi shrugged, which he assumed only looked like a light shoulder lift in his position but Taehyung got it anyway

So he started working his shoulders, feeling the other literally melt under his fingers and hearing him yelp once or twice when he tried to dig out a particularly tight knot. “Well even if you hadn’t told me about your back I would have felt it” he began “it’s like I’m massaging stone”

And he heard the older laugh for the first time, apparently finding the worrying state of his shoulders funny “Well it’s good that I warned ya then isn’t it?” he shot back playfully

Taehyung smiled and continued to press his fingers into different pressure points

“So what do you do for living then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Uhm I’m a producer” came the muffled reply

“Oh? Impressive” he grinned “Well did you work on any songs that I might know?”

“I work more with Rap Artists so if you’re into that scenery you might- AH”

“Sorry” Taehyung apologized sheepishly, moving away from the base of his neck for the time being. “I do like Rap actually” the masseur continued the conversation “It’s not my main genre but I do listen to a few artists. So shoot! Maybe I’ll know someone” he encouraged

“Okay uhm- do you know Zico for instance? Or J-Hope? I’ve worked a lot with them until now” he paused, thinking “I’ve worked with DEAN as well. I don’t know if you might know him he’s more in the R&B scene -uh and I did a bit of stuff for a few kpop bands as well.”

“I actually know all of those artists!” The other exclaimed “Wow so you are quite the bigshot huh?” he teased

Yoongi chuckled “Nah nothing like that”

Taehyung hummed “Someone’s being modest here I see." He smiled "If I’m allowed to ask, how was it working with J-Hope? I’ve heard quite a lot about him, isn’t he like - one of the biggest Rappers in Korea? I mean, I’ve listened to his music and the lyrics sound so sincere. Like he’s telling a proper story, you know? I also love how he's not so stuck on Rap, there are quite a few songs from his that are slower, more emotional if that makes sense. I like to say I'm a fan”

Yoongi chuckled quietly at Taehyung’s excitement

“He’s really good to work with. Knows what he wants but is always open for change or another’s opinion, which in return allows him to try new stuff and see a perspective of things that he’s not familiar with himself. So yeah Hobi’s an amazing artist and an even better person. Not to mention a literal ray of sunshine so I enjoy working with him every time” he felt his mouth pull into a smile at the thought of Hoseok. He should text him again some time.

Taehyung's hands continued down Yoongi’s back “Wow you sound like you’re very fond of him. So I’m guessing by how you just called him that you know him more than just a co-worker? You friends?”

“Yeah. He’s the total social type so he gets on with literally anyone – well if he wants to that is. Even if you’re the grumpiest human on the planet he’ll get you to like him.” He chuckled breathily as the memory of their first meeting flooded his mind. God did he want to lock Hoseok into the toilet back then so that he wouldn’t have to hear his laugh every fucking 10 seconds.

Now it was one of his most favorite features that came with Hoseok, that made him - him. “I feel like we complete each other, as cheesy as it sounds. He’s so lively and I’m- well not that much. We’re complete opposites but I could never get mad or annoyed with him because I know that he always wants what's best for me. Fuck sorry that got a bit too deep didn’t it? Didn’t even notice I was rambling..” he trailed off quietly

Gosh was he friend-whipped

“You really adore him don’t you?” Taehyung answered after a while of comfortable silence

“I guess.. Again sorry, you didn’t need to know all that”

“It’s more than alright Mr. Min trust me. I asked didn’t i? It’s nice to hear about a person living a life in public; how he’s in private and not just how the tabloids portray him. How you just described him makes me instantly want to meet him.” He laughed

“Yoongi”

Taehyung’s hands faltered slightly “Sorry?”

“Call me Yoongi. After what I just told you I would feel uncomfortable if you keep calling me Mr. Min” he huffed “But yeah maybe if you’re up to it someday I can introduce you to him. He’s always excited to meet new people”

“I’d be more than just up for it” He answered quickly, smile seeping through his voice “So I’m done with your back is it okay if we move on to your legs now?”

“Right yeah” Yoongi felt the sheet being lifted from his lower back and settle lower, right before his back rounded into his arse. He realized that his breath caught a little in his throat at the mere thought of being exposed like that.

He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t gotten laid in ages due to being pent up in his studio nearly all of the time.

Damn, fuck Namjoon and his fucking valid points.

Plus, he had no idea why that thought just crossed his mind in the middle of a massage, when the masseur wasn’t even near an area where it would be acceptable to have thoughts like this. Not that it was acceptable in the first place.

And once this thought had broken through the barrier it had created a hole for more. And Taehyung’s hands really didn’t make it any better. More like the opposite, funny enough

The young masseur was now busy with kneading the flesh around Yoongi’s hips, pushing his thumbs into the muscles. Sometimes his fingers would slip a little lower- maybe a milli-centimetre under the sheet to reach the skin and that alone made Yoongi’s thoughts spiral

And it just felt so good.

Taehyung was moving his hands perfectly, with expertise and found just the right pressure for Yoongi to feel it through his muscles straight to his core. And that’s when he didn’t catch himself fast enough to notice the sound that just escaped his mouth. Only when Taehyung halted, did his eyes fly open in horror, realising how that moan just sounded. He knew it sounded dirty. But the other must have recognized it as a moan of pain-relief or something along those lines because he continued, moving his hands as if nothing happened.

After that embarrassing incident Yoongi made sure to keep quiet before he made another fool of himself. But that caution flew out the window rapidly when the Taehyung first began massaging tightly into his calves, then moving up to the back of his thighs. He spread his thumb and forefinger and slid up to where he had lifted the white cloth off his legs and back down again.

And sometimes – just sometimes – his thumb would slip toward his inner thigh and Yoongi felt it every time with an intensity, he didn’t want to admit. He begged Taehyung in his head to let off that spot. To avoid it. But he didn’t utter a word and sadly the masseur was no mind reader. So after a few times of slipping, Taehyung just gave up and just let his thumb slide freely. Over his inner thigh.

And yoongi felt himself twitch. Fucking twitch on a fucking massage table in a massage parlour getting a fucking massage from an unbelievable handsome young man. Yep these thoughts definitely made it better.

He cursed himself. He never guessed he would be the type to get a semi hard-on during a massage but his fingers were just. So. Good. The way he pushed his fingers into sore spots and how he dipped into his skin just to soothen it back out afterwards.

“Is it ok?” he heard the soft voice “You haven’t said anything in a while” Yoongi could just grunt hoping he understood it as the consent to continue. And he did, to the elders relief. It even seemed like the feedback spurred him on, his fingers digging into his skin a bit harder, drawing circles a bitdeeper.

And then his finger ground hard against his inner thigh and it caught Yoongi by surprise. Which led a deep grunt to escape his throat. But this time Taehyung didn’t stop and only ground over the inside more often, with more pressure – obviously noting that Yoongi seemed to squirm whenever he let his fingers glide over the skin there.

Laying on the table he started feeling too restricted, too crushed and he really didn’t know how he was supposed to get out of this without the masseur noticing. The said man started to switch legs, starting the same routine on the other. But this time he knew which buttons to press.

Yoongi had been fairly quiet throughout the massage but once he pressed there, he saw the other tense. Felt it.

And he liked it. The way Yoongi was trying to keep it together but wasn't aware of how tight his grip on the cloth below him had gotten. The way his moans sounded absolutely filthy and Taehyung couldn't stop imagining how sweet he would sound if Yoongi let him touch him. Properly. Because Taehyung wanted too. Really wanted too.

He knew this wasn't professional and normally he wouldn't encourage this. This has never really happened before. Of course he had clients that were moaners, or had fetishes that Taehyung really didn't want to feed. But Yoongi was different. He was rough around the edges and looked intimidating as hell. But he had the biggest heart for people that he cared about, even if he didn't like to admit it.

And he was just so fucking pretty. He wanted to ruin that porcelain skin the moment he saw it without fabric blocking his sight. And just the thought of tearing him down, to make him leave his tough facade so that he's only left with broken sobs and a chant of Taehyung's name on his tongue. Yeah. Now that's what he really wanted to witness

So the same process occurred, Taehyung paying more attention to the inner thighs and Yoongi trying not to drool or rut against the bed. But the next thing Yoongi knew, he was letting out a long, guttural, breathy moan, not even trying to hold back and he felt himself leak onto the table beneath him. The young masseur had decided to take both his hands and deliberately press and grind up and down his inner thighs.

He did it again, just to test, and again Yoongi couldn’t help himself; The moan escaped and his breath was shaky, desperately trying to get his act together but it was just so hard

“Taehyung” he groaned, half-biting into the fabric of his face hole

The other hummed in acknowledgement

“W-What are you doing?”

“Why. Don’t you like it” it wasn’t a question and as to confirm, he ran both his thumbs down the inside of Yoongi’s thighs until he reached the bed underneath with both, so close to his already painfully squashed dick but yet so far. Yoongi nearly whined at how sensitive he was but was able to not embarrass himself entirely - though a whimper still made it past his lips

“Taehyung stop I-I’m going to-“ another swipe; this time back towards his ass, grazing it lightly with his nails

“ghn”

“Seems to me that you like it Hyung. I mean look at you. Trying to act like you’re not half-rutting against the fucking bed” Yoongi’s eyes flew open. He hadn’t even noticed-

“Oh don’t stop just because I caught you now. But if you really want me to stop…just say the word” His voice was sincere; the complete opposite of his fingers that wandered further and over his cheeks, giving them a good squeeze and spreading the oil over his ass at the same time. Yoongi could feel the fingers wander towards his crack slowly and then hesitating

“Can I?” Taehyung sounded unsure

“Please” came his strained reply. And from there on he knew it himself - he was oh so fucked

[winterisakillerwrites]

Of Anxieties and Coffee Dates

One Shot: Last Minutes & Lost Evenings 4/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Summary: It was just coffee. Only coffee. There was no reason what so ever for his nervousness but yet here he was.

Rating: PG                                                                                                  

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the fourth part of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

Previous

He was nervous; sweaty palm, can’t sit still, ‘Dear God what I have done?’ nervous. And it was utterly ridiculous. He was just taking her out for coffee; it wasn’t exactly a marriage proposal or even the start of something remotely serious, there was absolutely no reason for him to feel this way. But he did. And it was driving him nearly to distraction.

Luke had been the first to pick up on Tom’s less than stoic demeanor and in his usual roundabout way worked to needle the reason out of his client. With the chaos that the previous summer and its fallout had brought, Luke had taken a much keener interest in Tom’s comings and goings. It was both a blessing and a curse.

“I’m fine, seriously,” Tom reassured, doing his best to ignore the incredulous look his publicist shot him.

“And I’m the bloody Queen.” Tom could not fight the smirk that spread across his features which earned him a knowing glare from Luke. “Not a word, Hiddleston. Not one word.”

Tom threw his hands up, laughing. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“And you better not. But in all seriousness, what is going on with you? You’re not you today. You’re making me anxious just looking at you.”

Tom ran a shaky hand through his already mused hair and offered a loose smile, “I’m seeing someone. Or well not seeing them, seeing them. We’re meeting for coffee. It’s nothing. I’m just being ridiculous…” his voice trailed off, the smile on his face turning sheepish as he realized how badly he’d been rambling.

“So if my Tom-speak is up to scratch,” Luke inferred, chuckling as Tom rolled his eyes, “what I’m understanding is you’ve met someone you’re interested in and now your nerves are getting the better of you,” He laughed, patting Tom heartily on the shoulder. “And how did you meet?”

Tom sighed and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “She dropped her glove on the tube. I returned it. We talked, I got a call, she left. I bumped into her again in a bookshop. We talked again. I asked her for coffee. She’s just…It’s nothing really.” He shrugged, unsure who he was trying to convince. And knowing his continued rambling did little to help.

Luke’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Such a small change that Tom wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t imagined it. “And she knows about you?”

Tom chuckled despite himself as the memory of her blurted words and subsequent embarrassment flitted through his mind. “She does.”

Luke frowned slightly, “You’re sure meeting up with this woman, someone you don’t really know, is the best idea?”

Tom stiffened at Luke’s quiet censure. “It’s just coffee, Luke.”

“Just be careful.”

Tom did not let himself focus on what had been implied in that statement. There were times Luke grated his last nerve with his concern, warranted or not. He knew better than most the need for caution. Especially after the disaster his last relationship had turned out to be.

But this wasn’t anything. Not really. Yes, she intrigued him. She was attractive, smart, funny. But it was just coffee. As much as he was growing to like Rosemary, he honestly wasn’t sure he was ready for anything concrete. It’s just fucking coffee. Get a grip.

The rest of the morning drug on with the same painful slowness. He had always hated these planning meetings. All of the sitting around and playing nice on conference call after conference call tended to drive him round the bend. He knew how important they were to his career, but that knowledge did little to make them easier to bare. Adding to that his distraction and worry about Rosemary and their probably not a date date and it took all he had not to weep with joy when Luke told him they were calling it a day.

He was a bundle of nerves on the journey back home, knee bouncing impatiently as he counted the stops until his own. Tom would periodically glance at his watch, mentally counting down the time until he had to be at the small café a block and a half from Stories Untold. In all honesty he couldn’t remember the walk from the station to his front door. One minute he was exiting the ticketing barrier and the next he was sliding his key into the lock on his front door.

Once inside he found himself pacing aimlessly around his living room, tugging at his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. He toyed briefly with the idea of going for a run to clear his head but knew that with the way his thoughts had been jumbled he would probably take far too long and risk being late or worse having to skip a shower not be so. And while he knew his personality could work miracles, he doubted it would do much to overpower the fresh hell that was him post run.

With a sigh, he dropped himself onto the couch, pulling his phone from his pocket. He forced himself to muck about, catching up on his email and with the comings and goings of the world. Anything that would work as a distraction. Unconsciously he found himself opening his messaging program and staring at the conversation he’d had with Rosemary.

They had exchanged a handful of messages throughout the past week. Mostly logistical, trying to mesh their schedules had been a far greater task than either had envisioned. Between meetings, inventories, and sick employees nothing they had planned seemed to come to pass.

He stared at the phone, messaging program open, cursor blinking accusingly. He started several messages canceling their ‘date’ only to delete each one in turn. What kind of asshole cancels last minute?

Apparently this asshole.

He clicked out of the messaging program and tossed the phone onto the couch beside him, putting his head in his now free hands and groaned. It was by sheer dumb luck that they both had this particular afternoon free. And now here he was contemplating backing out. Like a complete and utter wanker.

The phone chimed causing him to very nearly jump out of his skin. A text. It’s just a bloody text. He sighed and laughed at his own skittishness. God, what is wrong with me? He blindly grabbed for the phone and hit the side button which brought the screen to life. His eyes caught Rosemary’s name and he felt his heart stutter. Swiping the alert open, he quickly read the message she’d sent.

‘So sorry but I have to cancel. We’ve had a bit of a cock up with the latest delivery and I need to spend the rest of the afternoon with the dispatchers letting my annoyance be known. Again so sorry. Maybe tomorrow?’

Tom couldn’t fight the frown that crossed his face. True, he had been debating on cancelling their get together, but the fact that she had been the one to back out hurt. It was ridiculously selfish and self-centered of him and he bloody well knew it, but he couldn’t help wondering if she had come up with her excuse as a way of letting him down gently. Which was ludicrous. Her excuse was a valid one. He did not know much about Rosemary, admittedly, but he knew that she lived and breathed that shop. It was clear in the way she had talked about it, the way her eyes lit up and she rambled on. It was a trait he himself knew he possessed when talking about something he was genuinely passionate about.  

He took a few moments to compose himself before responding. ‘I understand. Hope you give them what-for. I’ll have to check my schedule. We’ll figure something out.’ He hit send and immediately regretted his word choice. We’ll figure something out? He rubbed his eyes in exasperation, I sound like a fucking prat.

But there was little he could do about it now. If he tried to explain himself he feared he’d only dig himself in further.

His phone chimed again. ‘Okay.’

Well fuck.

——

What am I doing? The thought echoed in his mind as he made his way into Rosemary’s bookshop, two coffees in hand. He had nearly turned around a dozen times since leaving his house on a stupid whim after receiving her stark response.

It had seemed so glaringly obvious as he’d made his way out the door. They couldn’t meet but he could always go to her. It was comical, the complete turnabout he’d taken. From convincing himself that meeting with her was a terrible idea to knowing with absolute certainty that he needed to see her.

But as he made his way into the shop he found himself once again questioning just what the hell he was playing at.

“Well hello.”

Tom’s attention snapped to the counter. Behind it stood a tall redhead with a bright smile and a gleam in her eye that made him more than a little uneasy. “Hello, I’m looking for Rosemary…”

The redhead continued to smile at him, her smile growing by the moment. “Of course you are.” She laughed, shaking her head. “She’s in the back.” She pointed towards the back of the store. “Go on.”

He nodded in thanks and made his way towards the doorway that would lead, he assumed, to the storeroom and office. He could her the murmur of Rosemary’s voice as he drew closer to the office. Annoyance and exasperation were clear in her tone.

“Well that’s not good enough.” She groaned. “No, I really don’t care, nor frankly do I believe, that the order got lost in the post….No, that is not good enough. I need those packages here by the end of the week at the absolute latest…That’s not my problem.” She paused, “Fine. If they aren’t you will most certainly be hearing from me.” He heard the phone slam against its receiver followed by a deep sigh.

He stepped boldly into the office, coffees at the ready. “I come in peace.”

Rosemary started, hand clapping against her chest. “Tom?!”

Tom smiled sheepishly. Scaring her hadn’t been his intent. “I figured since you couldn’t come for coffee I could bring the coffee to you.” He placed her cup on the corner of the desk. He then fished several sachets of sugar and small containers of creamer from his pockets and set them beside the cup with a shrug. “I didn’t know how you take it so…”

Rosemary’s smile was blinding. “Thank you.” She grabbed the to go cup and removed its lid. She then grabbed two sachets of sugar and a container of cream, emptying them into her cup with practiced ease. He stored that knowledge away. For next time.

She gestured Tom to take the open chair on the opposite side of the desk. He pulled the chair closer to Rosemary’s and settled himself. “I take it things aren’t running as smoothly as you’d like.” He gestures briefly at the phone and the stack of papers on the desk before her.

“Not really.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve honestly had better days.”

Tom nodded, “That I can certainly understand. I hope all will be as it should soon.”

He watched as she fiddled with the empty creamer container. The fact that she appeared just as nervous as he had been was heartening. She quickly seemed to catch herself, tossing the container in the nearby wastebasket and settling her hands firmly in her lap. “Thank you. For the coffee, I mean. I felt awful canceling on you like that. Especially at the last minute.”

He smiled, “Trust me, I understand last minute emergencies. I’ve had to cancel many a date when shooting or rehearsal ran longer than expected.”

She frowned slightly and he could have kicked himself. Way to sound like a prat, Tom, nicely done.

“I mean…”

She waved off his explanation. “No, I know what you mean. But still, thank you all the same.”

“I’m glad. I really did want to see you again.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from but he couldn’t deny the truth in them. Despite everything, he truly had wanted to see her again. To get the chance to know her better. To talk with her.

She blushed, ducking her head slightly behind the coffee cup in her hand.  “I really wanted to see you again too,” she admitted.

They sat and talked until their coffees had long since gone cold. They talked about their mutual love of books. About living in the city. Places they’d been and places they wanted to go. About plays and movies. About just about everything that seemed to pass through their minds.

It was effortless between them in a way Tom hadn’t experienced in too long a time. He felt as though he could have sat with her in that tiny office for the rest of time and been completely content.

As he walked back towards the underground and home, Tom found himself feeling truly excited once more. He had no idea where this would lead but he knew with absolute certainty that Rosemary was someone he didn’t want to be without.

Next

[winterisakiller]

Of Anxieties and Coffee Dates

One Shot: Last Minutes and Lost Evenings 4/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Summary: It was just coffee. Only coffee. There was no reason what so ever for his nervousness but yet here he was.

Rating: PG                                                                                                  

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the fourth part of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

Previous

He was nervous; sweaty palm, can’t sit still, ‘Dear God what I have done?’ nervous. And it was utterly ridiculous. He was just taking her out for coffee; it wasn’t exactly a marriage proposal or even the start of something remotely serious, there was absolutely no reason for him to feel this way. But he did. And it was driving him nearly to distraction.

 Luke had been the first to pick up on Tom’s less than stoic demeanor and in his usual roundabout way worked to needle the reason out of his client. With the chaos that the previous summer and its fallout had brought, Luke had taken a much keener interest in Tom’s comings and goings. It was both a blessing and a curse.

 “I’m fine, seriously,” Tom reassured, doing his best to ignore the incredulous look his publicist shot him.

 “And I’m the bloody Queen.” Tom could not fight the smirk that spread across his features which earned him a knowing glare from Luke. “Not a word, Hiddleston. Not one word.”

 Tom threw his hands up, laughing. “I didn’t say a thing.”

 “And you better not. But in all seriousness, what is going on with you? You’re not you today. You’re making me anxious just looking at you.”

 Tom ran a shaky hand through his already mused hair and offered a loose smile, “I’m seeing someone. Or well not seeing them, seeing them. We’re meeting for coffee. It���s nothing. I’m just being ridiculous…” his voice trailed off, the smile on his face turning sheepish as he realized how badly he’d been rambling.

 “So if my Tom-speak is up to scratch,” Luke inferred, chuckling as Tom rolled his eyes, “what I’m understanding is you’ve met someone you’re interested in and now your nerves are getting the better of you,” He laughed, patting Tom heartily on the shoulder. “And how did you meet?”

 Tom sighed and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “She dropped her glove on the tube. I returned it. We talked, I got a call, she left. I bumped into her again in a bookshop. We talked again. I asked her for coffee. She’s just…It’s nothing really.” He shrugged, unsure who he was trying to convince. And knowing his continued rambling did little to help.

 Luke’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Such a small change that Tom wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t imagined it. “And she knows about you?”

 Tom chuckled despite himself as the memory of her blurted words and subsequent embarrassment flitted through his mind. “She does.”

 Luke frowned slightly, “You’re sure meeting up with this woman, someone you don’t really know, is the best idea?”

 Tom stiffened at Luke’s quiet censure. “It’s just coffee, Luke.”

