#sorry I’m very slow I speak zero French | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hystericalweenie · 4 years

Text

Just Another Day at the Office Series - New On the Job

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Three: Hangover Cure

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n was job searching, looking for a new place to work as an escape to her, then, current job; she’d been denied every pitch she had, yet she worked her ass off with zero recognition. Writing was her passion and her dream job laid in the hands of a magazine company in the city. Will the combination of her sexual frustration and her competitive nature cause her to risk her biggest dream for a blue eyed coworker