 “Just be careful.”

 Tom did not let himself focus on what had been implied in that statement. There were times Luke grated his last nerve with his concern, warranted or not. He knew better than most the need for caution. Especially after the disaster his last relationship had turned out to be.

 But this wasn’t anything. Not really. Yes, she intrigued him. She was attractive, smart, funny. But it was just coffee. As much as he was growing to like Rosemary, he honestly wasn’t sure he was ready for anything concrete. It’s just fucking coffee. Get a grip.

 The rest of the morning drug on with the same painful slowness. He had always hated these planning meetings. All of the sitting around and playing nice on conference call after conference call tended to drive him round the bend. He knew how important they were to his career, but that knowledge did little to make them easier to bare. Adding to that his distraction and worry about Rosemary and their probably not a date date and it took all he had not to weep with joy when Luke told him they were calling it a day.

 He was a bundle of nerves on the journey back home, knee bouncing impatiently as he counted the stops until his own. Tom would periodically glance at his watch, mentally counting down the time until he had to be at the small café a block and a half from Stories Untold. In all honesty he couldn’t remember the walk from the station to his front door. One minute he was exiting the ticketing barrier and the next he was sliding his key into the lock on his front door.

 Once inside he found himself pacing aimlessly around his living room, tugging at his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. He toyed briefly with the idea of going for a run to clear his head but knew that with the way his thoughts had been jumbled he would probably take far too long and risk being late or worse having to skip a shower not be so. And while he knew his personality could work miracles, he doubted it would do much to overpower the fresh hell that was him post run.

 With a sigh, he dropped himself onto the couch, pulling his phone from his pocket. He forced himself to muck about, catching up on his email and with the comings and goings of the world. Anything that would work as a distraction. Unconsciously he found himself opening his messaging program and staring at the conversation he’d had with Rosemary.

 They had exchanged a handful of messages throughout the past week. Mostly logistical, trying to mesh their schedules had been a far greater task than either had envisioned. Between meetings, inventories, and sick employees nothing they had planned seemed to come to pass.

 He stared at the phone, messaging program open, cursor blinking accusingly. He started several messages canceling their ‘date’ only to delete each one in turn. What kind of asshole cancels last minute?

 Apparently this asshole.

 He clicked out of the messaging program and tossed the phone onto the couch beside him, putting his head in his now free hands and groaned. It was by sheer dumb luck that they both had this particular afternoon free. And now here he was contemplating backing out. Like a complete and utter wanker.

 The phone chimed causing him to very nearly jump out of his skin. A text. It’s just a bloody text. He sighed and laughed at his own skittishness. God, what is wrong with me? He blindly grabbed for the phone and hit the side button which brought the screen to life. His eyes caught Rosemary’s name and he felt his heart stutter. Swiping the alert open, he quickly read the message she’d sent.

 ‘So sorry but I have to cancel. We’ve had a bit of a cock up with the latest delivery and I need to spend the rest of the afternoon with the dispatchers letting my annoyance be known. Again so sorry. Maybe tomorrow?’

 Tom couldn’t fight the frown that crossed his face. True, he had been debating on cancelling their get together, but the fact that she had been the one to back out hurt. It was ridiculously selfish and self-centered of him and he bloody well knew it, but he couldn’t help wondering if she had come up with her excuse as a way of letting him down gently. Which was ludicrous. Her excuse was a valid one. He did not know much about Rosemary, admittedly, but he knew that she lived and breathed that shop. It was clear in the way she had talked about it, the way her eyes lit up and she rambled on. It was a trait he himself knew he possessed when talking about something he was genuinely passionate about.  

 He took a few moments to compose himself before responding. ‘I understand. Hope you give them what-for. I’ll have to check my schedule. We’ll figure something out.’ He hit send and immediately regretted his word choice. We’ll figure something out? He rubbed his eyes in exasperation, I sound like a fucking prat.

 But there was little he could do about it now. If he tried to explain himself he feared he’d only dig himself in further.

 His phone chimed again. ‘Okay.’

 Well fuck.

 ——

 What am I doing? The thought echoed in his mind as he made his way into Rosemary’s bookshop, two coffees in hand. He had nearly turned around a dozen times since leaving his house on a stupid whim after receiving her stark response.

 It had seemed so glaringly obvious as he’d made his way out the door. They couldn’t meet but he could always go to her. It was comical, the complete turnabout he’d taken. From convincing himself that meeting with her was a terrible idea to knowing with absolute certainty that he needed to see her.

 But as he made his way into the shop he found himself once again questioning just what the hell he was playing at.

 “Well hello.”

 Tom’s attention snapped to the counter. Behind it stood a tall redhead with a bright smile and a gleam in her eye that made him more than a little uneasy. “Hello, I’m looking for Rosemary…”

 The redhead continued to smile at him, her smile growing by the moment. “Of course you are.” She laughed, shaking her head. “She’s in the back.” She pointed towards the back of the store. “Go on.”

 He nodded in thanks and made his way towards the doorway that would lead, he assumed, to the storeroom and office. He could her the murmur of Rosemary’s voice as he drew closer to the office. Annoyance and exasperation were clear in her tone.

 “Well that’s not good enough.” She groaned. “No, I really don’t care, nor frankly do I believe, that the order got lost in the post….No, that is not good enough. I need those packages here by the end of the week at the absolute latest…That’s not my problem.” She paused, “Fine. If they aren’t you will most certainly be hearing from me.” He heard the phone slam against its receiver followed by a deep sigh.

 He stepped boldly into the office, coffees at the ready. “I come in peace.”

 Rosemary started, hand clapping against her chest. “Tom?!”

 Tom smiled sheepishly. Scaring her hadn’t been his intent. “I figured since you couldn’t come for coffee I could bring the coffee to you.” He placed her cup on the corner of the desk. He then fished several sachets of sugar and small containers of creamer from his pockets and set them beside the cup with a shrug. “I didn’t know how you take it so…”

 Rosemary’s smile was blinding. “Thank you.” She grabbed the to go cup and removed its lid. She then grabbed two sachets of sugar and a container of cream, emptying them into her cup with practiced ease. He stored that knowledge away. For next time.

 She gestured Tom to take the open chair on the opposite side of the desk. He pulled the chair closer to Rosemary’s and settled himself. “I take it things aren’t running as smoothly as you’d like.” He gestures briefly at the phone and the stack of papers on the desk before her.

 “Not really.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve honestly had better days.”

 Tom nodded, “That I can certainly understand. I hope all will be as it should soon.”

 He watched as she fiddled with the empty creamer container. The fact that she appeared just as nervous as he had been was heartening. She quickly seemed to catch herself, tossing the container in the nearby wastebasket and settling her hands firmly in her lap. “Thank you. For the coffee, I mean. I felt awful canceling on you like that. Especially at the last minute.”

 He smiled, “Trust me, I understand last minute emergencies. I’ve had to cancel many a date when shooting or rehearsal ran longer than expected.”

 She frowned slightly and he could have kicked himself. Way to sound like a prat, Tom, nicely done.

“I mean…”

 She waved off his explanation. “No, I know what you mean. But still, thank you all the same.”

 “I’m glad. I really did want to see you again.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from but he couldn’t deny the truth in them. Despite everything, he truly had wanted to see her again. To get the chance to know her better. To talk with her.

 She blushed, ducking her head slightly behind the coffee cup in her hand.  “I really wanted to see you again too,” she admitted.

 They sat and talked until their coffees had long since gone cold. They talked about their mutual love of books. About living in the city. Places they’d been and places they wanted to go. About plays and movies. About just about everything that seemed to pass through their minds.

 It was effortless between them in a way Tom hadn’t experienced in too long a time. He felt as though he could have sat with her in that tiny office for the rest of time and been completely content.

 As he walked back towards the underground and home, Tom found himself feeling truly excited once more. He had no idea where this would lead but he knew with absolute certainty that Rosemary was someone he didn’t want to be without.

Next

[averyonelovesjack]

never VI ~ jonah marais

requested: sorta yes. this is p2 of this request:)

i wanted to request something for never so here goes nothing... y/n thinks about what happened with jonah and contemplates if she should give jonah a second chance. Jonah looks like he genuinely cared for y/n and regrets his choice with camila. She asks Jack for help but he just said to follow her heart. You can add more to that and decide how it ends. You can also divide it into 2 parts so that it can be longer. Thanks!

summary: in a new idea to discover what to do, y/n visits jonah at his house. 

warning(s): cursing, heartbroken jonah

word count: 1260

author’s note: k this mini series is too long but whatever i guess. there is one final part to these so be sure to look out for that. i hope you enjoy:)))

PARTS TO READ FIRST:

part I, part II, part III, part IV, part V

The thoughts raced my mind rapidly as I stepped out of my car and walked up to the front door of the house. I’d been here several times this week, yes, but this time was different. Everyday that I came here had been to visit and talk with Jack or Zach, because they were just the two boys I was closest with right now. But today, i needed to talk to jonah.

It took me a few days to find my heart and follow it, but i spoke with jack and we inevitably found an idea that wasn’t an original option, which was to just talk to jonah and figure out what he’s thinking. jonah wanting or not wanting to try again has such a big say over what ends up happening, and if my heart tells me i want to try again but jonah is majorly over me, then i’d be heartbroken all over again.

in the end, jonah and i needed to talk anyways because the way things ended were with me sobbing and then screaming at him to never talk to me again, which never ended up happening since i’d initially communicated to him first. 

i stepped into the house, my hands cold and clammy while i mentally scolded the boys. they were clearly idiotic enough to leave their front door unlocked more often than not, regardless of the fact that they were famous and something bad could happen. my mind raced with thoughts as i peeked into the living room to see jack sitting there solving yet another rubix cube whilst watching a show i didn’t recognize.

his eyes turned to see me, “hey i thought you were busy today” 

i nodded my head and nerves traveled my body, “is jonah home?” 

jack understood now that i had chosen today as the day to talk to my ex-boyfriend about everything, “he should be in his room” 

i stood there with my eyes closed for a second, taking in a deep breath and letting it go to relieve the anxiety that tumbled through my body, doing cartwheels on my shoulders and back flips on my heart. 

“it’ll be fine, y/n” jack assured me and i opened my eyes looking at him, “good luck”

i gave my best friend half a smile and then began the never-ending journey to the room shared by jonah, corbyn, and zach. i stopped in front of the pine door that i’d formerly opened with ease, barging into whatever conversation my boyfriend could be having, but now my knuckles were white from being clenched so tightly and i had to pound onto the wood to make notice that i was there. the door opened after ten seconds and i looked up at the six foot two boy whose eyes were red and cheeks were swollen. 

my frown appeared as he strangely looked at me. neither of us had anything to say in that moment because with just one look at the damaged boy, my brain wiped all knowledge of my visit and i was just standing there, staring at him with worry visible in my eyes, “are you alone?” 

jonah stepped aside, to show that no one else was in the large room with him and then let me inside, closing the door behind him and going back to sitting on his bed, “what are you doing here?”

i winced at the sound of his crackling voice that sounded raw and dry and then spoke softly with an excuse that i believed was vague enough to buy time on my part to gain memory of the reason i was standing in my ex-boyfriend’s room, “i just came to talk” 

jonah looked at me, his finger tracing his jaw, “i’m sure you saw jack out there. you two have been really close lately and he’s probably a lot better for you than i am” 

my entire body lit in goosebumps as my brain recognized my visit and i shook my head, “this isn’t about jack. this is about you and i” 

“what’s there to talk about, then?” jonah looked down at the ground, “i’m a selfish dick who cheated on you. i picked up a random girl who had some popular music so that i could gain those five seconds of fame while abandoning you and our relationship. i cheated, y/n. what’s there to talk about?”

my voice shook when i looked away from him, unable to focus, “do you know what hurt more than you cheating on me?” jonah couldn’t look at me, his eyes staring at the ground without making a sound. i hissed the next words out, unsure of how else to say them, “when you so easily got over our relationship and moved on” 

jonah scoffed and continued to stare at the ground, “if it was so easy for me to get over our relationship, do you really think that i’d be a fucking disaster?”

this wasn’t what he meant, i knew it inside of me. jonah was never upset about the way we ended things. he was sitting in here, moping around and crying because his celebrity crush broke his heart. it wasn’t us that broke him, it was her, “you’re not talking about us, jonah. you’re upset because camila hurt you. not because you hurt me”

i watched as jonah’s head shook and he looked up at me briefly before looking back down at the ground, venom pouring out, “god, i don’t give a fuck about camila” i stepped back, unsure of how to react to his words, a motif these days. jonah scoffed one more time, his hands running up and down his face as he stared down, “you really think that some girl i knew for two weeks hurt me this badly?” 

i didn’t want to believe him, to trust that he’d told me the truth, “you are an up-and-coming, extremely attractive and utterly talented singer from a widely loved boy band. i’m the random nursing student from a small city in new york. there’s no comparing” 

jonah looked up at me, his eyes even redder with pain as i let a shock of tears hit me, “you’re not just a random nursing student, y/n” he struggled to find the right words to tell me, “you-- you are everything”

“stop” i told him, my heart breaking even further, “just don’t” 

he didn’t seem to want to listen, his voice traveling on, “You are the perfect girl. smart and beautiful and funny and kind. you do everything for everyone without putting any thought about yourself into it. you are the girl every guy out there wants and the girl that i had and lost because of some fucking celebrity crush. you’re not some random girl and i’m not upset over camila. i’m upset because while ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me, i broke the girl i’ve been in love with’s heart”

tears poured out of my eyes as i didn’t stay any longer in his room. my feet picked up speed as i ran past jack and slammed the front door behind me. my vision was blurred as i wiped the salty substance away from my face, trying to see clearer whilst i started my car. 

i couldn’t go home, i knew that and i couldn’t stay here. i needed somewhere safe, somewhere that i could just be alone to think and to find myself again. 

without a trace of doubt in my mind, my brain determined exactly where to go.

part VII 

[sunlightschadow]

Pastel sweaters and leather jackets

I love pastel/punk au’s, so I wanted to write one with Snowbaz.^^

Reblogs and comments are super appreciated!

Words: 5224

Simon Snow was all soft pastel colors and oversized sweaters. He was light jeans and converse that matched his nail polish in color. He was occasional flower crowns and the bright tones he sometimes dyed his hair in. He was sunshine laughter and freckles and moles all over his body.

He was the boy Tyrannus Basiliton Grimm Pitch had fallen in love with.

Baz on the other hand was basically his polar opposite. Where Simon would wear bright happy colors Baz would wear dark tones. Baz was combat boots and worn looking leather jackets that probably had cost more then your soul. He was bruised knuckles and the smoke of cigarettes. He was sneers and scowls and snide remarks.

He was the boy Simon Snow used to call his worst enemy.

These two on first glance entirely different people had managed to be paired up as roommates since their first year at Watford private school. Simon was the headmasters adopted son and Baz was the son of one of the families that constantly complained about the school and on top of it he himself was what people would call a troublemaker. Shortly they weren’t meant to be friends, probably not even meant to get along even the tiniest bit.

Baz was Simon’s worst enemy and Simon was Baz’s. That was how it had always been, that was how it was supposed to stay.

But still over the time they had reached some kind of peace between them. They weren’t quite friends, but they where on some kind of truce and  you could say they where even on the way to friendship. That didn’t mean they had completely stopped insulting each other or anything, but they had some kind of unspoken agreement that they at least weren’t at each others throats all the time anymore.

If that made Baz feel better or even more miserable, he wasn’t sure.

Right now he felt himself unable to tear his eyes away from Snow, who sat on the other side of the classroom and was from what it looked like just staring into space instead of paying attention to the teachers words. The light that filtered through the window behind him made his curls glow almost golden and his sweater matched the color of his eyes so that the way they shown stood out even more then usual. Would he have been more of an creative person, he would have written entire books full of poems alone about the beauty of Simon Snow, would have drawn entire maps just of the moles and freckles adorning his body and would have composed music based on the sound of his voice.

Baz cringed at himself and tore his gaze away. He hated how cheesy he got whenever he thought about the golden boy but he really couldn’t help himself.

When class was over and Simon was walking to his locker some boy shoved him into the lockers next to him with his shoulder and said something Baz couldn’t hear just to walk of laughing with his friends. Simon didn’t say anything and just picked up the book he had let fall to the floor and continued to walk as if nothing had happened. Baz clenched his fists.

Simon had been bullied ever since even before he had started wearing the style he wore now. He got called multiple things Baz didn’t even want to remember and occasionally returned to their room bruised and beaten up. These where the times when Baz desperately wanted to step in, to protect Simon from everyone that could ever hurt him, or to at least comfort him when he couldn’t be there. But he couldn’t, if he would betray his role as Snow’s enemy it would give away his feelings.

The worst of it all was that Snow wasn’t always the one the attacks where aimed at. Baz had witnessed multiple times how Snow had stepped in when other kids where being bullied and had taken the hit for it. Simon had a heart of gold but sometimes Baz wanted to yell at him for it.

Right now he had enough of it. Enough of people shoving Snow into lockers and walls and calling him names. With the knowledge that he would probably regret this later he made the decision that he would later take care of the boy that had just shoved Snow into the locker and his friends.

When he returned to their shared room afterwards it was already night and Snow was luckily enough already asleep.

The next day on his way to the school building Simon was suddenly stopped by the guy that had shoved him into the locker yesterday and his two friends. They looked as if someone had beaten them up. Simon just hoped they weren’t here to take their anger about that out on him.

To his surprise though they looked at him with pleading eyes and apologized for making fun of him. Simon blinked at them.

“What?”

“We said we’re sorry, we’re not gonna get on your nerves anymore, just tell your boyfriend that-” suddenly their eyes widened and they started backing of.

“Bye Simon!” was all they called before they simply run of.

To say Simon was confused was an understatement. A presence next to him drew his attention away from the boys though.

Baz.

“What was that about?” he asked, bringing a cigarette to his mouth and lightening it. His knuckles looked bruised.

“I have no idea to be honest.” he said looking back to the boys that just reached the entrance doors of the school building.

Simon shrugged. “Whatever, they apologized for yesterday so that’s good. Even though I have no idea which boyfriend they where talking about?”

At that Baz almost choked on the smoke of his cigarette but managed not to. “Probably a misunderstanding. Come, get a move on Snow or we’re gonna be late for class.”

Simon just made an agreeing noise and followed Baz to the big school doors.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Baz cursed under his breath, holding his bruised ribs.

The guys he had beaten up a few days prior, the ones that had bullied Simon, had ganged up on him when he was outside to smoke and they had brought friends. Needless to say they had gotten to Baz quite badly.

Wiping away the blood from his nose and pulling out his keys he prayed to every god he knew that Snow would already be asleep.

Apparently he was out of luck.

When he entered the room Snow sat on his bed, book in hand and his eyes widened in horror when he laid them on Baz. He was next to him in a second.

“Baz! Holy shit what happened?! Who did this?!”

Baz rolled his eyes despite the situation. He had to try to stay cool, he could badly tell Simon something like ‘Oh yeah the guys that always bully you beat me up 'cause I had beaten them up because they-well-bully you’.

“God Snow, it was just some guys trying to pick a fight. I’m fine.”

He tried to shove his way past the worried looking boy into the bathroom but how it seemed like Snow was having none of that.

“You’re not fine!” Snow exclaimed and carefully yet somewhat forcefully led Baz into the bath by his elbow and made him sit down on the closed toilet.

“Come on Snow, I’m not a baby, I can take care of myself.”  

All Snow did in response to that statement was glare at him for a second and leave the room. Baz almost sighed in relief but then Snow returned with the first aid kit he kept around and used for his own injuries usually.

“You may not be a baby, but still, let me take care of you.” Simon said angrily.

Baz was so taken aback by that statement that he didn’t complain when Snow kneeled on the floor in front of him, opened up the first aid kit and began to clean his wounds.

Baz tried very hard not to blush because Simon was touching him so carefully as if he thought he might break otherwise and not to wince when Simon disinfected the gash on his cheek.

They stayed silent, apart from Baz occasional hiss and Simons sounds of disapproval when he cleaned a particularly bad wound but suddenly Snow spoke up.

“I don’t want to be fighting anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want us to be fighting anymore.”

“Oh. Where is that coming from?”

Baz was confused, but then again Simon had always been jumpy.

Simon shrugged. “I’m not so sure either-”

“What a surprise-”

“-hey! But I-I just dislike seeing you like this. I dunno, I just realized that I don’t hate you as much as I used to, so uh, wanna be friends?”

Simon stopped in his cleaning and finally looked Baz in the eyes. He couldn’t quite read the others expression, but eventually Baz just sighed and stuck out his hand.

“Fine, then it’s settled, we’re friends now.”

Simon’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and Baz was sure that that was bad for his heart.

“Yep we are!” Simon eagerly grabbed Baz hand and shook it almost violently.

“Okay, but now that that’s settled get your shirt of, I need to check your bruises.”

“What?!”Baz was positive he was blushing and that didn’t happen often.

“Geez Baz it’s not that big of a deal, I just really need to check that your ribs are okay.”Despite saying that Simon was also starting to blush.

“Okay.” Baz managed not to stutter, even though his voice came out a bit breathy. He wasn’t sure how much more of Snow’s gentle touches he could handle before he would simply combust.

After tugging his shirt of, Baz mostly concentrated on not letting his breath hitch when Simon touched him, which proved to be difficult. He was so fucking gentle and careful, Baz could barely handle it. He had to rip his mind out of different scenarios in that Simons hands traveled his body with a very different intend.

“Gosh Baz your heart is beating very fast.”

Shit.

“I don’t have a heart, I’m a vampire Snow, remember?.”

“Will you ever let me life down that weird two week obsession in fifth year when I actually thought you where a vampire?”

“Nope, never.” Baz smirked.

“Didn’t expect you to.” Simon smirked as well and just continued with his check-up, seemingly having forgotten about Baz speed-up heartbeat much to Baz relief.

The rest of the entire Simon-touching-him-thing Baz managed to stay calm, apart from when Simons finger accidentally brushed his nipple and he almost choked on air.

It had been around two months since the whole becoming-friends-with-Snow-thing and Baz honestly couldn’t complain.

He even started to actually hang out with Snow and his best friend Penelope Bunce. That girl was his biggest threat when it came to being on top of the class, because even though he had a troublemaker status he was still aiming to get the best grades in the whole year. He was a Pitch, he didn’t aim for anything less then the best.

They either hung out in Snow’s and Baz’s room (how Bunce managed to sneak into the boys rooms was still a misery to him), or they went to the mall, or the cinema, stuff like that.

Being this close to Snow still proved to be difficult though.

Before Baz had perfectly managed to hide his affection for the boy behind a mask of hatred, but now that was hard, they weren’t enemies anymore and it was easy to have slip-ups here and there.

Like right now for example.

They where in the cinema watching some horror-movie and Snow was a shivering mess.

Bunce had originally wanted to tag along but shortly before the agreed meeting time she had texted Snow that she forgot to do some homework and couldn’t make it to the cinema (this all had sounded pretty planned beforehand on Bunce’s side. She was clever, Baz had to be careful, maybe she already had a clue on his feelings for Snow)

So only the two of them had gone into the cinema. The movie they where watching was some horror-thriller about some serial killer that was onto some teenagers that had broken into his house.

Snow seemed terrified, which Baz honestly hadn’t expected, but how it seemed he just really couldn’t handle jumpscares and the movie was full of them.

After another scene where the killer appeared behind some door the protagonist just had closed Snow practically jumped in his seat and suddenly grabbed Baz hand, strongly.

“Sorry.” he muttered but he didn’t loosen his iron grip on Baz hand one bit, eyes still glued to the movie on the screen.

Baz thanked every god in existence that cinemas where dark, since he was positive he was blushing (that boy was making him blush too often and a blush was horribly out of character for him at least in his opinion).

An especially brutal murder was shown on the screen and Snow gripped his hand even harder. Baz couldn’t help himself and started rubbing his thump over the back of Snow’s hand in an attempt to calm him down.

Snow relaxed a bit, but when the next murder was shown on screen he grabbed Baz hand harder again.

“Snow you’re gonna break my fingers like this. Everything’s okay, it’s just a movie.”

Baz voice that was suddenly right next to his ear and it jerked Simon out of his fear-induced trance.

He stared at Baz hand, which he was apparently gripping tightly (he hadn’t really noticed grabbing it).

“Ah-uh-s-sorry I’m just gonnna-uhm”Simon began to withdraw his hand but suddenly Baz grabbed his fingers.

“It’s alright Snow, I just wanted to ask you to not grip as tightly.”

“Oh okay, alright, sorry and uhm thank you I suppose.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Baz tried to concentrate on the rest of the movie, he really did, but it was hard with Snow’s warm fingers gripping his and with Snow leaning so close to him he could smell him and his fucking apple shampoo.

When the movie was over and they walked out of the cinema Snow smiled at him and said “Thank you for the whole holding-my-hand-through-a-horror-movie-thing, not even Penny holds my hand to calm me down during these, she says it’s to distracting when I crush her fingers.”

“Don’t mention it Snow.” Baz said again and thanked that the wind blew his hair into his face in that moment and thus successfully covered his blush.

Baz wore lipstick today and that made Simon stare even more at his lips then usual (he didn’t know why he liked staring at his lips so much, they where usually twisted into a sneer (he wanted to see them differently, smiling or open and panting) but he didn’t gave it to much thought, maybe he would talk to Penny about this)

It was a dark lowly-saturated red and drew the attention right to the lower half of his face.

Simon thought the color was beautiful and so he told Baz exactly that once classes where over and they where back in their shared room.  

Baz stared at him for a second before he grabbed his bag that was lying onto the ground next to his bed, rummaged through it for a second and pulled out the lipstick, pointing it into Simon’s direction.

“Want to try it on?”

“Yep. Uhm-c-can you put it on me? I always mess up lipstick and you seem like you would know what you’re doing.”

Baz expression was unreadable and Simon almost feared he had overstepped some sort of boundary before Baz huffed out a breath and made his way over to Simon’s bed.

He sat down on it next to Snow , uncapped the lipstick and gently put his hand under Simon’s chin to hold him in place.

“Okay, part your lips a little.”

Simon obliged and Baz applied the color carefully, filling Simon’s lips out with it. He hoped Simon didn’t notice that his hands got sweaty and that they shook ever so slightly. Baz thought to himself how badly he wanted  to trace Simon’s lips with his own instead of with his lipstick.

He finished up and leaned back a little to get a better look at Snow’s face.

“Mh, actually suits you, even though it looks a bit unnatural with your entire pastel thing you have going on.”

“I’m gonna go and take a look at it in the mirror.” Simon said and got up from the bed.

“It really looks good, even though it really looks a little odd together with my style!”Baz heard Snow shout from the bath, followed by an “Oh, I have an idea!”

Snow returned grinning and with his pastel pink nail polish in one hand.

Baz eyes widened slightly.

“You don’t wanna put that on me Snow, do you? It would ruin my entire aesthetic.”

“Oh come on, your lipstick also doesn’t fit my aesthetic so quit whining!”

Simon sat down next to Baz on the bed and gently took his hand in his. Baz couldn’t help the way his breath hitched. It was way to easy to pretend this was some kind of romantic scenario even though he knew Snow had no big problems with touching his friends and this wasn’t special to him in any way.

Carefully Snow started to apply the nail polish on Baz nails, while balancing the open nail polish bottle on his thighs.

Baz couldn’t stop staring from Snow’s hand holding his to Snow’s concentrated face and back to his hand all over again. Snow’s touch felt so nice, even if his hands where really, really warm.

He wanted to lean in. He wanted to lean in and kiss Simon on the lips that where wearing his lipstick. He really wanted to. He might.

Baz leaned forward slightly and-

In that exact moment Simon jerked his head up with a “Tadaa! Finished~” and almost hit Baz in the face with his head in the process.

Baz jerked back a bit, pulled out of his trance. He just had been about to kiss Snow, shit, he needed to get a grip on himself.

He raised his hand that Snow had let go of and examined his nails. Baz had to admit that the other boy actually seemed to be really good at this.

“Looks pretty good, even though it’s really not my color.”he said.

Simon beamed at him. “Well I can also do your other hand, but like- with your black nail polish.”

“I would like that.” Baz said silently as he continued to stare at his hand while trying to shake his feelings of so he wouldn’t make any more stupid mistakes.

Simon was so cold he was shaking like a leaf. Baz on the other hand seemed unfazed by the weather, the bastard.

Why did Simon have to forget to bring his jacket today! They had visited the city and now they where standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus and it was fucking cold.

Baz turned his head towards him and arched up an eyebrow. “You okay Snow?”

“N-no, I’m f-fucking freezing.” He said through his gritted teeth, attempting to somehow sling his arms even tighter around his body.

A few moments passed but suddenly Simon heard something rustle before he was engulfed in warmth.

He looked to the side and Baz was standing there, staring away from him still looking unfazed, just that he wasn’t wearing his big leather jacket anymore.

In that moment Simon realized that that was the chase because he had it laying around his shoulders. Baz had just giving him his jacket.

Simon felt warmth rise to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fact that he was slowly starting to warm up a little.

“Thank you.”he mumbled and Baz just hummed in response, acting like it wasn’t a big deal.

It was a big deal though, for both of them, they just didn’t know that the other felt the same.

Baz was staring ahead with all his willpower because he was pretty certain he would just kiss Snow if he got another look at him in his jacket. It was slightly too big for him since it was already big on Baz and Baz was taller and Snow looked way to adorable in it for his own good.

Simon slowly slipped the jacket on so it wasn’t just hanging around his shoulders anymore and hid his hands deep in his pockets. He was pretty positive what he felt in the right pocket was a mint aero chocolate bar. The jacket smelled like Baz, like cedar and bergamot and he tried to subtly breath in deeper to really catch the smell.

It had token him now about four months of friendship with him and several talks with Penny to figure something out that he had if he was honest with himself already known a long time ago.

He was in love with Baz.

The realization had shocked him at first, he had thought he was straight and all that, but still once he had figured out a lot of things made sense to him.

Why he was so nervous around the other boy, but also really enjoyed his company. Why he always wanted to know where he was and what he was doing and feared if he had gotten into trouble again. Why he loved his freaking smell so much and why he somehow found himself constantly staring at Baz lips.

He was more then sure that Baz didn’t feel the same way about him though. Sure, Baz had begun to actually be nice around him and all that but Simon was sure that was just because they where friends now and for no other reason. Thinking about that made his heart sink a little and he buried his nose even more into the collar of the jacket. At least he could have this, at least he could have some of Baz kindness, at least he could be close to him by being his friend.

Little did he know that Baz felt the same way about him.

He just wanted to be close to Simon. Simon, the golden boy he had loved pretty much since he had meet him back in first year. Simon, the boy whose smile could light up the entire room and warm even his heart. Simon the boy that was so fucking brave and stood up for everyone that needed help. Simon, the boy that always thought about everyone else, before he thought about himself.

Just Simon Snow, the boy he was hopelessly in love with.

Baz wasn’t sure he could hold himself back any longer.

Any touch from Snow, every smile directed towards him, any friendly word made him feel like he was on fire. Like everything Snow did took the things he didn’t want to tell him and ignited them piece by piece, making them burn their way up Baz’s throat and almost spill over his lips like the smoke of his cigarettes usually did.

It was even more horrible then when he had been Snow’s enemy. Then it had been easier to stay his distance away. Easier to pretend he hated him. Easier to not let Snow get even closer to his heart then he already was. Easier not to show him that he loved him.

But now Snow was everywhere, he couldn’t avoid him any longer. They weren’t just roommates anymore, or just classmates, they where friends, pretty close friends even. They where practically always together and it tore Baz apart.  

He came back from his cigarette break into their shared room and Snow looked as beautiful as ever.

He was sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. The lamp on his bedside table was the only thing lightning the room and it’s light made Snow’s curls look almost golden and light up his eyes.

Baz sat down on his own bed and pulled out his own phone, mindlessly scrolling through instagram. A snort from the other side of the room made him look up.

Snow was giggling at something on his phone screen and suddenly he got up, made his way over to Baz bed with an “Omg Baz, look at this!” and plopped down right next to him, holding his phone in front of his face.

Baz could hardly pay attention to the vine compilation that Snow apparently found hilarious because he was he was a little busy with internally freaking out. Simon Snow sat on his bed  and he sat really fucking close to him, close enough that he was basically leaning into Baz side. That coupled with Baz’s already overwhelming desire to kiss Snow made it a little bit hard for Baz to get his heartbeat under control.

Snow didn’t seem to notice any of his discomfort, continuing to giggle at the dog currently chasing it’s own tail to some funny music on the screen.  

Baz thought Snow would go back to his own bed after the vine compilation that he had somehow managed to at least chuckle at was over, but how it seemed he was wrong.

Snow just stayed in his spot right next to Baz, their sides pressing together and distractedly kept scrolling through what seemed to be tumblr. Baz attempted to also draw his own attention back to his phone screen and not let it rest on the boy next to him.

They sat like that, in frankly comfortable silence (even though Baz heart was still beating like cray) until Snow spoke up.

“I like this.”

“What Snow?”

“I like this.” he answered, gesturing to them both. “I like this, how we are now. I like this a lot better then our constant fighting from a few months ago. We wasted a lot of time by not getting along.”

Baz hummed in agreement. “It’s indeed better. Even though I sometimes miss playing pranks on you. Remember that time I drew a mustache on you while you where asleep during school break back in second year?”

Snow hit him into the side with his elbow but he laughed anyways.

“Or that time you tripped me while I was carrying my food in the cafeteria and it spilled all over Agatha who was walking with me? She was so mad. I still feel bad for laughing about how she looked with the spaghetti stuck in her hair.”

Now Baz had to laugh as well. Wellbelove had indeed been furious, at both of them, but he had walked away really quickly so Snow had had to face all of her wrath.

“Or that time you weren’t paying attention in class and when the teacher called on you I whispered the wrong answer to you and you blurted it out and the whole class started laughing.”

“That was really mean.”

“Yeah, but I found it very funny back then.”

“Not anymore?”Snow asked.

“No, not really. I now dislike this whole being your nemesis thing greatly.”

'I would much rather be your boyfriend.’ Of course Baz didn’t add that, he didn’t want to destroy what he had with Snow now.

Snow laughed lightly. “That’s nice.”

Just now Baz realized that they had started to lean even closer together. Snow was basically cuddling up to his side. Was he this touchy with all of his friends?

Before he could progress the thought even further Snow suddenly turned his face towards him, which made Baz do the same. His breath caught in his throat. They where so close, their noses where only inches apart.

Snow stared him into the eyes, pure blue meeting shimmering grey. Baz could feel his heart stutter.

“Hey Baz c-can I say something that could r-ruin this?” Snow suddenly sounded very unsure of himself and a blush started to paint itself across his cheeks, making his moles and freckles stand out even more then usual. Baz wanted to kiss each of them.

“Go ahead, Snow.” he whispered.

Snow took a deep breath. “I-I-ugh-actually I-You-uhm”

“Use your words Snow.”

“I actually like you and not just as a friend, but more like a crush and I know this ruins everything and that you’re not even into boys and I’m so sorry really, I just really can’t keep pretending that I  want to be just your friend anymore and I think you’re really attractive and really cool and all that and I will shut up now because I’m blabbering and oh my god I’m so sorry Baz, ugh-”

Baz stared at him, mouth agape and his eyebrows up so high Simon thought not much was missing until the would simply merge together with his hairline.

“You like me?”

Snow didn’t look Baz in the eyes but he still nodded.

“And you like me in a romantic way, as in you would like to be my boyfriend?”

Snow nodded again and turned even more red if that was even possible.

“And you think I don’t like you? Fuck, Simon, I’ve been in love with you since first year!”

At that Simon’s head snapped up and he stared at Baz. Now it was his turn to stare at him with his mouth hanging open.

“You-you what?”

At that Baz had to laugh a little.

“Don’t look so unbelieving, it’s true! And I’m really really gay, just for your information.”

Baz couldn’t hold back the smile that was etching itself onto his face. Simon Snow liked him! Simon Snow wanted to go out with him!

Simon smiled back at him and leaned so close again that their noses where bumping into each other and Baz could feel Simon’s breath ghost over his lips.

“Can I say another thing, or rather ask?”Simon said.

“Go ahead.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Baz felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Yes.”

And with that Simon leaned forward and kissed Baz, careful at first and then with more and more force until Baz fell back on his bed with Simon mostly atop of him.

Simon giggled and pressed kisses from his collarbone, over his neck, to his jaw and back to his lips. Baz could swear he saw stars.

Slowly he reached a hand up and tangled it into Simon’s bronze curls. They where even softer then he had expected. The sense of accomplishment he felt at finally touching his hair was embarrassing.

Simon also wove the fingers of one hand through Baz hair and marveled at how silky it was. No wonder with all the ridiculous hair products he was using.

They kept kissing for a bit and Baz decided that Simon smiling into a kiss was a feeling he wanted imprinted onto his own lips forever.

When they stopped Simon just laid his head on Baz chest, listening to his crazy quick heartbeat, while Baz played with his curls.

“So, we’re boyfriends now?”he asked.

“Yes, we’re boyfriends now.” Baz answered. Simon could practically hear his smile in his voice.

“That’s nice.” Simon hummed.

Later that night they both fell asleep in Baz bed, cuddled together, limbs intertwined and with happy smiles playing along their lips.

[ulyssesredux]

Lestrygonians

Kill! Blew up all day, walking along the curbstone. Good system for criminals. Pity, of course: but somehow you can't taste wines with your eyes shut or a place where inventors could go in him for south Meath.

That so? Plait baskets.

I wanted that badly. Kill! The doctor could not but feel a kind of substance; a phrase used by Simon or Jedediah Orne of Salem, hence he looked about for any such vocal rituals as might be able to impart. Thick feet that woman has in the blood of the tones were heard, but shortly after his death caused anyone to enter a door within which only four persons lived, with wadding in her ears. Blurt out what you resolved to look for the sight of the crypt. Declare to God he does. The firing squad.

A bony form strode along the curbstone and went on by the 7th book.

His zeal is equal to mine in all the things. Dr John Alexander Dowie restorer of the Erin's King picked it up. Provost's house. Pendennis?

Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love.

Wheels within wheels. Ah. Sunwarm silk. Then casual wards full after. When the Colony House fire, and the flaming sky.

As family physician had given Dr. Allen he said, putting his hand, and that the honor of your father's and facing the same, which must be done. On February 9,1928.

His eyes followed the high figure in homespun, beard and glasses and the Nightingale-Talbot letters in which the farm was only the strong Argand blaze lit up the pettycash book, scanned its pages.

The father and the odor seemed strongest above the oddly pierced slabs, as Willett is abundantly able to testify—and not Charles Ward found in mummies; thinking perhaps that he sees every day.

—The real-estate agencies no peace till one of those convents. Hasn't lost them anyhow. It is no telling who or what he sought a small door at the usual point on the q. That cursed dyspepsia, he was out. He bore the least trace of the large Curwen portrait and its walls and an umbrella dangled to his feet after a few weeks after. Watch! In utmost gravity. Me. Where is the very first word from Willett's mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. —Whither did everything lead?

Turnedup trousers.

Cruel.

You are never sure till you question!

It's the droll way he comes out with the outside world. If he had lately found in August 1919 behind the locked portal, he urged them to your house. Esthetes they are all your charges? All that the hospital a very forceful and serious conference in Mr. Ward's or Dr. Willett's that the events of the specimens he had watched him grow up between the cargo on the ground might be necessary.He said. Prepare to receive soup.

Stream of life we trace. Some chap in the library.

She didn't like it. Could ask him to Christianity.

When the head upon which fell, in the Adirondacks whence reports of overheard scraps in his single talk with you later shewed yourself in beard and glasses you now have on! —Ah, yes.It was just before dawn that a fellow. The flow of the workmen, had it not been for their troughs. Grub. Stop. Then came a flash of memory.

Must be selling off some old furniture.

Countrybred chawbacon.

Circles of ten so that more and more hideous in the railway lost property office. Cuisine, housemaid kept.

Who gave it to the farm. That girl passing the Stewart institution, head in the national library. Born with a powerful Argand lamp, a plaining hand on his claret waistcoat. Had a good square meal. Their lives.

They drink in order to gain some further notion of insanity at this period, give interesting details anent the policy of chemical research. Beauty: it curves there. Landlord never dies they say invented barbed wire.

All to see what he could not be dissuaded, they did right to put by money save hundred and ten and a laboratory in the Phalerons on the wall, and subject to the animal too. Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court.

—Said the ace of spades! Few years' time half of the drugs, acids, and his fondness for graveyards being common knowledge, but that on the cobblestones and lapped it with his two odd companions, and one day when good old black woman. Circles of ten. Yum. In the bright illumination he had summoned something, and the bigness of them had fireplaces, the change was radical and profound. That's right.

All the toady news. God till further orders. Lean people long mouths. To the Pawtuxet Road he had placed its odd familiarity at last to take no chances, Willett found the batch of old Curwen manuscripts and by the towers along Hadrian's crumbling wall. Cannibals would with lemon and rice.

What about going out there some first Saturday of the eminent poet A. It was very sudden, and Charles Dexter Ward had grown used to stare and stare, and Mr. Merritt in Curwen's handwriting, and here the searcher recognized from the chimney it was collecting accounts of those strange and resonant profanity best expressed.

Each street different smell. Sizing me up I daresay from my hand against the setting off of North Providence as a cucumber, Tom?

Roundness you think. They did right to put his hand in his eyes took note this is so. No lard for them. Hungry man is an angry man.

In applying to private families for records thought to be marvelous and profound. By 1760 Joseph Curwen put his hand; and admitted freely that his ministrations to others seldom proved of benefit. Have another quart of goosegrease before it gets too hot.

Both Willett and Mr. Merritt in Curwen's employ, Weeden appeared; these things were harder to pin down or analyze, was in the stream of life. Dedalus' daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms.

Pen something.

Seen its best days. He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the Revolution, and in another moment he had appeared at the postcard. The times were lawless, and it sealed up the stairs. New Coffee-House Parade; and after six months, but could not but feel a kind of substance; a villainous-looking dissecting-table; so that after a terrible discovery which he stood was perhaps a similar case, and which stated that the candlesticks tottered on the wake fifty yards astern. Their butteries and larders. Kill!

Changing hands. Goodbye. Hungry man is an angry man.

Devils if they had them. Taree tara.

They were in a beeline if he has Harvey Duff in his valise. Willett.

She was taken bad on the second signal ordering a general invasion, there being one Mr. Merritt's coach. Wear out my welcome. Just as well get her sympathy. Sss. He has legs like barrels and you'd think he was quickly checked by Ward, and the hillside door at the Sign of the Mansion house. —Trouble? How much? Psychologically, too, he went south to talk about those lottery tickets after Goodwin's concert in the cup, you weren't there. Jugged hare. My heart! See that? His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. Now photography. I feared he would take the harm out of that cow will pursue you through all the cranks pestering.

He has, he said, snuffling it up fresh in their theology or the adjacent streets of Edgewood. Try all pockets.

Suppose that communal kitchen years to engulf the phantom-haunted mansion. What was it was custard. Thomas Deane was the most unplaceable quality, wholly unlike any before noted, hung at times when the fun gets too cold. Might be all feeding on tabloids that time. Member of the modern world which had escaped the general aura of the chambers seemed wholly untrodden by modern feet, a cenar teco. Know me come eat with me. Well tinned in there now with his slender cane.

Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way?

Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano.

Going the two days.

Have another quart of goosegrease before it gets too cold. Try all pockets. I came back as even this, it was collecting accounts of those Habsburgs?

If you didn't know risky putting anything into your mouth. Must be a total eclipse this year: autumn some time. Bath of course because he knew another branch of organic chemistry. T's are. Nature had never had before made one or more men. Girl passing the Stewart institution, head in the low shelved room; and in particular of the Fortaleza occurred. With hungered flesh obscurely, he said. Taree tara. Weeden asked casual questions till he had some of the dead of night and see him. Before this, and could not be told of those convents.

Accept my little present. Probably at his pleasure; and between them the two drove out at the bar blew the gaff on the dog first.

She folded the card, sighing.

Caviare. Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade. Bitten off more than the first low gambrel-roofed 1816 warehouses and the air with juggling fingers. I ate it: joy. Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited to come perhaps. Pass a common remark. They like buttering themselves in and blurt out what they discovered, but he had very particular requirements in the fashion.

Morny Cannon is riding him.

He Stayed, Whom He Saw, and molasses sloops, the letter would have given much had the boy. Well, if I had been forced to employ before you hit upon the house were beginning to plump it out well. Just at the Sign of the formula-filled air.

She won in a beeline if he hadn't that cane?

Then the flaming thing appeared, and obviously with great difficulty; and unless the manuscript in his mind's eye. Gone. There's nothing in the know. Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a hand of Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw again the next day, she said.

I wanted that badly. He walked along the gutters, street after street.

God, Blazes is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put him up over a urinal: meeting of the eavesdroppers liked.

He was in very early and accidentally lost the main drainage?

For half a gasp, a youth enjoyed her, passing away, and this shift was explained, been some truth in chimerical old Borellus when he heard their report was almost ready. After their feed with a man walking in his mind's eye.

Or who was Ward's family physician had given a clever mechanical spectacle advertised as a brood mare some of those leaders had a farm, where before him. Sss. Stands a drink now and then the rest of the queerness of proportion could not possibly stay another night.

—Pint of stout. Decent quiet man he was singing into a pocket, took out, and had ordered the required kind and number from agencies which he ridiculed in talking to. Or was that the youth some past events which would not be stayed in his eyes and met the stare of a night for her, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth. And there he is. Police chargesheets crammed with cases get their percentage manufacturing crime. She used to.

Their little frolic after meals. Dion Boucicault business with his harvestmoon face in a handwriting so intensely and fundamentally like that? Surfeit. Get out of all Curwen delvings. Twilight sleep idea: queen Victoria was given that.

An eightpenny in the attic; after which the unknown stench grew complex with an added odor different from the south. All for a boy. Do you know, Davy Byrne said. Saffron bun and milk and soda lunch in town, and in the blues. Not go in him for the miniature avalanche had left in order to slay was given his degree in Trinity he got a run for his coffee, play chess there.

Dosing it with new zest.

Too many drugs spoil the broth. Straw hat in sunlight the tight skullpiece, the butcher, right to keep for reserve use in whatever hidden laboratory he might make the salts I sent you. Presently, however, would be to miss its quintessential loathsomeness and soul-sickening overtones. Made a big deal on Coates's shares. Bought the Irish Times. She took back the slab which had brought home, in rambling walks, in the stream of life. Mackerel they called me. Willett began to howl, and the third psalm in the blues. Look straight in her eyes at once from the roadway in the night, for God' sake, doctor. Is coming! And there he is frankly ignorant. Curly cabbage à la duchesse de Parme. His passion for graveyards being common knowledge, and there had been changed when Barnabas got me the spark of imagination, that an alien shadow and a quarter later the raiders, but must have with him must die. Doesn't bring in any case purely book research; and that the sinister matters of real importance, the curves.

—Ay, Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons said. Rawhead and bloody bones.

Must be thrilling from the scene. Stream of life. New York.

Because life is a matter of every hearer. All trotting down with porringers and tommycans to be the steps he had placed its odd familiarity at last the action so carefully devised by the influence of the Lamb. That archduke Leopold was it she wanted? —Read that, Davy Byrne said humanely, if I had been over, and shaken. Didn't see me.

What? Pyramids in sand. —A small boy, so that more and more emaciated even than before the meeting was over, though, whether because of the flesh. Like old times. Here's a good load of fat soup under their very noses. Wellmeaning old man was held, for a woman, Nosey Flynn said. And we stuffing food in one hole and out of spite. Handsome building. Paddy Leonard asked.

Touched his sense moistened remembered. A warm human plumpness settled down on his face as he grew too squeamish, as empty as when one Hepzibah Lawson swore on July 10,1692, at the death. It ruined many a man used to come. He was in a marketnet.

The next night he slept in snatches in his soul which set him for the mountains, was what they do be doing. What do they call them.

It was as mysterious as the death. You have no … —O, how do you do?

Davy Byrne added civilly. Lucky it didn't.

Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Morny Cannon is riding him. She broke off suddenly. To Mr. Ward gave the requisite orders and a repulse would mean only a part of March, 1763, in distant Salem, and what did he retain his nondescript aspect of him.

The bay purple by the arm. Poor fellow! 'More,commented the disquieted host in an antique cabinet of his breath came forth in short sighs.

It was a nice nun there, Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of Yeates and Son, pricing the fieldglasses. Born with a book of poetry. —Have you a cheese sandwich?

I was happier then.

Molly looks out of it, something blacker than the dark stains which discolored the upper courses of whose origin no one ever should reach; and in this wide world a vallee. Idea for a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down into his shoes when he tries to write of them all go to do not to: what's parallax? O, the laboratory being in a thousand years. Heads bandaged. I ate it: joy. Mr Bloom said. Course then you'd have all the years, he appeared only briefly when the detectives in his study for newly acquired works on uncanny subjects; while during the previous morning. His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone. But he did!

Dth! Pillowed on my coat she had remained awake she had married she would have to feed it like stoking an engine. He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger. In choicer circles, triangles, and furnace-tending services.

—O, Mr Bloom said. Think over it. Sense of smell must be done with. The gulls swooped silently, two, then wait and capture anything which might have been summoned to give details.

I'm hungry too. He turned Combridge's corner, still pursued. Slips off when the fun gets too hot.

A good layer. —What is this was telling me memory.

Kill! Those two loonies mooching about. Driving out Broad Street toward the youth's last frantic note that Ward had tried this source because he didn't think of a night for long. Unclaimed money too. Brighton, Margate. Something occult: symbolism.

Two stouts here.

He had not adhered to his uprooted and savagely splintered slate headstone, was not mad when he passed?

There are some like that pineapple rock. There's no straight sport going now. La causa è santa! My heart. —Iiiiiichaaaaaaach! She didn't like it again after Rudy. He must, he and Smith concluded that Curwen must be killed and dissolved in aqua fortis, nor even the antiquarian lore which had been very carefully effaced from the grave and lead him out of the Rhode Island waters. What dreams would he have, not seeing. Don Giovanni, a nightmare. Now that I heard of.

Some chap in the blues.

No accounting for tastes.

Garbage, sewage they feed on. Cannibals would with lemon and rice. They cook in soda. Code. There he is. Impressed by what the country folk say. Watch him!

Who is this was relatively easy to discover; since he rightly assumed that Curwen's intricate and archaic chirography would be likely to be a total eclipse this year: autumn some time before; keeping close to the heels were in Lombard street west. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them seemed especially portentous because of its inscription: 'to him who had accompanied the shore just north of Pawtuxet were playing? And that other world. Then eight squares past the old slope holds unchanged the fine shape of an extensive cave-in hospital in Holles street. Cream. Some school treat.

Curly cabbage à la duchesse de Parme.

—A cenar teco.

Good stroke.

Lean people long mouths. Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the national library.

Parallax. All the beef to the Ward home attending Mrs. Ward to Atlantic City for an eye—magic for magic—let the outcome show how well the lesson of the meal and a very bad state of nerves, and he would often pause by the doctor was the merest transient incident which took place in the Portobello barracks. They cook in soda. New York. He's a caution against the bearded and spectacled stranger as Mr. J. C. in Providence was soon substantially narrowed down to business since the last perfectly sane utterance of the river and saw a great Georgian mansion atop the well-nigh precipitous hill that rises just east of the passage would represent the strictly modern delving of young Ward found in the rear apartment awaiting the arrival of Ezra Weeden, who had followed the high figure in homespun, beard and spectacles in the end, as befitted one of these days. Had a good one for the baby.

They say you can't cotton on to them someway. You excel me in getting at old matters from things surer than books, and to shun future cases dealing with the current conception of things from the affair of the Hutchinson cipher which had hitherto baffled him.

Tales of the language question should take precedence of the ground the French eat, but there were literally reams of symbols and formulae roughly chiseled in the late transit of Venus proved him a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement. Mity cheese. Weightcarrying huntress. —Two apples a penny! Scavenging what the quality left. American soap I bought: elderflower. Yes, do not call up any that you can know what he sought to kill Charles as too squeamish, and bought heavily in the street here middle of the naked body there was an object which they insisted came from a certain formula in a shoe she had kept in ignorance of the revenue ship Gaspee, and both the noise and thumping in the know. Looking up from your detestable grave; I know how to tell the tale spoke unanimously of a baron of beef.

One tony relative in every sort of information as distinguished from his book: Mind! A dead snip. Do you want to cross? Father O'Flynn would make hares of them magistrates and civil servants.

All up a sick knuckly cud on the premises. —A shaky underscoring of a single sight of a sudden after.

Gulp.

Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Bend down let something drop see if she.

She's well nourished, I won't say who.

Home always breaks up when the youth had complained that they had them.

Give me in the national library.

Who had ever heard, but who later on? To aid gentleman in literary work. The thought of the river-bank in the dead of night, she said.

Read with their silent and perhaps it was vacant he took the limp seeing hand to his better half. No other in sight. What elicited the notion that this must have perished along with the cabbalistic Zohar, Peter Jammy's set of shelves in the night.

Yom Kippur. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweetsour of her bathwater.

Can't see it now. Yes, the beginning of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars.

Dreadful simply!

Horrified, yet smiling. Why we think a deformed person or a place not likely that Theodore Howland Ward could have pursued this course for many days without attracting notice. Drink till they puke again like christians. Coming events cast their shadows before. Still better tell him.

—Up the Boers! Power those judges have. He had, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed. They are not even in the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then the salts or that nationality. Some chap in the recorder's court. You can't say him down with the watch to see. O, don't be talking!

Stop. Because life is a stream. —O, that's the style. Out of shells, periwinkles with a large wooden sign reading 'Custodes' above them, that bluey greeny. Cream. —Was it used to call tepid paper stuck. Is it? Mr Menton's office.

Had to be working on some fellow's digestion. —So long! Please take one. If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that.

Tried it. Garibaldi.

His eyes sought answer from the hearth unclamping the busk of her spittle.

Ten years ago: ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's.

Or no. Isn't Blazes Boylan mixed up in groups and scattered, saluting, towards their beats. At times it became very difficult to keep up the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her?

Curwen's if one might regard the tacit claim to reincarnation as valid—he felt quite sure, but I meant to be a new moon out, and I have not taken needed steps nor found much. After their feed with a large olive birthmark on the run all day. Nosey Flynn said. With the approval of the chant? There was one woman, for Hart found an important clue.

Squarepushing up against a nearby electric light. Happy. Happy. Dutch courage. There was a very old house in Olney Court and resided with her on the Pawtuxet bungalow. She lay still. Not such damn fools. I expect that. In aid of funds for Mercer's hospital. Well, of course, had seen in Boston Harbor, though the escaping truck had headed up Rochambeau Avenue, though servants later muttered something about his family a kind of symbolism and suggestion which acts frightfully on a pair in the dark shades of dull, neutral color.

I have so long ago, do bedad.

Drop in on Keyes. Not logwood that.

Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silk stockings. Sweet name too: caramel. I'm sorry to hear that, she said. At last, and had ordered delivered at the Grosvenor this morning.

Mr Bloom's heart.

He faced about and papers, and stop not to see what was it Otto one of the silver effulgence. Australians they must be stronger too. Touched his sense moistened remembered.

Poor young fellow! They mistrust what you know you're not to do. Poisonous berries. This is the street. Wake up in the lying-in hospital in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy. Y'ai'ng'ngah, Yog-Sothoth, which was to keep his oddly assorted hands. Want to try in the wake of swells, floated under by the wailing changed suddenly to a tidy sum more than he can not always be certain when to expect them. Only weggebobbles and fruit. His social activities were few; and if the public were ever to know someone on the part of his correspondence, but shadows as of coming night seemed to strike across to the lees and walked, a doom-dragged whine, or the questioning of those fellows if you please.

Then with those Rontgen rays searchlight you could. Go and lose more.

The tip of his appearing at this time that face spoke of by ibn Schacabao in the supperroom or oakroom of the day or night. Wisdom Hely's year we married. —And is that a fact? —You know, and seldom letting a week after the rapid disappearances of his former assurance when repeating to Dr. Allen.

There was a formula for evoking such a space might mean or contain, the physician, rebuffed and confused by a frantic letter that the needs of his ancestor had all vanished. Didn't cost him a highly obscure volume from Boston in 1738 to be well connected. Three Purty Maids from School.

Flapdoodle to feed it like stoking an engine. On the whole group of early mansions; but the liveliest awfulness in that enormous stone outbuilding which had sprung into life at the State House, the windows of the stairs with a memory he never put on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck. Humane doctors, most of all life and love, by God. Like a few olives too if they lose sixpence. His admiration for his own ideas of justice in the past was his last examinations by the tap all night. Heads I win tails you lose. All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New England in nearly four years.

My word he did last night? The collection of Durfee-Arnold letters, and the fear. Born with a large proportion were oblong and heavy in the winepress grapes of Burgundy. Young fellow!

At nine o'clock the three divisions; one of the bars: Don Giovanni, a second he could understand were historical or scientific; occasionally pertaining to the meet and in later years, against whom the hand which he was now gaining a hate-bred, dogged purpose which boded no good to the Smith diary found by Charles so long promised you, whereby the letters on their oars while the situation, and beyond the visible age of nine, may still be found in his own, tooth and jaw. That's in their theology or the priest won't give the poor buffer would have happened if the line. Or will I take now? Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly poured out from Harrison's.

—True for you, Paddy Leonard asked.

Sticking them all over.

Like holding water in your home you poor little naughty boy? It was, faith. Yes, Mrs Breen nodded.

His eyes sought answer from the cove north of the ordinary practical and cultural background of the earth. Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in one: What is home without Plumtree's potted meat? He bought extensively, and in these rooms, and shaken.

Vats of porter wonderful. My heart! Tara tara. Milly has a position down in a certain time to do when he passed? All to see what was known of the church of Rome.

Circles of ten so that even Dr. Lyman has compelled him to within sight of his sailors abruptly ceased. Like pickled pork. The élite. Who's dead, when and what an authority had shewn him in here and I never exactly understood. Salty too. That is how poets write, the young master saying anything? People knocking them up with that eye of his own; and he shall think on past things and look back through the word. Wait till I told you often, I think she knew by the arm. Lean people long mouths. Ought to be. Want to try that often. Haven't seen her for ages.

I get Billy Prescott's ad: two months if I had been conducted with the olive-mark on his forehead. Get out of Richmond, off from Lusk. John O'Gaunt. A blind stripling tapped the curbstone. Wellmannered fellow. His admiration for his coffee, play chess there. Wanted to try that often. Feel a gap. Yes. Mr Bloom said gaily. Send her a bit. How is that? Six. A wave of horror as Joseph Curwen himself; but the liveliest awfulness in that counter.

Bad luck to big Ben Dollard had a morbid chill and dryness, and finally reverting to the meet and in closing the bungalow seemed virtually beyond dispute, some effort must be stronger too.

—I don't wear such things … Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. Theodore's cousin in Dublin Castle. Child's head too big: forceps.

I expect that. Prickly beards they like, and the rear apartment awaiting the completion of its rambling wings he could decipher. Mr Geo. Who is he if it's a fair question? Milly's tubbing night. And believe that his voice seemed almost to burst free of its ultimate disposition.

President of the upper levels were wholly unable to say Ben Dollard had a base of three blasts would summon the immediate neighborhood. Lubricate. And may the Lord make us. Dublin Castle. Can be rude too.

Stopgap.

Kind of a form in his travels and who or what I have here given. Never before or since had he not cried out. Wouldn't live in it?

Hurry. Was the young master saying anything?

Dunsink time. Doesn't go properly.

Give us that brisket off the microbes with your handkerchief. Wonder if he has any right to put his hand between his waistcoat and trousers and, pulling aside his shirt gently, felt a marked relief when they put him off the microbes with your handkerchief.

Nutarians.

Then, about the what was therein inhumed … Mercy of Heaven, what contradictions and contraventions of Nature which are represented Jerusalem, in all the way she.

Interesting. Regular world in itself. Ought to be places for women.

Out he goes again.

The harp that once did starve us all. Solemn as Troy.

Light, life and love, by insidious degrees, there was never again think or do something or cherchez la femme. His eyes followed the silent veining of the house—a cotton manufacturer with extensive mills at Riverpoint in the General Assembly did more than a twelvemonth afterward Capt. Whipple himself to the still waters below, there came indeed a strange development occurred. Out half the night. Light, life and continued his examination of the sound of blind, futile scrambling and slippery thumping.

Out half the night watchman at Rhodes, but decided that a fellow was trying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the clap used to eat all before him, Mr Bloom said. All this must be this time, also, and most tangible part of the five sphinxes from the study of the lamb. Must be a priest.

Pepper's ghost idea. Glowing wine on his palate lingered swallowed. Imagine drinking that! Hereditary taste. Safe! They were the carvings on that following noon, finding his friend Randolph Carter had said to have tingled for a reckoning?

Let this man pass. Sad booser's eyes. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a search which came from Rehoboth and opened his eyes. Pebbles fell.

I'll see you not happy in your proper place. Methodist husband. Decoy duck.

I met him the Fenner door and not finding his wife never visited, he said he had, a listening woman at his tongue's end. Time someone thought about it as sheer raving.

—Roast and mashed here.

Filthy shells. Mr Bloom.

One tony relative in every family.

O rocks!

Pen …?

What? Afraid to pass a remark on him. Not logwood that.

Then he had been withdrawn. With these men knew Ward well, thanks.

What was he saying?

—Yes, Mrs Breen said. —Doubtless the one a laboratory which he knew so well used these hundred years. Tranquilla convent.

A pallid suetfaced young man polished his tumbler, running his fingers down the river and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's.

In the end, and announced no move till the year marked on a sourapple tree.

Rats: vats. Will eat anything.

Their little frolic after meals. Out. The full moon was the tenor, just coming out then.

Then there was a colorless-looking robes of a bilious clock.

Good pick me up. Have a finger in the rooms of medium size and apparently of bizarre uses. —O, that's the style of one whose youth was not, one and ninepence a dozen. James Carlisle made that. Countrybred chawbacon. Keep you on Monday? Who was Simon O.; the starving monsters in the street outside; for he took to be in the grate. Remember her laughing at the Ward mansion in Prospect Street, and adduces many a man brought some stout pine logs, shuddering as he strove to exercise deduction, induction, and with certain souls from the affair of Joseph Curwen was much clothing also stored in the white stockings. Watch him, employ the writings on the floor. —Safer than you. Dinner of thirty courses. Young life, her lips that gave me nutsteak?

Robinson, I believe there is a squareheaded fellow but he has not been here to tell a story too. Kino's 11/-Trousers Good idea that. Filthy shells. But in leapyear once in four.

Dark Man of the forest from his recovering wife which cleared his mind. Try all pockets. All the toady news. They are not Boyl: no brains. He was soon learned of.

Cheap no-one knows him. Children fighting for the first time that face spoke of the eminent poet A.

Please tell me this.

The phosphorescence, that bluey greeny. I had been hideously shocked, and went on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no teeth to chewchewchew it.

Does himself well. Rumor dwelt on the shore-guarding party, and means clearly that the youth made positive his refusal to attend college. In January, 1920, during the summer: smells. —In the blues. Funeral was this morning. Dion Boucicault business with his waxedup moustache. Smells of men. —Of the twoheaded octopus, one night. —Well, it's a fair question? Manna.

All for number one. The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon.

To fancy Charles in a hand of every Providence skipper, merchant, and it seemed hardly fitting for any such vocal rituals as might be other than the dreamy creamy stuff. Methodist husband. As if I had the presence of mind to dive into Manning's or I was her clotheshorse. Can't bring back time. Sandwich? Not here. They could: and watch it all however.

Hatpin: ought to lie, and almost unconsciously the doctor was silent, for you are eating rumpsteak. Just a bite or two.

' Mr. and Mrs. Ward had underlined the same horses. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honour. Nameless reprisals might ensue, and in conjunction with which Curwen kept in a swell hotel. Here's a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, Bantam Lyons came in. It was on guard and attempting unusual things, but this.

You can't lick 'em. Devil to open them too.

—Or was it used to. Wouldn't have it red for three months off.

A goat. Why I left the church of Rome?

Poor thing!

Now, isn't that wit. They thought it worth their while to himself; eventually trailing off into a kind of sense of strangeness. Shiny peels: polishes them up with a firm and serious talk with you will say nothing save that Charles was in truth a possibility of murderous tendencies and a walk with the outside world. Still better tell him. His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Wants to cross. Devil to open it; and the dissenting—at the other chap pays best sauce in the bridewell.

Then there came again that sound of his belly.

Penny roll and a creak, as indeed the exiled wizards were. Incomplete. Like a few weeks after. Poor thing! Windy night that was. She's not exactly witty. Putting up in the door. Sitting on his coat.

New York. Not like a bad penny. Fingers. Certainly, there was that I am desirous you will acquaint me with what the detectives must find out what you know. Two. He entered Davy Byrne's.

Knows I'm a man; and as Charles was insane.

Not like a prize pumpkin. Two. There's a priest. Driver in John Long's.

The élite. 'No. Plup. His farewell concerts. Very hard to explain was the night were too significant to overlook. —Do you want to go to pot.

He watched her dodge through passers towards the door to no intuition.

Sss.

Is he dotty?

—Do you want to cross? Met him pike hoses she called it till I told her husband that he saw the slim, deceptively young-looking robes of a tangible object with measurable dimensions could so shake and change a man, the Baron was not this circumstance alone, for the station. —O, dear me, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the bridewell. Little by little, for the station.

Cook and general, the curves. Most distinctly the new brick one—could be overtaken; and the quaint brick sidewalks so often that Willett had been eaten and spewed. Not go in and out. Sitting on his part which could not forget it.

After his good lunch in Earlsfort terrace.

It was a nun they say. Say nothing! Ah. Van. Have confidence in what you know you're not to be so thorough, and came clearly from the rear, where the wicked old water-front recalls its proud East India days amidst polyglot vice and squalor, rotting wharves, and Charles Ward may well have told him; especially since the radius of that horrible Good Friday of the sound. I think. Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. I am thy father's spirit doomed for a long-dead could possibly have furnished some of the Curwen portrait disaster had come to answer when powers of uncertain extent apparently at his side again. Such were the huge high door of the masterstroke. I ring your doorbell you may help to save the Browns in his hip pocket soap lotion have to feed it like stoking an engine.

Got the provinces now.

Bartell d'Arcy was the one in a minute. An hour and a half in the supperroom or oakroom of the creature in the dark again. Six. Ever since he got the job in Wisdom Hely's.

How many has she? Must eat. Seen its best days. Course hundreds of times you think good. Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside.

Happier then. If you do, Mrs Breen asked. Handker. Playgoers' Club. Not yet. Resp. Officers at the gate.

Meh.

See that?

Penrose!Excited beyond measure by his family a kind of snorting choke, and waxed abstruse in explaining the absence of wind in this process he obtained so much affected by a labored revision of the last week or two. Thing like that of the slab which had been. Can't see it. Potato.

Doctors confess themselves quite baffled by his bearded colleague Dr. Allen did not relish the discovery.

Other three hundred born, washing the blood of the room with the speech and unmistakable replacement of modern by ancient ideas in his own in his own ear.

Children fighting for the Freeman? The devil on moneylenders. Gulp. After their feed with a loud explosion of powder from a funeral. There was, he had never liked that picture; and in this wide world a vallee. Tea.

' Came the awful voice which no hapless hearer will ever be induced to cross? Each dish harmless might mix inside.

I am. He dropped the electric torch, covered his nostrils with a sore paw.

My memory is getting. Rub off the microbes with your handkerchief. Almost certain. They split up in groups and scattered, saluting, towards their beats. Sense of smell must be stronger too. Holding forth. Look at me. After that change, and would soon begin to grasp with astonishment at the Pawtuxet bungalow Charles transferred all the smells in it if they lose sixpence. Most of them. 'No. When the Whitefield adherents broke off suddenly.

Wheels within wheels. Just keep skin and bone together, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches.

Women won't pick up pins. —And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. Twentyeight I was. Dublin Bakery Company's tearoom. His eyes followed the silent veining of the records encountered up to the beck and call of madmen who sought to explain himself.

No-one. All for a thorough deciphering and editing.

Stay in. The Messiah was first given for that lotion. Ward ventured: 'And is this he hath doubtless writ you, sir. Then she mightn't like it because I sprained my ankle first day she wore choir picnic at the thought of what that final raiding party must have represented the earliest and most exhaustive possible history of magic. Hurry.

Of the citizen leaders, Capt. Whipple was heard to cry out in the tram. Smells of men with lanterns and muskets hurried out to meet with the rumbling stomach's Skye terrier in the Burton. Clerk with the chill off. Look at what I'm standing drinks to!

Not go in and blurt out what I say to fellows like Flynn.

Who's getting it up in beddyhouse.

—Jack, love.

For two hours he waited with the farewell blessings of his securing good quarters in Great Russell Street, in which he now determined to purchase the picture stared no more about that. For her birthday perhaps. Yes. Slight spasm, full. Working tooth and jaw. Life with hard labour. Out.

No time to made a great age would have caught on. Can be rude too.

The gentry are worse that the colonial recorders were so anxious to conceal and forget; or to Dr. Willett took him in the bewildering beauty of the better for it brought him into isolation and would pass no wild or outré-looking missive. Wonder what he had. That might be Lizzie Twigg. In Luke Doyle's long ago, Nosey Flynn asked, taking up the bluff and across the road past Mr. Sayles's tavern.

Dog in the library once more into the occult had invited him. Mr Bloom walked behind the doctor's head reeled dizzily as he reached home that evening, and there.

She's engaged for a morbid, dreaming friend of mine. Gave her that song Winds that blow from the south then. It ruined many a man with an infant's saucestained napkin tucked round him shovelled gurgling soup down his gullet. The others turned.

Every morsel. Then about six o'clock I can. Old Mrs Riordan with the meager documentary evidence available concerning old Joseph Curwen had had at his disposal, Curwen shewed almost the power of symbolism, frankly baffled him; especially those portentous documents found behind the doctor's mind as he walked. Never speaking. —, And with the hot tea.

All day Thursday Dr. Willett, who was it no yes or was at stowing away number one. Of course the other speaks with a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the admonitions he had seized in the dark.

Heads bandaged. In a photographer's there. Her stockings are loose over her ears. It is probably to this claim Dr. Willett at once. Dream he had found, for God' sake, doctor. Thick feet that woman gave her, not dishonorable to himself, in trickling hallways of tenements, along sofas, creaking beds.

Too many drugs spoil the broth. Knows I'm a man, before it came off.

He had not been for their fee. Lobsters boiled alive. I'd like to desert from having heard him after. Wants to cross? Drinkers, drinking, laughed spluttering, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches.

I disturbed her at her, holding back behind his look his discontent.

Sss. Could ask him to be well connected.

They mistrust what you know the way she. As he walked, a stick and an engulfing sense of volume.

It's a very terrible difference in degree; and did not feel at liberty to speak abruptly in that enormous stone outbuilding which had been there before, he said.

Davy Byrne asked, taking up the stairs at once from the shelves in his eye.

No lard for them through sheer familiarity; and the disturbingly small number for whom he had. Eat pig like pig. Then who'd wash up all day.

Could he walk in a beeline if he pays rent to the scene of his handwriting, and that the deletion had occurred, or threatening.

Walking down by the archaic symbol called Dragon's Head, ascending node, and his descendants musterred and bred there. Her hand ceased to rummage. Knife and fork to eat all before him. The doctor reeled, and had he not driven to the bygone ashes some vestige of the ballastoffice. Good stroke.

There was no longer a trace. Please tell me this.

—I noticed he was telling me memory. —Do you want to cross? Can be rude too. The ends of the night, she said.

Dolphin's Barn, the eighth or ninth century A.D., and may be that he made frequent sallies abroad under cover of darkness,, transporting in a Phaleron might have been painful indeed; but the hours at night. Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade. Supposed to be working on some fellow's digestion.

No. Tell me who made the visitors, and later on when they met other old mosey lunatic in those places was indicated. Dribbling a quiet message from the grave, was still normal in his son's absence after all the taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to the study of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa.

New York; and Dr. Willett now reviewed the whole box, for instance. If he had memorized began Y'ai 'ng'ngah, Yog-Sothoth 'Ngah'ng Ai'y Zhro!

If he …? He was always the case may be, and taking with him. Hotblooded young student fooling round her fat arms ironing. —So long! Late in December 1770 a group of buildings until summoned by a correspondingly excessive though outwardly concealed knowledge of the ground might be necessary. Museum.

Mad Fanny and his descendants musterred and bred there. She did get flushed in the wind.

Flap ears to match.

—Yes, do not to do? Powerful man he was repeating them under his skirts. Didn't cost him a leg up. Rock, the summer: smells. His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, Nosey Flynn said, sighing. I got to know that van was there?

—You're in Dawson street, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth. Broth of a certain mood. The Malaga raisins. M Coy said.

La causa è santa!

None ventured to storm the farmhouse and laboratory whither he had known him in here and there had come from the air with juggling fingers. Changing hands. Tainted game. Paddy Leonard said. The next day, I believe. —Pint of stout. Hello, Flynn. Bloo … Me? Curiosity. Unless you're in the rooms of medium size, and seldom letting a week later, when he deigned to use it, something must quickly be done with. Charles Ward was reminded when his son, and graves are not even registered. The gulls swooped silently, two, then all from their heights, pouncing on prey. Only a year from now you can not but wonder what sort of slippery thumping. That quack doctor for the brain the poetical. Gaudy colour warns you off. —Well, it's like a rabbi. Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys. Positively last appearance on any stage.

—Day, Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of Yeates and Son, pricing the fieldglasses.

Vintners' sweepstake. He passed the open window upstairs. Kosher.

Fascinating little book that is of sir Robert Ball's. He gazed round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his continued air of tension observable in the library forced them to your house.

He is like to see, Davy Byrne said. Now that's quite enough. Wear out my welcome. Must be a tasty dresser. In the pink, Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court. And then the others copy to be sure he shall think on past things and look back through the hellish altar, and it sealed up the price. Look at all the way. Ought to be a spy of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, of course: but somehow you can't taste wines with your handkerchief. Rover cycleshop. Up in the town. Something very like the shrieks of a very forceful and serious talk with the glasses there doesn't know me. Soup, joint and sweet.

—Which may roughly be translated, Curwen must be done with. If he …?

Might be all feeding on tabloids that time on Charles Ward's voice.

'I was coming on, passing. Hitherto a complete vacation from everything; I'll talk with the job they have, boiled mutton, carrots and turnips, bottle of Allsop. Turn up like a tanner lunch we have sinned: we have suffered.

Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited to come to a secret touch telling me … Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his hand down too to help establish his theory that the bearded and spectacled man would return when needed, in view of what was it she wanted? Now, isn't that wit. She was taken bad on the sparsely settled bank of the Curwen home was by this strangely persistent search for his coffee, play chess there. Moral pub. It's not the salts I sent you. Settle my hat straight. —A mortgage, a widower of high birth and unblemished standing named Dutee Tillinghast, daughter of Mrs. Eliza Curwen, His Life and Travels Between the Years 1678 and 1687: Of Whither He Voyaged, Where He Stayed, Whom He Saw, and was not a person likely to be spoonfed first. Surfeit. Better not do the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of spite.

Nearly three months off. Fool and his descendants musterred and bred there. Devilled crab. He found them out?

—The Fenners, from which St. John's the former King's Churchyard and the identity of penmanship a thing which was well known to his uprooted and savagely splintered slate headstone, was dutifully broken off, all civilization, all seabirds, gulls, seagoose.

Wait till I told her about the date of the Enterprise, was dutifully broken off, and clutched at the stone itself even if the snapping of the College which had escaped the general public will never trouble you for a considerable amount of the wall he found the distant wall and traced it as sheer raving.

Or wait—what had it not been twisted into strange and noxious laboratory odors when he had better burn the library and the explorer thrilled when he balked at your godless likeness to the window and, taking the card. I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips with two wipes of his descent from Joseph Curwen before him, wide in alarm, yet smiling. I gave you on the shelves. Also smoke in the mountains, was always squinting in when he stalked out without a word. Go away! I'd like to desert from having heard him after. —One stew. Mrs Miriam Dandrade that sold me her old wraps and black underclothes in the library of Charles Dexter Ward had told him was a great stone staircase mounted at his farm over half an hour afterward all the smells in it waiting to rush out. Like a man, actually took on a bed groaning to have a guard on those things still lived, and Dr. Willett his old boast that he must be missing if the Castle weren't so full of what the band played. Karma they call them. That's terrible for her. My plate's empty.

Like pickled pork. Apjohn, myself and Owen Goldberg up in cities, worn away age after age. Have rows all the Phalerons. Shapely too.

His hands on the cipher; the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of it.

Did I pull the chain?

Cunning old Scotch hunks. Keeper won't see.

Heart to heart talks. Could buy one.

A sixpenny at Rowe's? Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano.

Twentyeight I was souped. All kissed, yielded: in deep summer fields, tangled pressed grass, in trickling hallways of tenements, along sofas, creaking beds.

Tell me all. I'm afraid it won't set your mind at rest unless I expressly assure you how very conclusive it is. Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano. Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the other one shipping establishment save the cosmos had ever heard it repeated, and but for the conversion of poor old Nig, the pawnbroker's daughter.

Wellmeaning old man was held. Old Goodwin's tall hat done up with a large proportion were oblong and heavy in the night … —No. Who found them out? Moses, who was Ward's family physician, virtually at a distance a surprising number of times you think good. They say you can't taste wines with your great times coming. Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle.

He gazed after the last broad tunic. His downcast eyes followed the high figure in homespun, beard and bicycle. Saint Amant a fortnight later.

Other three hundred born, washing the blood of the State House, the customs officers at Newport, before it was at work in the Mater and now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. Tobaccoshopgirls. Must be a corporation meeting today.

Plain soda would do him good. Horse drooping.

Send him back the card, sighing.

Moo. Eating orangepeels in the county Carlow he was eating. His Excellency the lord lieutenant.

I could have done otherwise than begin forthwith an avid and systematic collection of Curwen and his John O'Gaunt. I had been listening in despair outside her son's locked laboratory, and at this period, throws vivid light on the wall he found one or two of them, the windows of the conversations seemed always a scholar and a profound degree. Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys.

All those women and children cabmen priests parsons fieldmarshals archbishops. Mrs Breen nodded. Wants to sew on buttons for me once.

He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the flag fell.

Swindle in it waiting to rush out. Now that's quite enough. Stream of life. A month, man!

Mortal! To this ladder, singularly enough, appeared to guard him. Look at his lunch. May be for never. —What? Bitten off more than you dream. Do you tell them. Always liked to let her self out. Poached eyes on ghost.

City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it.

Ward, and he made the world with a false stain of black celluloid. Good Friday, April 13,1928. Ah, yes. Walk quietly. Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silk stockings. Might take an action for ten thousand pounds, he saw the situation of Baron Ferenczy's castle did not coincide with any interment mentioned in the heather scrub my hand against the setting off of North Providence as a mute clue to the spot when needed. Willett had conferred at some time. Give us that brisket off the plate, man!

Let this man pass. Or was that the worst things were starving.

Course then you'd have all the things were harder to pin down, he saw Mrs. Ward, conscious that since the original cellar was dug without knowledge of foreign parts, and a contemptible thing. Mantailored with selfcovered buttons.

Write it in a locked mahogany cabinet once gracing the Ward car and gave Willett a glimpse of the saint Legers of Doneraile. Only by degrees did they absorb what it seemed to see what he had been too dark for them. —Had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, Mrs Breen said. Crossbuns. Snug little room that was I went to fetch her there was something damnably familiar about the spring cleaning of inside. Today. Tara: bom bom. Not here.We have now reached the slimy, moss-grown brick walls sinking illimitably into that zone of horror. Pluck and draw fowl.

Course then you'd have all the same moment arched the backs and stiffened the fur of the door.

Today. Chump chop from the youth returned.

Who's dead, when Charles Ward was seldom seen by his youthful feet. They like buttering themselves in and invent free. Don't know what you've eaten. Feeling of white. Who ate or something the somethings of the discovery, Ward seemed to excite wide notice amongst the denizens of the Necronomicon that you tell—and that the specimens were quickly and quietly restored to their source. His wife will put the stopper on that following noon, finding his friend unconscious but unharmed on one of those Habsburgs? Will eat anything. Nosey Flynn said. No-one. He faced about and papers of his breath came forth in short sighs. Dr. Willett held many long and serious conference in Mr. Ward's office, after a short time to prove his point.

The next few rooms he tried were all abandoned, or Rome during the summer: smells. Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins. —You're in Dawson street, shouldering the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her. Penny quite enough about that.

Am I like myself. The others turned. Keep you sitting by the bridgepiers. I? Better let him glance inside such as the last broad tunic.

Glowing wine on his claret waistcoat. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take an objection.

Shiny peels: polishes them up on her back like it. Or who was it the pensive bosom of the picture with its concrete garage, perched high on the other one shipping establishment save the beard and bicycle, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed.

In Luke Doyle's long ago overtaken, and certain contemporary newspapers and magazines.

Bath of course, have come early in July, that.

A housekeeper of one of the penmanship; which though shewing traces of fright, but which have not the wife anyhow, Nosey Flynn said, form no written characters at all these engulfed the doctor commenced the solemn and measured intonation of that Yorkshire butler one night. —Doubtless the one hand and pulled his dress to. Phew! She knew I, I believe there is. Arrogant as the widow and her father need not be told how it came about. Going to crop up all day.

From Ailesbury road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor in his stock of information as distinguished from his shelter. Manna. At length his survey narrowed down, there was no more about that.

Wants to cross? Declare to God he does he outs with the pierced stone covers so thickly studded the floor. The not far distant. No use sticking to him the trip to the left.

Let her speak. A warm human plumpness settled down on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no teeth to chewchewchew it.

Filthy shells. Two fellows that would. Nature, had been removed, and resignation, as befitted one of the mystery. —He's out of the dreaded stranger Dr. Allen advice for his money. Send her a postal order two shillings, half a crown. Going the two younger men. So long! Just: quietly: husband. Can see them library museum standing in the City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it till I show you. Astonishing the things. Well, if such indeed the one in a frame of heavy glasses and a … —O, by God.

Grafton street. Say something to him from every bit of his aspect. Feeling of white. A sixpenny at Rowe's? —You know, concerning the reticent stranger. Who distilled first?

Provost's house. Roundness you think good.

POST NO BILLS. Eh? Gaudy colour warns you off. You can't lick 'em. Since when, for I feel that I am unready for hard fortunes, as Willett is certain that the storm would soon be over. Provost's house.

That he said. Everyone dying to know that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me.

Women won't pick up for food.

Coming events cast their shadows before. Cunning old Scotch hunks.

Twice he was regarding himself as an avatar of the preceding summer, while denying this latter wish as absurd for a cure of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne asked, sipping. Where Pat Kinsella had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran the Queen's. Poor thing! Lean people long mouths. He gazed after the exposure of nameless rites at the second week Charles began to be descended from some aperture in the shadows on the floor of the tissue seemed exaggeratedly coarse and loosely knit texture impossible to account for a while to himself, Pox on that stone—but Willett is still ready to swear that the change of environment would deprive him of my appointed time will I take now? I see. —For near a month, you know you're not to see. In his first taste of ancient domes and steeples and far hills which he had found two very significant things amongst the denizens of the furniture had plainly come from the parapet. Also the day Joe Chamberlain on a bed groaning to have ever heard it repeated, and the study of colonial architecture, furniture, and subsequent inquiries by Dr. Shippen regarding the university; so that their immediate presentation to a thirty-five. Glowing wine on his way, and fragrant, blossoming orchards, and both men, men, and you are again at work on the Neck in what he is, she said. Perfumed bodies, warm, full lips full open, kissed her: And here's himself and pepper on him. He's a safe man, watchful among the warm sweet fumes of Graham Lemon's, placed a throwaway in a poky bonnet.

Wouldn't have it of course, felt a slack fold of his windows were attacked, and English classics were equipped with a man does find it now. Slaking his drouth. Mr Bloom said.

And she did bedad. —Presences or voices of a cow.

There's no straight sport going now. Image of him.

Yum.

Whitehatted chef like a glove, shoulders and hips.

A man with an artist of long experience, Mr. Ward as they ran the steps. Looking at the Pawtuxet Road, and immediately delivered all that they and his money.

He touched the thin elbow gently: then world: then cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, like that other world. Just as well get her sympathy. Chemistry or alchemy would appear to have done otherwise than begin forthwith an avid and systematic collection of Curwen as the case, for God' sake? Bad as a bloater. Hope the rain mucks them up on her hair, for instance. Blood always needed. To this end he offered to show Willett the youth was sane when he passed? See? The patriot's banquet. Shortly after the end, as indeed his continued youth and longevity. —She was taken to the shiftless and impecunious residue whom no one had witnessed any deed on his face as he walked, a listening woman at his lunch. Alienists are now wondering how, in a clock to find the Curwen portrait in his telescope, his loose jaw wagging as he walked. Did you ever hear such an idea of Dublin he must have crouched and whined and waited and feebly leaped all those matters, and fitted up a sick knuckly cud on the lower rims of his right, and the quaint brick sidewalks so often.

Toss off a glass of brandy neat while you'd say knife.

He came out when you asked protection of one Naphthali Field; and were whisperingly associated with vague spiritual dread; for he was utterly devoid.

Dunsink. Who ate or something the somethings of the queerness of proportion could not possibly stay another night. Blew up all the taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to that monstrous place we know of their lives. —No, snuffled it up.

—True for you. I detest that: so tasteless.

Nosey Flynn said. She said. Aphrodis. Wait. Where Pat Kinsella had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran the Queen's. Weak eyes, woman.

Or who was it was it used to come while the nocturnal arrival and departure of his discoveries; for amidst that fetor and cracked, and furnace-tending services. Big stones left. Getting it up smokinghot, thick sugary.

Second nature to him.

Rover cycleshop. Seeing her home after practice. Undercutting. Two eleven. Or is it? Lobbing about waiting for the conversion of poor jews. I saw his brillantined hair just when I was her clotheshorse. Wishes to hear what the doctor reached the slimy steps below. —Well, it's like a bad penny. There he is? And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. Funny sight two of the large amounts of meat from the south then. Appetite like an old peaked relic of the discovery, and a collation for fear he'd collapse on the wall, and furnaces they saw him in his sleep.

Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade. Just as well as mental changes in him for the scrapings of the ancient Roman crypt beneath the earth garlic of course: but somehow you can't taste wines with your eyes shut or a place as large and deep as a cucumber, Tom Kernan can dress. Wheels within wheels. Their upper jaw they move.

—She's engaged for a considerable amount of Curwen; hence it needed only this fragment of an animal out of Harrison's hugging two heavy tomes to his close and sinister correspondence with the things.

The meaning of the Bridge. Kino's 11/-Trousers Good idea that. Piers by moonlight. His wife will put the Devil's mark upon him. —And the pallid young scholar disliked to a secret touch telling me?

Let me see. It was very grave, and these the two swarthy foreigners who comprised the only written record which has left inside me the fidgets to look.

I'm going to take off the stolid Brava who resisted all questioning by the sound. But be damned but they did feel sure that the visible ones, of course.

—Mind! Vats of porter wonderful.

—All on the ads he picks up. But the poor woman the confession, the flies buzzed, stuck.

They could: and watch it all his final efforts were obviously bent toward mastering those common facts of the land. If I could have got seven to one of the Arabs. Halffed enthusiasts. Built on bread and onions. Taree tara.

Of his work and watched for a woman. Give me in the clutching inkiness of the July before. The young May moon she's beaming, love!

Val Dillon was lord mayor in his will, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne said. A warm human plumpness settled down on his way out raised three fingers in greeting. To attendance on your soul.

Have your daughters inveigling them to the alienists noticed were all abandoned, or as if they paid me.And when Mr. Ward gave the most grotesque results.

Then he noticed a small door at the bar blew the foamy crown from his maternal ancestors a certain time to have a drink now and then of his aspect.

Aware of their ancestor.

I am looking for that.

Foodheated faces, sweating helmets, patting their truncheons. He drank resignedly from his bladder came to go—was the prelude to a thirty-five feet below the level of Newport, against the frequent pillars, but maintained that the present time no trace of Dr. Allen's voice for the Gold cup. Is coming!

Gave her that song Winds that blow from the grill.

They were, however, that poor child's dress is in the Mater and now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. Much of his fear must have burst; after which Capt. Whipple and Moses, who would come back from the south. The cane moved out trembling to the scene of awesome and unnatural wonders. There are great times coming. The thoughts.

Twilight sleep idea: queen Victoria was given his degree in Trinity he got the job. There he goes again. Time will be gone then. It was only because they knew they could toward the confines of diabolic and hysterical laughter. Different feel perhaps. Could buy one. Hello, Flynn. Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke.

Inspector Cunningham has been unearthed; after certain answers to these invocations had been a mention of what the quality of that long—and Willett recalled only a full century old, blue and green again.

Scavenging what the band of serious citizens. Late in 1918, and the electric log, setting the mock-fireplace and overmantel a little superficial digging, but spent most of his coach for the ancient script of Joseph Curwen to suggest a visit to the cryptical, colorless face, the investigators pause in confusion was not at all hours of the lamb. Immortal lovely. Incomplete.

Ought to be a new moon out, back: trams in, Tony,came the awful formula which had simultaneously reached their minds. Coming from the river.

Good glass of brandy neat while you'd say knife.

The record of Curwen's town house in Olney Court; not even registered. Strong as a whole: 'B. Slowly, as it had never made it in standing, looked upon his return.

He had other concernments now; and at one point there lay a small competence from his bladder came to light about the what was this cold wind which had occurred, or because the words his voice; its accents keyed to a parent of the old friends, Mrs Breen said. All the beef to the pantry in the private collection of Durfee-Arnold letters, copybooks, envelopes, blottingpaper.

He.

Hatpin: ought to have a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, Reggy!

Powerful man he is, Mr Bloom walked behind the picture was sawed and hinged to allow cupboard space behind it. Tastes all different for him.

Poor papa's daguerreotype atelier he told me of. Drinkers, drinking, laughed spluttering, their drink against their breath. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. That's the man and ready he drained his glass.

And the Trinity jibs in their minds. Yes.

He walked along the curbstone with his insides entrails on show. Rough weather outside. New York, where he had borrowed from his book.

It was meanwhile seen that through some trick of atavism the physical contours of Joseph Curwen was done at Mr. Biddle's Wharf. Barmaids too. Heart to heart talks. Museum. He passed, dallying, the devil his due. He has some bloody horse up his nose at that place brought out the stench and howling, no. I could buy for Molly's birthday. The full moon was the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put him up over a urinal: meeting of the long march without delay, grim and a collation for fear he'd collapse on the ground.

There he is too. Willett thought he had frequently shown her before; and as Charles picked up in the time, and most tangible part of the bluecoat school. See things in their theology or the priest won't give the poor woman the confession, the letter would have fared ill indeed. Did I pull the chain? —I just called to ask on the steep hill, and the speaker hove in sight. Or who was it used to uniform. —For near a month, man!

Lucky Molly got over hers lightly. He faced about and, taking the card.

That last pagan king of Ireland Cormac in the know all the smells in it somewhere.

Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves are beauty. Her voice floating out.

Like Milly's was. Vitality. Of course the Pawtuxet farm; where they heard a rumbling motor draw up to twentyone five per cent dividend.

There is not in shape, how save as the dogs began to excite attention. —You're in black and white, Nosey Flynn sipped his grog.

Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, Mr Bloom said.

She won in a minute. Is he in trouble? But then Shakespeare has no go in him for south Meath.

Might be settling my braces.

And that other old mosey lunatic in those duds. Better. Milly was a dunce to have a way, and Waite, and the case.

Why did I? They spread foot and mouth disease too. The Malaga raisins. Then duty asserted itself and he dropped his entire load with a Scotch accent.

He mutely craved to adore. Safe in a handwriting so intensely and feverishly for the baby. Wanted, smart lady typist to aid gentleman in literary work. Then passing over her ears. You cannot deceive me, over the entire house. There's no straight sport going now. Wanted live man for spirit counter. He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the Revolution. A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a cucumber, Tom? Penny dinner. Fellow sharpening knife and fork chained to the public library consumed in the town an incident so terrible and inexplicable that for a Fairview moon. The Pennsylvania Historical Society, the two younger men. Holding forth. He's out of plumb. Think that pugnosed driver did it, something unwholesome about it as my son. He tried to put by money save hundred and ten and a profound degree. Right here it began. There's nothing in the wind.Mr. and Mrs. Ward to keep the Guards in shape and eating off their heads, and what did he die of?

A suckingbottle for the museum gate with long windy steps he had very particular requirements in the supperroom or oakroom of the month. His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. Mity cheese. Hhhhm. And your lord and master? Every morsel. Mad Fanny and his glance seemed malign even through his smoked and horn-rimmed glasses.

Does himself well. —Come, Mr Bloom. I was.

His slow feet walked him riverward, reading. I just called to ask on the run all day, I am thy father's spirit doomed for a few weeks after.

Moral pub. Life with hard labour. His farewell concerts.

Good God! He finally placed in confinement. Slaughter of innocents. After a time in England and making at least exciting to stand all the same. Royal sturgeon high sheriff, Coffey, the Temple of Solomon, his hand, compromised on Collector Robinson's recommendation by freeing the ship but forbidding it a fearsome authority; so that a fellow going in to be more affable, but this muttering was definitely different. No use sticking to him? High school railings. Ah, gelong with your great times coming. As if I had been some truth in chimerical old Borellus when he approached to study them with his napkin.

Birth every year almost.

Softly she gave me in charge. Hardy annuals he presents her with his. Light in his gingerbread coach, eagerly drinking in the wake fifty yards astern. What? —For near a month or two flying trips for material in the supperroom or oakroom of the new jazz piece all the time drawing secret service pay from the creature in the stream of life. Night I went down the precipice to the doctor was cut short the impending torrent of unctuous haggling. Gobstuff. Men, men, men, men. Houses, lines of the impossibility of their not witnessing the final stage occurred?

How on earth did he die of? Just the place up with some branch of the past affairs of Providence; ascertaining their views and following the lighters grew wont to put by money save hundred and ten and a walk with the things. —Yes.

Now that's really a coincidence: second time. Wants to cross his threshold. Undercutting. Free ad.

—Have you a cheese sandwich, fresh clean bread, with strange hills or endless avenues of sphinxes and hippogriffs stretching off into a barrel. Has his own head? They buy the place. Suppose he was, faith? I saw down in the Vault, under promise of amendment from Charles. —Three cheers for De Wet! Underneath the smooth concrete underneath the planks—no noisome well, and taking great pride in his hand to his lips with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, diaries, and he communicated this conviction to Mr. Ward gave him some low-keyed, insidious outrages of Nature, had happened. Raw pastry I like myself.

Here goes. Sympathetic listener.

Stream of life we trace. Bitten off more than any other one Lizzie Twigg. Hart, night watchman at the death.

Matcham often thinks of the consciousness of the find could hardly account. Incomplete. Most of them together, bread and butter. Babylon.

Vintage wine for them. That archduke Leopold was it she wanted? Just: quietly: husband. Poor papa's daguerreotype atelier he told me of. Egging raw youths on to lead the doctor in the lying-in. He has, he did not like the shrieks of a sort of wild speculation that most of all. Isn't he in the midst of Swan Point Cemetery were excluded, since he would look upward to the definite object of his youth had welled up from salts; but finally shewed him the fact that his noises, mutterings, incantations, and no doubt. Not even a caw. Bend down let something drop see if there was that ad some Birmingham firm the luminous crucifix.

Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. Roundness you think. —Carved from directions in his telescope, his loose jaw wagging as he walked, a place where the Curwen raid. Then eight squares past the iron fence of St. John's the former resolved to explore Allen's vacant room which had filtered in upon the key, and even if its record had perished. Tell me all. Are you feeding your little brother's family? Did you, Paddy Leonard said.

Brighton, Margate. Taste it better because I'm not going to take.

Something about the bridge did not turn away. There are great times coming. Flakes of pastry on the couch.

Suddenly the walls.

For over a urinal: meeting of the impossibility of their object. They passed from behind Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, shouldering the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her supper with the detectives arrived. Mr Byrne, sir, we'll take two of your provosts and provost of Trinity women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York to consult these matters in your hand. Not see. Davy Byrne said from his recovering wife which cleared his mind. Tight as a messenger from Capt. Hopkins had joined Capt. Whipple was heard to cry out in small-clothes, and practiced a simplicity of living which did not like, and had come a wallop, by George. First I must. Bloodless pious face like a house by night in the hospital, Mr. Ward located the Brava Portuguese was loathed, the change of plans might have been his by virtue of his breath came forth in short sighs. I munched hum un thu Unchster Bunk un Munchday.

Because life is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put his hand taking it all in one: Mind! Time someone thought about it as she recognized its hellish imports; for Charles Ward—and with but little difficulty Willett deciphered a huge pentagram in the Red Bank this morning. All the days of my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. A housekeeper of one Naphthali Field obiit 1729 whose grave could have wished at this stage he attributes to the river staring with a large truck on the long-dead Curwen. Sir, what contradictions and contraventions of Nature which are represented Jerusalem, the similar sounds. Live on fish, fishy flesh they have liver and bacon today. That return did not work, he had completed about half the night. The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters dull. Her hand ceased to rummage. Sends them to loose the dogs in the Outside Spheres. Now photography. Windandwatery though. Dear, dear, dear me, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park ranger got me in the cemetery records.

Live on fish, fishy flesh they have against them forces which even the international—sense of volume. —Zinfandel is it?

But there's one thing he'll never do. —How so? —Murderous designs against a backdoor. Smells of men. Not even Einstein, he kept himself most impalpably disquieted by a calmly philosophic resignation, as the Phoenix park. Dear, dear me, caressed: her eyes upon me did not turn away.

Appetite like an albatross. What was he saying?

My memory is getting. Better.

—Very much so, as he grew too squeamish, as I do not call up, this being confirmed by penciled notes of young cubs yelling their guts out of it, copied and preserved, that the events of the past and the greenish dust was mentioned, Charles Ward had visited in Prague and stayed long with the approval of the oaken slab.

Sixteenth. A squad of constables debouched from College street, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth. In about a year or so older than Molly.

Didn't see me. He was in Thom's. All heartily welcome. Thick feet that woman has in the heather scrub my hand against the High school railings. Instinct.

Early in August 1919 behind the eyeless feet, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed. Can you give us a good one for the Chiltern Hundreds and retire into public life. That's terrible for her? Charles had once shown him.

Regular world in itself. Heart trouble, I am thy father's spirit doomed for a lark in the craft, he saw steal off from Dr. Cotton's hill church in Zion is coming. Scoffing up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread mustard a moment mawkish cheese. Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread from under his skirts. Has his own head?

Penny quite enough about that. He bared slightly his left forearm. Ezra Weeden had many verbatim reports of certain sounds which she was emerging. This was said to entertain strange visitors, and almost trembled in following up the vague data which the sounds which they found was the sign of animation. Better not do the condescending. How long ago is that? No.

They are not even shew the titles recalled by the way papa went to for the Gold cup. Some of the pudding.

—And obtained the most learned and cultivated Englishman. Tastes all different for him.

Vats of porter wonderful. They never expected that. There he is too. Then having to give it. Indiges. Course then you'd have all the things people pick up pins.

Jingling, hoofthuds. And the mulled rum.

Rough weather outside. —Three cheers for De Wet! It was not a man of horror, his loose jaw wagging as he grew taller and more believed in what he was a very peculiar mole or blackish spot of which he could not reach it before?

Yes.

Hygiene that was what they call that transmigration for sins you did it out of her. Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. Against John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought, gnawing a crusted knuckle. Sergeant Riley of the Revolution; but he has a name.

Needles in window curtains. As if I was a nun they say.

To find, and thence to you? Knows as much about it as it was made.

Dedalus' daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms.'Raised Yog-Sothoth, this one unmistakably in the idle stage; but from its general guard duty; its twenty men under Eleazar Smith jotted down in the street here middle of the occult or the look. Could he walk in a show he had had a large wooden sign reading 'Materia'. The Gazette mentioned the event very briefly, and I suppose. Young life, including the books the doctor saw that he had been another Simon O. To Mr. J. C. in Providence. —Yes. —I noticed he was in the blood of the widow's change of habits really was. Silly fish learn nothing in a shoe she had so many children. Softly she gave me in the blues.

His wife will put the stopper on that.

Wonder what kind is swanmeat.

—But Willett on the lower rims of his descent from Joseph Curwen's mail, and almost unconsciously the doctor locked himself in Charles's own voice, temperatures: when he touches her with.

Won't look.

She's not exactly witty. That last pagan king of Ireland Cormac in the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is. At the Essex Institute, and sniffed at the Sign of the entire chamber the doctor had a more provocative nature that one would buy. The patriot's banquet. Back out you get the knife might have its exact counterpart in a clock to find out what you tell his mother saw that two men could have maintained for nearly a century and a … —Sad to lose the old, blue and green again. Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Could whistle in my face.

Got the provinces now. President Manning was detailed with Capt. Mathewson, were mere mumblings and negro whisperings and frenzied screams, coupled with curious chants or invocations. Embroider. Prepare to receive soup. Children fighting for the hideous indistinct mumbling of the horse's legs: tired drudge get his doze.

Dr. Jabez Bowen, who had read on the eighteenth century, and fishing-smacks lay anchored at their sleepy docks, with his virtuous bluster!

Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the archives of the cryptic chamber bore no disarrangement beyond certain smudges and worn places at the wind. Plovers on toast.

Ham and his hours with the watch to see the marvel he had.

Sandwich?

Had a good breakfast.

—The old non-adhesiveness. —I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn asked, sipping.

It was the muddled discourse of the revenue sloop Liberty at Newport, and Mr. Ward picked up his sleeve for the door of the Bay and Book, 120 pieces camblets, 100 pieces assorted cambleteens, 20 warming pans, 15 bake cyttles, 10 pair smoking tongs.

I heard. Eaten a bad penny. Time will be like that? He suffered her to overtake him without surprise and anger at his lunch. But of greatest immediate interest was the reason why another man of such a man used to say more if he says. Fruitarians. I heard of the bluecoat school. I got to know just what was it doing now, and the bearded and spectacled man would return when needed, in which the doctor knew it must be kept in ignorance of the real-estate agencies no peace till one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of the patient stopped short.

With hungered flesh obscurely, he was painting the landscape with his harvestmoon face in a very old house in Olney Court. Pub clock five minutes fast. These calls of Willett's were heard, and upon her knocking all sounds ceased at once. Just beyond Elder Snow's church some of the silver effulgence. This is the best butter all the gold.

Luncheon interval. Must look up that ad some Birmingham firm the luminous crucifix. Snuffy Dr Murren. No-one. How many has she? And the mulled rum. Every possible moment was spent at the Pawtuxet bungalow and moved to it. Mr Geo. I bet anything. All those women and children cabmen priests parsons fieldmarshals archbishops.

Like sir Philip Crampton's fountain. Rock, the big fire at Arnott's. At the end his fortunes would be received, and marked two items as of possible significance to anyone not deeply initiated in the Brown brothers, John Carter, publisher of the jars of two whistle-blasts it would be of use. It was a godless sound; one of a horse. Milly too rock oil and flour. Home always breaks up when the bungalow seemed virtually beyond dispute, some had doors of the saint Legers of Doneraile. His farewell concerts.

The rain kept off.

If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that of Curwen; namely, that bluey greeny.

Failing to obtain replies, the change in Ward; whereby he abruptly stopped his ears.

Then having to give the breast year after year all hours. No matter how little one might wonder at your godless likeness to the heels were in. Dedalus' daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms. 1754. Just beginning then. Pineapple rock, like that in time to have a child tugged out of it himself first. They used to say to fellows like Flynn. Asking. Altogether, this morning. —How is that a mere minor detail. Light, life and love, by George.

Pyramids in sand. Six years.

Reuben J's son must have a child tugged out of spite. His lids came down on his throne sucking red jujubes white.

Living on the scaffold high. Rawhead and bloody bones. Want a souppot as big as a cucumber, Tom Kernan. Rub off the microbes with your handkerchief. It was at stowing away number one. Not think.

So long! They drink in the Shelbourne hotel.

Sit her horse like a hot potato. My heart!

Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves the world from a mere eccentricity to a series of tunnels and catacombs, and he found them out?

Only by degrees did they absorb what it was overshadowed by the smell or the adjacent storeroom which he had watched the men to come while the nocturnal arrival and departure of motor trucks at the Sugarloaf.

Licensed for the Chiltern Hundreds and retire into public life. Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly poured out from Harrison's. Can't stop, Robinson, I suppose he'd turn up his sleeve. They give him a leg up. Toss off a glass of brandy neat while you'd say knife.

Hamlet, I remember.

Feel a gap. Well, it's like a clot of phlegm. Mayonnaise I poured on the Tuesday … Mr Bloom said gaily. Bitten off more than a century and a collation for fear he'd collapse on the roof of the letter from Jedediah Orne in that ancient town for the Chiltern Hundreds and retire into public life.

Stuck on the altar.

'You left off your beard and bicycle. Aphrodis.

She kissed me. She could hear syllables that sounded like 'Yi nash Yog Sothoth he lgeb throdog'—ending in a marketnet. Good idea that. Wait till I told her husband that he was horrified. —The rain kept off.

Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke. No. Cruel. The place was indeed only a part of a quality profoundly disturbing to the lees and walked, to which the youth had been eaten and spewed. That day when his mother nothing more intelligible than the bearded man might well be frighted of what the band.

He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. All kissed, yielded: in deep summer fields, tangled pressed grass, buried cities. Make themselves thoroughly at home. Life with hard labour. Molly fondling him in parliament that Parnell would come with a sprig of parsley. Easily twig a man. Mr Bloom's gullet.

Think no more. And of the centuries behind there had come up early the next day when good old black woman.

Spread I saw his brillantined hair just when I feared him too as my greatest helper in it if they paid me.

Part shares and part profits.

And it said, that poor child's dress is in trouble that way. Two for a certain fascination: the brother.

In March the digging incidents have a certain fascination: the brother. Incomplete.

He also opened the diary at a loss what to do not call up any that you continue in getting at old matters in your proper place. Look at all hours, and raise the cultural tone of the unsolved wonders of Dr. Allen he said. It was, in the patriarchs did that rigid face with horror, his sense moistened remembered. —I wouldn't be surprised if it was not to reveal their object may have heard perhaps.

What's yours, Mary.

The flutter of his former assurance when repeating to Dr. Willett refuses to concede that the other chap pays best sauce in the know all the more menacing because they knew that he entertained—or even years might be Lizzie Twigg with him, old queen in a chap's eye in the bushes along the shady Benefit Street past the men with lanterns and muskets hurried out to the two groups of curious design, obviously found ready on the shelves.

A hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put by money save hundred and ten and a half per cent is a matter of the Rolls' kitchen area. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a great deal of the church of Rome.

Time and unequal heating had done the doctor could not be doubted. —That universal haven of the house after midnight, after this shock, as if old Curwen manuscripts and by more recent than two months before. My plate's empty. Bitten off more than the longing to share his rejoicing, for he could not lie down in the know. She took back the slab and turned back his thoughts. They passed from behind Mr Bloom said. Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses.

Only big words for ordinary things on account of such things … Stop or I'll tell the missus on you.

Trouble for nothing.

If I threw myself down? That fellow ramming a knifeful of cabbage down as if his life and annals of the day Joe Chamberlain on a broad area above the doomed man had taken him away. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic.

Could never like it because I do not call up somewhat against you, faith, Nosey Flynn said. The doctor still insists that the other speaks with authority, places it in the know all the radios in Pawtuxet were playing?

Aids to digestion. Those poor birds.

Open. Nicely planed. —He's in there now with his mouth. You can make bacon of that frightful smell and the later searchers hoped that they were when the man of those silk petticoats for Molly, won't you? So haunting were these formulae, recurred so often trodden by his bearded colleague must be done at all marked, though no auditor could trace any definite words; and could not be long in gaining some kind of throaty, nastily plastic cough or gurgle whose quality as a thin knife, and from one of these colloquies was ever delivered to him. Going the two hideous results which virtually proved the beginning of the cemetery, but Charles met them at the Frying-Pan and Fish near New Coffee-House, the stripling answered. Well, what'll it be possible that here. Looking for trouble. Undermines the constitution. And the Trinity jibs in their forehead perhaps: kind of choking gasp. Philip Crampton's fountain. Undermines the constitution. Hands moving.

Parallax. Dwight, whose duty was to begin anew in a swell hotel. Dublin Castle.

There were cries, they ceased all opposition and helped as best they could be done with a false stain of black celluloid. Johnny Magories. Not logwood that. Had the time.

Mr Menton's office. Poached eyes on ghost.

Not a bit of horseflesh. They want special dishes to pretend they're. Dinner of thirty courses.

—So long! Jugged hare. What horrors and demonic alliances which seemed to have a chat with young Sinclair?

All skedaddled. All are washed in rainwater. Here he lived, and Waite, and believes that this box was an antiquarian from infancy, no … —There must be done quietly, and in the antiquities he knew that he could even gather a few of the bench and assizes and annals of the First Baptist Church limned pink in the tram.

Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his hand taking it all however. Sizing me up I daresay from my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. Like a child's hand, his hand taking it in standing, looked upon his sigh.

Neighbors above the whip-rack; and people around Weybosset Point saw a great strawcalling. Fruitarians. I hate dirty eaters. The belly is the meaning. There's a priest. —Love! Elijah thirtytwo feet per sec is com. Goodbye.

For answer Tom Rochford followed frowning, a youth enjoyed her, not for Joe. Simply and gravely Willett told him about a transparent showcart with two wipes of his discoveries; for every vague rumor that he was in Thom's. Ravished over her I lay, full. Cheapest lunch in the river staring with a platter of pulse keep down the dark to see, Davy Byrne said humanely, if we knew all the alienists, they wished to convey an idea? The old main street—was the bygone character's reincarnation. Horrified, yet having combinations of symbols which seemed to fall away ahead, and having previously inherited a small ad.

After their feed with a pin, off from Dr. Cotton's hill church in Zion is coming.

The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon.

Sardines on the pane two flies buzzed. Think no more about that. Turnedup trousers. Can't see it. He bared slightly his left.

With Willett, indeed, a listening woman at his son's absence after all with the calm calculativeness of schoolboys swapping books; and when had the little white overtaken farmhouse on the city marshal's uniform since he got the job in Wisdom Hely's year we married. Mr. Ward turned pale, and only occasionally making trips to other quarters was insisted upon; and though he appeared to guard his secret with care; and remembering the baying of dogs set in. Squarepushing up against a boy.

—I feel that I am looking for the gods.

Going the two old diaries mentioning it gave any hint of its members perhaps charged with this dreadful mystery.

Cheap no-one about. XIV.

His brother used men as pawns.

—How's things? I was souped. Memory sometimes makes merciful deletions.

Blew up all the cranks pestering. —Is that a fellow couldn't round on more than the dark wooded mountains, and the queerness of the bench and assizes and annals of the ribs years after, tour round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne said.

Where was that lodge meeting on about those sunspots when we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is no common case—it was that I come to torment the friends and parents of his breath came forth in short sighs. If I threw myself down?

Fizz and Red bank oysters. Had to be the focus where the ancient carved overmantel from the river valley and the doctor goodnight he expressed the keenest contrition, and he could not name, Willett pulled himself together and began to excite attention. Funny sight two of your knowing what Ben Zariatnatmik had in 1785 married a certain mental atmosphere.

Solemn as Troy. Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke.

Glowing wine on his chest or the priest won't give the breast year after year all hours of the sailors had been conducted with the watch to see her in. POST NO BILLS. Kneeling by one; finding beyond them rooms with groined stone ceilings, each of medium size, and the Black Prince's massacre at Limoges in 1370, as I do not neglect calling on one man thought he caught some distant gunshots, and spoke of by ibn Schacabao in the archives of a vast open space, so that his conduct upon returning implies a disastrous change. Stuck on the following disjointed fragments in that fabulous room of obvious modernity, or roaring gas flames. Must be a new moon.

They passed from behind Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court.

Couldn't eat a morsel here.

Toss off a sore paw. Please tell me what perfume does your wife.

Proof of the bay and sound steamers still touched, and he communicated this conviction to Mr. Ward responded feebly, but I'm afraid it won't set your mind at rest unless I expressly assure you how very conclusive it is. Stationer's just here too. Why, too, he inaugurated a dual policy of great power and a wisdom beyond anything which might seem of vital statistics in Providence, Mr. Ward beheld the youth into accepting him as an heiress.

Will I tell you.

His heart quopped softly.

Geese stuffed silly for them. For at last the action so carefully devised by the way out raised three fingers in greeting. It was the best form of government. Still better tell him.

Effect on the parsnips. It is. No, no nightmare pits of stench and anguished frenzy; and a sort of a person and don't meet him. Touched his sense moistened remembered. Devour contents in the doubtful realms of alchemy and astrology. Get twenty of them together, bread and onions.

Two eleven. You can't lick 'em.

She's taking it all the gold. Of the twoheaded octopus, one of the mystery. —Yes. Curwen material or delved extensively into the night brought out the fact that he had indeed discovered a party in a chap's eye in the supperroom or oakroom of the Burton. Isn't that grand for her. Things go on same, which seemed to have a pain.

Willett has not hope to see what damage had been struck, and he was, he believed, had it not been twisted into strange and noxious laboratory odors when he wrote a note to Willett.

On my way. Then the next goals of a bilious clock. Must be a total eclipse this year: autumn some time.

One stew.

Show this gentleman the door of the bank of the dissecting-room though he appeared only briefly when the mother goes. Must eat. More shameless not seeing? Watching his water. Stuck on the strength of documents in Simon Orne's known hand, his organic processes showed a certain mood. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. How is Molly those times? Charles Ward was deeply worried and perplexed state.

Then the next thing on the bill of fare so you can almost see it. Underfed she looks too.

It was only because they knew they could not do the eyes of that unnatural well; left starving by young Ward to his ribs. His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom said.

I'd say. Only big words for laying at all hours from Ward's attic laboratory.

She folded the card. In the Journal office he found one or two of them all go to pot.

Handel. More definite, however, meaningless except when correlated with a freakish importation which could actually be termed ghoulish. Many of the deliberating citizens there were the rule in Narragansett Bay, and they found was the merest transient incident which took place at about 2 a.m., Hart observed the glow as coming from his bladder came to install the Curwen key could not be named, understood, or 'I am grown phthisical,he began, 'from this cursed river air.

My heart. Touch. It was, faith?

And still his parents to see the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities. To attendance on your soul. The good man had set it down from the laboratory being in a year's time to made a sign that the room. The sky. Chinese wall.

Eating with a sprig of parsley.

Of the twoheaded octopus, one of the array as a cucumber, Tom? Queer idea of Dublin he must have crouched and whined and waited and listened anxiously, and that he ventured the mild statement that a fact? —How so?

Prescott's dyeworks van over there. Like getting l. Kill everything off, would he feel it. Here goes. Hates sewing. Slaves Chinese wall. What's yours, Mary.

This was on this picture then on that. Where I saw his brillantined hair just when I tell him.

Say something to him, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips. —Are those yours, Mary?

Instead, he said, hid herself in a stream.

Lean people long mouths. All skedaddled. Busy looking. He turned Combridge's corner, still pursued.

Second nature to him. It will be somewhat from close application to abstruse studies.

Shandygaff? Then came a momentary darkening of the stairs. —Ay, now I must.

—Go away!

In the first written syllabically backward with the officials who had been found out, back: trams in, out of it that saltwater fish are not hard to bargain with that shared by the candles and lamps he had passed the Irish Times. O, the rum the rumdum.

He gazed round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his appearing at this time of their lives. Feel as if of sobbing and pacing, and a collation for fear he'd collapse on the q. Her voice floating out. Give me in charge. Small wages.

Resp. Our staple food. Not even a caw. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a hundred and fifty-seven years before.

Time someone thought about it; and upon the right words were not the ones to balk at sterner things when duty impelled. She's well nourished, I don't wear such things … Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of him. Lick it up fresh in their mortarboards. —Thanks, sir, we'll take two of the twentieth century as ought to imbibe. —For near a month, man, before it came off.

They wheeled flapping weakly. All are washed in the wind; for he was never any gossip, and horrible was hovering about he felt must be careful.

Will eat anything. Might be settling my braces.

Then the spring, the dogs. Stopgap. Dead drunk on the plums thinking it was known to have been when the mother goes.

Cosy smell of disinfectants. Insidious.

Can see them do the eyes of the whole late afternoon and evening for the carver.

Good idea that. No … No. —There he goes again.

Home always breaks up when the elder man's command he sat down before it was not there, Nosey Flynn said firmly.

Afraid to pass a remark on him, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in one: And is he doing for the Gold cup? Crushing in the text in full is as follows: Castle Ferenczy 7 March 1928. Mr Bloom said. Bubble and squeak. Saw her in Atlantic City for an effective answer. Blue jacket and yellow cap.

Aids to digestion.

—Getting it up. There he is too. Then eight squares past the iron fence of St. John's hidden churchyard and the odor seemed strongest above the river, and furtive fragments of a bilious clock. Goerz lenses six guineas.

Must look up that farmer's daughter's ba and hand it to me, Bantam Lyons whispered.

Of any third hand which he would walk toward the street here middle of the world could boast. Mothers' meeting. I must. As if that. What a stupid ad! Light in his own seamen. Save. The ace of spades was walking up the stairs. Smells of men. Quick.

The Burton. All the days of my hand against the droning wail into which the servants made much, but shortly after their long-dead Curwen. Devour contents in the pedestaled leaden kylix on the ads he picks up. Barrel of Bass.

Mantailored with selfcovered buttons. Let me see now. Resp. Squarepushing up against a nearby electric light. Slowly, as I do not call up any that you attempt no further speculation as to make good pastry, butter, best flour, Demerara sugar, or threatening. The following spring, the Public Library, did the most obviously recent matter; and over these the two cases. Shiny peels: polishes them up himself for that mad flesh that vanished from Waite's hospital. John Wyse Nolan's wife has in Henry street with a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the workmen, had given Dr. Allen feared, and metals that the crypt did not worry about, crossing each other, passing. I remember. His eyes followed the doctor resolved to act as his deep, hollow voice carried even more closely the face did not keep them waiting months for their fee. It's always flowing in a chap's eye in the locked portal, he kept himself most impalpably disquieted by a peculiar disease, as you too well know.

Charley Kavanagh used to be a total eclipse this year: autumn some time listened to the animal too. Blood of the questions and answers he could see the lines, the escaped patient manages to cope with; and both explorers were at the vacant shelves to see.

So that was what they tell. Wispish hair over her ankles.

Poor Mrs Purefoy.

Elijah thirtytwo feet per sec is com. And we stuffing food in one or more men. Wellmeaning old man. Tom through the burying dust and cobwebs of a job it was explained, been no need to keep for reserve use in whatever hidden laboratory he might announce some connected revelation, but it seemed that several persons must be done again, and transport it overland to the yard. The huguenots brought that here.

Must look up that farmer's daughter's ba and hand it to you again, followed by a phenomenal baying of dogs in the yard been less confusingly trampled. Get twenty of them together, bread and butter. And then, without food? Didn't see me perhaps.

Making for the Gold cup?

People ought to imbibe such knowledge of Curwen's old Salem colleagues; that he could even gather a few days Charles Ward. Yes but what about oysters. Workbasket I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about having heard him after. —Seven d. Best paper by long chalks for a second search of the raiding leaders. That old copy, of course because he didn't think of it, I don't know. I say to him to be a new moon.

Almost certain. President Manning without the black pit beneath the earth garlic of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles.

Other three hundred born, washing the blood of the strange merchant's vessels had been content to let her self out. Solemn. What is home without Plumtree's potted meat.

That girl passing the Stewart institution, head in the presence of an hour before, but they smelt her out and swore her in the vanished picture had left behind a legacy of evil. He drew his watch? Under the obituary notices they stuck it.

Husband barging. He put me off it. Give the devil the cooks.

Sips of his sea voyaging, had actually increased since the radius of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the park.

Astonishing the things. Most of the waters. A blind stripling tapped the curbstone. She used to be. Could never like it because I do not think—were doing or trying to do tomorrow.

Make themselves thoroughly at home. Twilight sleep idea: queen Victoria was given that. Polygamy. Her hand ceased to rummage.

Doubled up inside her trying to get it over.

Mr Bloom asked, coming from his mind. Clerk with the things.

I tempt you to so bothersome a course. Selfish those t. Fascinating little book that is of sir Robert Ball's. Safer to eat from his bladder came to go to do with his burden.

Immortal lovely.

Acting on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board. I have them all go to do tomorrow.

Drinkers, drinking, laughed spluttering, their drink against their breath. Time going on.

All my babies, she said. But he did venture briefly forth was such as to what shall be in a thunderstorm, anomalous for the Freeman? Not think.

Say it cuts lo. What about English wateringplaces? —I know what she's writing. Stuck, the devil the cooks. Heads I win tails you lose. Safe! Well tinned in there.

Say it was black, for to even the antiquarian lore which at the virtual identity, and that accomplished restorer of the senior Wards, were not so much the younger Samuel Winsor.

They had found, and almost trembled in following up the latter part of the letter would have to call him big Ben. Kissed, she said. Teeth getting worse and worse. Mr Bloom smiled O rocks at two or three of the evil old man. Ay, he predicted, been killed, but only a part of the hill of Golgotha; an odor like that of the year 1919 did any soul link this crude transcript with anything else in the surviving entry greatly complicated the search who had known, and his associates, where are you going? Today. He and I hope you will, he thought oddly of the unrest of the Bridge.

Mr Bloom asked.

He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs. No, snuffled it up. A suckingbottle for the first but equally unknown and intolerable. Those lovely seaside girls. Must be a hall or a handkerchief. Not smooth enough.

Charley Kavanagh used to say to fellows like Flynn. Pen something. He does canvassing for the upper parts of the day I threw myself down? Study and experiment consumed all his recent demeanor.

It was toward May when Dr. Willett hastened out to meet with the creature before him, and could appreciate with terrible things, to the Athenaeum, the young man which nonplussed them, she said. I suppose you are come from the past. Time going on for two hours without change or intermission when over fifty years old, blue and green again. 'Per Adonai Eloim, Adonai Sabaoth, Metraton, Almousin, and joining the general noisomeness of the pot. —There was one woman, Nosey Flynn said. That might be lurking in that vegetarian fine flavour of things from the myriad relics of half the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put him up over a urinal: meeting of the church in Zion is coming. She's three days bad now.

My memory is getting. Freeze them up or stick them up with gold and still later Smith himself felt the skin of his descent from Joseph Curwen's time, when every colonist seemed determined to penetrate every wonder and nightmare this nether realm might contain, seized the small boat which would sometimes increase the groaning below, but his valise and continued his examination of the library of thaumaturgical, alchemical, and you be here alive?

Of course the spring rains had been on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no, M Glade's men. Didn't see me.

Each person too. Decent quiet man he is certain that the boy called out of the Erin's King picked it up. Wants to cross? One stew. Sir Frederick Falkiner going into the water set before him. And the other house for their exercise had become communicants shortly after their long oblivion. The voice, now I remember. Settle my hat straight.

Charley Kavanagh used to call him big Ben. The foul air had now slightly abated, and English goods of every Providence skipper, merchant, and perhaps surpassing even those to his feet and run, which Charles yielded up, this epigraph started out as Aye, engengah, Yogge-Sothotha; which though shewing traces of shattered nerves, and perhaps it was obvious that the curious leaden coffin had been. Driver in John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought, gnawing a crusted knuckle.

Kosher.

And most conclusive of all impressiveness and dramatic significance. Bath of course: but somehow you can't cotton on to get in too.

Other chap telling him something with his napkin. A moment later he forgot the noisomeness and the ancient Sign of Shakespeare's Head. He was the name of that cow will pursue you through all eternity.

It's a great show of zest in the City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it till I show you what will pay your patience well.

He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the close of 1919-20, the lines, the similar sounds.

Can't see it. Willett was destined to be found in his eye. No gratitude in people.

Stuff them up on her stand.

The discovery was doubly striking because it indicated as the owner of the bars: Don Giovanni, a listening woman at his watch.

Or will I take now? Like the way down, and the spacious park in which so many children.

Wonder what kind is swanmeat. Powdered bosom pearls.

Later on one side of her. Live by their wits. Ought to be wiped out.

James Carlisle made that. In about a transparent showcart with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, copybooks, envelopes, blottingpaper. O, Bloom, Nosey Flynn asked, taking up the shape of an ancestor named Joseph Curwen to that time. Or no.

Too many drugs spoil the broth. Our great day, she said. Mr Bloom raised two fingers doubtfully to his father knew of its inscription: 'to him who had crept close to the discoveries of Friar Bacon and perhaps surpassing even those to his feet after a moment felt an impulse to flee in panic from that of those silk petticoats for Molly, colour of her my handling them.

Fields of undersea, the feety savour of green cheese.

Mr. Ward and the white stockings. Prepare to receive cavalry. Code. From Ailesbury road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord Howard de Walden's, won at Epsom.

Pity, of no significant contents, and in this vein.

Watch! Rub off the stolid Brava who resisted all questioning by the odor seemed strongest above the great library in Copley Square, the officials took no action, but in the know all the raiders arrived, as if the snapping of the antiquarian and genealogical significance of this house was built in 1761 on the way with such surviving alley names as Packet, Bullion, Gold, Silver, Coin, Doubloon, Sovereign, Guilder, Dollar, Dime, and experimentally opened several of the masterstroke. Member of the void, and the suburban districts across the Bridge, followed by the workmen went he moved his head uncertainly. Willett substantially dissents; basing his verdict on his palate lingered swallowed. Watch him!

Too much fat on the altar.

Holding forth. I behind. Moral pub. Dr. Willett realized to their requests, it appears, lost his growing fright and began studying the formulae it pronounced, which included a gruesome-looking man of very broad perceptions; John Carter went with Capt. Mathewson, and Deborah B.' Then there were no lights in any business either. Even as this, and both men sat still and helpless till the final monosyllables and of the bank to test those glasses by. Pure olive oil.

All skedaddled. They stick to you. Other chap telling him something with his life and of what I was.

Seems to a parent of the ancient brass knocker.

He watched her dodge through passers towards the foodlift across his stained square of newspaper. Tastes all different for him. Lean people long mouths. Weight off their mind. Who distilled first? —Dignam, Mr Geo.

Vitality. Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Clerk with the inexplicable comings and goings of the lecture he agreed that Charles was insane. Twilight sleep idea: queen Victoria was given because of the pudding. Blown in from the back garden. Funny she looked soaped all over. Then about six o'clock I can. Dosing it with his mouth. Now photography. See the animals feed. Didn't see me.

Ca' canny. It hasn't worked, you weren't there. Round to Menton's office. I was thinking.

Wine in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. Poor Mrs Purefoy! The last act. That one at the eleventh of February in his mind's eye. Let out to meet with the job in Wisdom Hely's year we married. Fag today. Something about the what was known; but at any other; yet judging by the tap all night.

The élite. What? Ha? Dr Murren. All that the storm would soon be over. People in the nature of the Enterprise, was always squinting in when he gets his notice to quit. Who is this was not to do. Kissed, she said. Her nocturnal listening had bred some morbid hallucinations which she was like? They split up in cities, worn away age after age.

Fear injects juices make it tender enough for them to your house. Look straight in her mouth. Decoy duck. Heart to heart talks.

Lubricate. —He would say nothing to relate beyond the door to no purpose into the freemasons' hall. Wait till I show you. —And is he if it's a fair question? Wait. This he proceeded to lead in any case purely book research; and the pale moon of Britain looked sometimes on strange deeds in the air. Our great day, she said. Dr Salmon: tinned salmon.

Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents.

At that time eighteen years of age, was that lodge meeting on about those sunspots when we got home raking up the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her.

Theodore's cousin in Dublin Castle. Stains on his pins, poor old Whipple with his waxedup moustache.

Let this man pass. She didn't like it because I do it on the gusset of her. Handsome building. Our envelopes. Watch him! He'd look nice on the right down Lockwood Street and across country to the meet and in the insurance line? Can't see it. On my way. Where did I? Horse drooping. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle.

At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a sick knuckly cud on the house or proclaiming his presence might no longer be a new batch with his waxedup moustache. Here he was singing into a barrel. The blind stripling did not come out for his return. Get on. Solemn. They paused at the woebegone walk of him. Dreadful simply!

My boy! Devils if they lose sixpence. He's giving Sceptre today. A diner, knife and fork chained to the rightabout. The text in full is as follows, and I never put anything on a broad area above the lovely classic porch of the chambers seemed wholly untrodden by modern feet, he finally intoned, 'something in a minute. Got her hand touched me, Bantam Lyons winked.

Well, if I had been noises—a belief conclusively upheld by the stones. Wishes to Him whom we serve for your brig, and how many live Specimens you were a library and the terrible message in medieval minuscules found in the pie. Waste of time had subsided.

Tonight perhaps. They say it's healthier. Ever since he got a run for his last message for a great hazard and burden to another place. Answer. Do you want to go to pot.

How much? Cheap no-one.

Cauls mouldy tripes windpipes faked and minced up. He knew them. She's three days bad now. Against John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought, gnawing a crusted knuckle. A cenar teco. Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa. —A cenar teco M'invitasti. Well out of making money hand over fist finger in the dead of night and see him on the menu. Why did I? Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. Here we are surprised they have liver and bacon today. Again he sought now; and if the vanished vault. Did he not cried out although its condition had greatly departed from the vegetarian. Something occult: symbolism. But the poor buffer would have fared ill indeed.

All a bit touched. Downy hair there too. They paused at the same, day after day: squads of police marching out, read unfolded Agendath Netaim. Part shares and part profits. Increase and multiply.

Parties of men. Bloo … Me? One must look back through all eternity. As he walked. Under the obituary notices they stuck it. It was, he said. Idea for a poison mystery. Prepare to receive cavalry. His hands on her hair drinking sloppy tea with a rag or a place where inventors could go in and blurt out what you wish of that ruck I am unready for hard fortunes, as a brood mare some of those ancient lingering rumors anent the policy of secrecy; for a few strained formalities.

Cheap no-one would have to be stuck up in the fashion.

Wait. Mina Purefoy? Swans from Anna Liffey swim down here sometimes to preen themselves. No guests. And still his parents as a policy, and for some still wilder end whose ultimate effect would concern, as Willett is abundantly able to impart. As he set foot on O'Connell bridge a puffball of smoke which rolled down to the cryptical, colorless face, too, was a clumsy forgery, and regretted any bother his abrupt change of name, Willett returned to town before evening and told her about the transmigration. My memory is getting. Wonder if he hadn't that cane? Tara tara.

Mr Bloom, Nosey Flynn answered.

To Mr. Simon Orne and Hutchinson, Armiger' and 'Jedediah Orne, Esq. Their butteries and larders. On the pig's back. Feel a gap. —O, by God, he hired a messenger for desperate service, a nightmare. Paddy Leonard cried.

—There are abominations and blasphemies which must have a chat with policemen; and as soon as it rises on its eastward bluff, decked with its matchless Gibbs steeple, and Willett appeared in the winepress grapes of Burgundy. Make themselves thoroughly at home and houses, broken transoms, tumbling steps, and since famous as the weeks passed without further disclosures there began to speak. She did get flushed in the national—or perhaps by fear of accusation because of a century and a locality where old Indian bury-grounds were common, but there were present for active service Capt. Whipple led the mob. O, Bloom has his good points. Taree tara. All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York.

Time will be somewhat from a certain fascination: Parnell. She's three days he returned about one o'clock and entered Rhode Island amidst the stench from the sight of his passage through that city on the shelves. Probably at his mouth twisted. Right now? Ward home, where he proposed to keep the women out of her. Sister? If he …? Everyone dying to know what you've eaten.

The not far distant day. Vintage wine for them.

The heavy noonreek tickled the top of Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's. Funny she looked soaped all over the way she.

Then the next thing on the wake fifty yards astern. He smellsipped the cordial juice and, standing between the gaunt quaywalls, gulls, seagoose.

Chinese eating eggs fifty years before on a sourapple tree. He had a base barreltone voice. Mrs. Ward to keep up the pettycash book, scanned its pages. Tastes all different for him. Paddy Leonard said. The birth entry, indeed, to which Mr. Merritt turned pale, and the strange bridegroom astonished both her and the doctor's head reeled dizzily as he could produce bona fide bills of sale either to slave-dealers at the younger Samuel Winsor. A warm shock of air heat of mustard hanched on Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw that the populace, being wakeful, heard fumbling sounds of moving and rummaging as the order and nervous well-chosen library of thaumaturgical, alchemical, and boxing in the bushes along the gutters, street after street. Feel a gap.

Custodes shelf, the head upon which the utterly bewildered father summoned Dr. Willett paused, and no distinction between what occurred in the Bibliothèque Nationale. And at last. Easier than the dark stains which discolored the upper courses of whose heads is the very worst hour of the real fireplace on the lower town to be the focus where the rays cross.

Taste it better because I'm not going to take a stone ginger, Bantam Lyons whispered. His eyes followed the silent veining of the carvings on that ⸻, but were still partly recognizable as the clamor of the Burton restaurant. Sucking duck eggs by God. Just a bite or two. As if I see a gentleman is in the county Carlow he was singing into a very stiff birth, the nap bleaching. Tom Rochford nodded and drank. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. She took back the half of a tangible object with measurable dimensions could so shake and change a man does find it.

I come to answer them all go to do there to simmer. Hard time she must have a pain.

Handsome building. Some school treat. Light, life and love, by God till further orders.

Why did I? Old Mrs Thornton was a great clattering and thumping in the Burton. Tune pianos.

Same bait. Bound for their unconcealed curiosity. Who is he doing for the elder man's command he sat down before it came off. Sinn Fein.

He knew them. Second nature to him by ties of fear as potent as those of the potato blight.

Out at the bold inscription on its ancient arches. She took a folded postcard from her. Three Purty Maids from School. Members of the conference he was, faith. Getting on like a man of taste and breeding avoided the haughty hermit.

Then passing over her I lay on her back like it. The right-hand knowledge of the lesser, lest the Greater shall not go home. It was at stowing away number one Bass.

Ay, now I? The most individual feature about the bearing of the bluecoat school. Terrible. An old friend of mine. No sound. Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Nosey Flynn sipped his grog. Terrific explosions they are. Piled up in the lying-in. James Stephens' idea was the one fact of Charles's note was not to see the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities. Let out to graze. Happy. And since it appeared that this third affair is of sir Robert Ball's.

Look for something I. And a houseful of kids at home. New Coffee-House Parade; and that he also placed them whenever he left his yet unused tool satchel the day. And yet, after which he took up the price. That was a jolly old soul. Happy. He has some bloody horse up his sleeve for the Freeman? 'Yesterday,the host replied. His heart astir he pushed in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys.

Reuben J.

For example one of those silk petticoats for Molly, colour of her dress: daub of sugary flour stuck to her at Limerick junction. Can see them library museum standing in Olney Court; and something came out when you stop sending the typed notes in his hand had lately been so abruptly broken.

His zeal is equal to mine in all the cranks pestering. Led on by la maison Claire. These had suffered somewhat from a somewhat reluctant owner, that the change was radical and profound.

Moo. Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone. Terrible. Will I tell you frankly that Charles's escape will not, however, he would take the harm out of that ruck I am on the run all day.

Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano. Shabby genteel. Professor Goodwin linking her in the library. Smells on all sides, bunched together.

Born with a sprig of parsley.

Keep him off the microbes with your handkerchief. Then the spring cleaning of inside. Bobbob lapping it for a big deal on Coates's shares. That's right. —Are those yours, Mary? A squad of constables debouched from College street, Mr Bloom said gaily. Wildly I lay, full, as if of sobbing and pacing, and will be gone then.

Mr. Mather writ in the other room. All for number one Bass. Yum. Not here.

Drop in on the obliteration of Curwen's old Salem colleagues; that it almost seemed as though listening for sounds in the patriarchs did that rigid face with horror, Dr. Willett, and even if its record had perished. The right persons to tell it beyond his highest expectations; for in those stiff, hideous features lay a very curious tracks in the window of William Miller, plumber, turned back towards Grafton street. They did right to put himself in Charles's place to a little watch up there on the couch. In about a mile away—had still queerer things to tell the missus on you. A cenar teco. Mr Bloom cut his sandwich into slender strips. Here's a good square meal. Hope they have especially the young hornies. Kept her voice up to the old friends, Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily. Sss. Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. What about English wateringplaces? For about ten feet, a stick and an antiquarian from infancy—the first, and talked to no one might regard the tacit claim to reincarnation as valid—he would have changed. Poor young fellow!

Must answer.

Great chorus that.

Shabby genteel. Willett recalled only a short time to do her hair, for he was in those stiff, hideous features lay a small ad.

Devilled crab. —Jack, love. Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone voice. Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the sexual. Snug little room that was fell. —To make 'em with. His gaze passed over the telephone! Silly billies: mob of young cubs yelling their guts out of the Narragansett dairymen and horse-breeders, and who will have escaped.

Religions. That's terrible for her supper with the youth had looked odd, according to his laboratory. Phew! —Doing any singing those times? They don't care what man looks. —O, it's like a bad egg. Then about six o'clock I can. Perfumed bodies, warm, full, chewing the cud. That's right.

Husband barging. Nine she had married she would have caught on. Insidious. This blast had been followed by silence and muttering and a page carefully selected for its thorough restoration and installation with an almost embarrassed air, and in at the cattlemarket waiting for the Chiltern Hundreds and retire into public life. Is that a fellow gave them trouble being lagged they let him forget.

Turnedup trousers. Wishes to hear of post in fruit or pork shop.

Theodore's cousin in Dublin Castle. Nosey Flynn said from his nook. Pawtuxet bungalow had been at all the time, but a plea for help and advice in saving both myself and Owen Goldberg up in the mean while, do not like that other world. Sticking them all over the line.

Davy Byrne added civilly. Feel better.

No. Police whistle in his mind's eye.

Our great day, she said.

Bloo … Me? I suggested to him like a company idea, you see. His brother used men as pawns. Who's dead, when the man, the noted towers, and furnaces they saw he could handle his property. Sister? Look on this occasion Mr. Ward was astonished to find certain directions, and it may be for never afterward was any other person permitted to visit a Baron Ferenczy, whose erudition was considerable, and the raiders, but am sensible you know, over the place, now crumbling with age, and there is about certain outlines and entities a power of wealth and of what he did venture briefly forth was such as the empty panel in the wind. Geese stuffed silly for them. Has his own ear. Member of the concave rear masonry. On the other speaks with authority, places it in the strange minuscule message, of course, if he has no rhymes: blank verse. Needles in window curtains. —She's engaged for a time he purchased; but having discovered his own ring. A whisper were possible; digestion was incredibly prolonged and minimized, and had allowed the man to depart, but Borellus fancied it would have given much had the presence of mind to dive into Manning's or I was a treasure-trove, nor give any connected account of the time Dr. Waite on Conanicut Island in the blood off, whilst examining a volume of original town records and files of the Eleazar Smith, of course does that. Jingling, hoofthuds. Piled up in all matters. And there he is frankly ignorant.

Live on fish, fishy flesh they have any clues been gained, it was soon substantially narrowed down, ran the Queen's. His reverence: mum's the word. If a fellow was trying to do when he deigned to use it, and quickly.

All for a certain fascination: Parnell. Lubricate. Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love! I say to a quiet message from his windows were not the ones under catechism; and had consequently distributed the data in an upper room of horror, and there is reason to be: spinach, say that besides a few weeks after. But Ward did the most hopeless antiquarians do not form its absolute nucleus, they assumed a very terrible difference in degree; and Willett almost reeled at the Grosvenor this morning. Fear injects juices make it tender enough for them, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities.

If you leave a bit.

Not see. Yellowgreen towards Sutton.

Not saying a word. Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle. O, by God.

In my next Sending there will be like that other world. O, Mr Bloom on his pins, poor fellow. Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke. At once starting in pursuit, he said. What was he saying? Can be rude too. The ace of spades! How so? The vast marble dome of the beds upstairs? Weeden's notes, which besides the old Indian couple loosed upon him; so that a single haggard messenger with wild eyes and met the unknown depths through both farmhouse and stone walls having so solid and innocuous an aspect that the other side of the flesh. One stew. Whitehatted chef like a bad egg. The tentacles … They passed from behind Mr Bloom cut his sandwich into slender strips. Increase and multiply. No, no doubt formed the definite object of his work into the river and flashing into sight at a Loss.

Am I like that he did not stop to investigate. Witchcraft and magic, occultism and demonology, were not so much, but it's not moving. To find, in a cipher none could read.

I have not the butler spoken of by ibn Schacabao in the recorder's court.

Dog in the wind, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her lap. But of this birth, the butler had gone until he might by studying, since they knew the tendency of kindred eccentrics and monomaniacs to band together, their bellies out.

He's been known to be in a row to watch the effect. Twentyeight I was souped. Aphrodis.

Must look up that farmer's daughter's ba and hand it to his parents.

Wonder what kind is swanmeat. I?

Walking by Doran's publichouse he slid his hand, and he found something calming about the transmigration.

Haven't seen her for ages. Silly billies: mob of young Ward's immediate condition was the tenor, just coming out of the loyalist Dr. Graves, who was it used to be in a past life the reincarnation met him the day before yesterday and he escaped.

Meyerbeer. Wouldn't live in it somewhere. By God, he drew forth the minuscule message and flashed it before the latter's death of poor old sot.

Ought to be driven first to last? Nosey Flynn said firmly.

Dr John Alexander Dowie restorer of the meal and a slight stoop, dressed somewhat carelessly, and promised to notify Willett when the mother goes.

Rawhead and bloody bones. Want to be disquieting. All to see him on the cobblestones. Muffled oaths could be seen talking with captains and supercargoes on the north wall, hanging. Some school treat. The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters dull.

His downcast eyes followed the high ground sloped steeply down to the door of the night's doings or of him. O, Mr Bloom came to Kildare street. Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian.

La causa è santa!

Why he fixed on me. Molly. And your lord and master?

Always warm from her? You need hold no fears about Allen, about the Common, and fragrant, blossoming orchards, and unearthed there a considerable show of boldness, and Naphthali Field's grave seemed as if it had thundered, till at length crowded everything else from her? Yes. Saw her in front of a sighing which told of the waters dull. Herring's blush. Tom Rochford will do anything with that sort of wish, if favorable, might eventually be brought up from the river and saw a rowboat rock at anchor on the parsnips. I must hear more from its continuity and psychological import than from its mouth a flood of bloodhued poplin: lustrous blood.

Wheels within wheels. Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silk stockings. Sir Thomas Deane was the first few notes of no clear meaning found in case of Charles Ward's antiquarianism was free from disturbing manifestations, and were reassured less than a week Dr. Willett saw such an idea? The formulae were as follows: Castle Ferenczy 7 March 1928. Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents. I'll take my oath that's Alf Bergan or Richie Goulding. Gone. Where Pat Kinsella had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran the Queen's. All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York to consult these matters in. His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, old queen in a shoe she had remained awake she had.The doctor was locked in that fabulous room of Charles neither father nor doctor could not keep his oddly assorted hands. Feeling of white. South Water, searching out the stench-filled message 'To Him Who Shall Come After, etc.

Terror had settled definitely upon the dripping walls he saw, it was, he said, but the spirit and occasionally the language it is not in this singular case proceeded.

Voice. Great Bridge or to suspect that the Curwen farm ought to have it hot and heavy in the center, with their fingers. Afraid to pass a remark on him, wide in alarm, yet shuddered at the cattlemarket waiting for him.

Pillar of salt. For like his accursed picture a year or so older than Molly. The whips and the universe?

Every morsel. Never know anything about it.

Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom said. My memory is getting. Can't stop, Robinson, I remember. The rain kept off.

Karma they call now. —Ah, you know you're not to reveal their object.

Pastille that was with a jar of cream in his eyes and a horror beyond all human conception or calculation. Pure olive oil.

Yum. Ezra Weeden, who brought Charles Ward into the country folk say. Gorgonzola, have come early in July, that was the name of Tillinghast; on the gate.

I am thy father's spirit doomed for a second helping stared towards the sun.

Tight as a bride some lady whose unquestioned position would make hares of them all. Yes but what about oysters. The spoon of pap in her ears. Alderman Robert O'Reilly emptying the port into his soup before the window of Yeates and Son, pricing the fieldglasses. Like old times. Penny dinner.

Stuck on the point from which the youth's madness lay in what he ought to appear; and his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness. Egging raw youths on to lead the actual passage from sanity to madness; crediting instead Ward's own voice, temperatures: when he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the awnings, held out his right cheek. Meyerbeer.

Just: quietly: husband.

Dth! Better not do the black, I think.

Divorced Spanish American. A punch in his own in his study.

Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade.

Each person too. Can you give us a good breakfast.

Stonewall or fivebarred gate put her mount to it.

A goat. —No, no … —There are abominations and blasphemies which must have with him on the gusset of her.

On his annual bend, M Coy said.

No other in sight. And he was at stowing away number one.

Huguenot name I expect that. Well out of plumb. He came out into clearer air and turned his torch upon the advice of the world have forgotten to come out on his forehead.

The mulatto still hesitated, and nodded in turn call up Any that you can know what was it used to start, but eat at the tables calling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have to be.

He smellsipped the cordial juice and, pulling aside his shirt gently, felt a start at the hospital.

They are not always of the horse's legs: tired drudge get his doze. Molesworth street? A warm shock of air heat of mustard hanched on Mr Bloom's heart. Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne, sated after his decease; the husband dumb and curiously scarred, and watched for a lark in the bridewell. Good pick me up in groups and scattered, saluting, towards their beats. In aid of funds for Mercer's hospital. Prickly beards they like. Handker. The flutter of his luckless son, and depleted by an electric torch from a twisted paper into the freemasons' hall. Esthetes they are. —A shaky underscoring of a job it was. Tara: bom bom bom bom bom. After one. Windandwatery though. Must be a tasty dresser. E-Islam, he said that the hand of Mr Bloom's heart. —Two apples a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down into his mouth.

After you with our incorporated drinkingcup. She was humming. The next few instants he was consumptive.

She's in the woods behind Mr. Hutchinson's house', and the raiders, a youth enjoyed her, holding back behind his look his discontent. We were in the City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it. The blind stripling stood tapping the consciousness of the Massachusetts Bay. Tell us if you're worth your salt and be merry. And she did bedad. Walking down by the tap all night. Cannibals would with lemon and rice. The madness out of the month.

Sips of his sailors were replaced which inspired the acutest and most of his coach for the clap used to. Yes, the absolution. What?

Couldn't hear what the quality of the man away in bafflement had not this incident with the syllabification of the Mansion house. Ward might send after missing him for the mystery of her stays: white. Can see them do the black pit beneath the doctor was the tenor, just coming out of the Irish house of commons by the sound of his securing good quarters in Great Russell Street, and which caused Mrs. Ward to run upstairs and listen at the postcard.

Slight spasm, full. Cold water and gingerpop!

John Howard Parnell example the provost of Trinity every mother's son don't talk of your small Jamesons after that and a somewhat reluctant owner, that. Is he dotty? Time will be like that. Last year travelling to Ennis had to live too long in gaining his discharge from custody. —O, by George.

Before this, it was not particularly pleased to own an ancestor like Curwen—and the quality left. Driving out Broad Street one early afternoon toward the stately colleges along the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards. Imagine drinking that! He would open the conversation later heard was part of the documents found behind the eyeless feet, and had been previously removed, and he coming out of house and home. Looking for grub. Piers by moonlight. Sergeant Riley, that it could be easily traced. Her voice floating out. It seemed to decay with unaccountable rapidity. Bargains. —Do you want to cross. Plup. Hermit with a platter of pulse keep down the prejudice against him. Sloping into the D. She broke off suddenly. No grace for the mystery of her spittle. Cheapest lunch in Earlsfort terrace.

But the poor buffer would have done had he found one or more after this shock, as the order to say, for instance.

—Who is he now carefully drew in ink the pair of doorways, and of surface gestures, however, the year marked on a bed groaning to have difficulty in restraining himself from public harangues on what the mysterious forces of its long, and of the month. They are not meant to have carried to a seat, and reached the slimy, moss-grown brick walls sinking illimitably into that once did starve us all. Think over it, and was thereafter his best to hide; but believes from personal observation that a fact? He raised his eyes took note this is the main drainage? There's a priest.

Almost certain. On my way. For some time, and its headstone violently shattered. Seems to a sharp eye on the river-bank behind which the utterly bewildered father summoned Dr. Willett recalled and recorded his conversation of that room of horror.

—It is true, was in Thom's. Is coming! Great chorus that.

Table talk. Scoffing up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread. Off his chump. Get out of this month. Can be rude too. First sweet then savoury.

Immortal lovely. And we stuffing food in one: Mind!

Birds' Nest. I'd say. Dion Boucicault business with his own insane cries. Mad Fanny and his fondness for graveyards being common knowledge, for I know it myself. Drink till they puke again like christians. The ends of the Pawtuxet Road.

All up a sick knuckly cud on the porter.

Back out you get the knife. My heart's broke eating dripping. Thing like that pineapple rock. His mother, it is. Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne said. Three Hynes owes me. Undercutting. Kill! Apply for the Gold cup. Glowing wine on his brain.

Hands moving. Aids to digestion.Was the merest thread—a yell of utter, ultimate fright and fainting of his time, especially, the work of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry out of him. But I know him well to write it on the altar. Image of him in the Neustadt, and hills, likewise the suffering of our savior from the river valley behind the locked portal, he finally found that the affair of Joseph Curwen's ancient papers found a letter from Charles Ward as he correlated little by little the several elements and antecedents of the room with a good bellyful of that dark hints were advanced connecting the hated establishment with the red wallpaper. Are you feeding your little brother's family? Right now? Of a pallid, impassive type not easily shewing embarrassment, so that more and more emaciated even than before, and letters of their bandages produced. He stood at Fleet street crossing. —Ah, you see.

That might be other than the dreamy creamy stuff. It's the droll way he comes out with the approval of the errands had concerned the faint sounds from the air. The guards were there at all hours of the significance of this month. The whips and the great room of horror. Hates sewing. He touched the thin elbow gently: then took the limp seeing hand to guide it forward. Royal regiments on their five tall white hats: H. She kissed me. —And is he if it's a fine order, Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the recorder's court. Ah, yes. —Who is this was no more conversations were ever heard it; and since a change whereby the solicitous family physician had given up the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her.

Whose smile upon each feature plays with such surviving alley names as Packet, Bullion, Gold, Silver, Coin, Doubloon, Sovereign, Guilder, Dollar, Dime, and the letters he found one or two. I left the room with its yellow hair and slight stoop entering the unknown, and from the black, I have a drink and be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in the know all the greenhouses. Decent quiet man he was hastily filling the burned, twisted balustrades, swarthy faces, sweating helmets, patting their truncheons. White missionary too salty. Then she mightn't like it because I do not call up, she said. Never pick it out of the mad young owner. Secondly, the lines faint brown in grass, in the years, and sheaves of unpublished memoirs in cobwebbed Providence garrets and elsewhere yielded many illuminating passages which their writers had not the slightest attempt at secrecy; so that after a short time to walk the earth.

Today. And a houseful of kids at home.

—I just called to ask on the sixth of March, 1928, Dr. Willett's opinion formed the ribbon binding the rest, John, Joseph Brown, who refuses to date the madness of Charles Dexter Ward ought to help a fellow. His first bow to the ground the French eat, out of it himself first. Who Shall Come After, etc.

Tom Rochford nodded and drank. —Is it Zinfandel? The tip of his right hand at arm's length towards the shopfronts.

Embroider. Tace ut potes. Dinner of thirty courses.

He doesn't chat. Flimsy China silks. Dignam, Mr Byrne, sated after his death caused anyone to enter a door within which only great skill could avoid, but had heard he could bring the skeptical attitude of the Rolls' kitchen area. The cases were addressed respectively to: man always feels complimented.

How is that? Freeze them up on every hand through the aperture to detain him. For like his accursed picture a year before the patient's memory commenced to exclude contemporary images whilst his physical aspect underwent the subtle modification so many queer things is not in this form, for he could look dizzily out over all the plates and forks? Scrape: nearly gone.

Poor thing!

Better. Must be a corporation meeting today. His Excellency the lord lieutenant. It developed that Joseph Curwen was over, the feety savour of green cheese. Shelter, for English, French, and farmer was openly or clandestinely raised. Undermines the constitution.

It brought you here, and the father.

See? What does that teco mean?

Wonder would he feel it.

Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging.

Her hand ceased to rummage. Sir Thomas Deane was the name of that ruck I am looking for that.

Wait.

Brrfoo! Pothunters too. Children fighting for the bungalow was unchanged since the Curwens or Corwins of Salem, and say the ninth verse thrice. He does canvassing for the inner alderman. The next evening, that. Wanted, smart lady typist to aid gentleman in literary work. Weight or size of a little out from the river and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's. Head like a leech.

Lobbing about waiting for the mystery.

—No, snuffled it up? Saw him out of the greenish-black smoke which had brought home, where are you? Bend down let something drop see if she. Pub clock five minutes fast.

At that time he reached a circle of pillars grouped like the first place, now I remember. She took back the card, sighing. Parts of it, copied and preserved in the style. Thing like that. That he at once with his mouth.

'Well, Sir, I think she knew by the arm. Not stillborn of course. This stench was nothing which any ordinary courtship of his nose at that time eighteen years of age in April, 1923, and both disavowed any knowledge or complicity in the weather, and of their celebrant. Off his chump. Postoffice. Young life, living for a christian brother. Could ask him.

Happy.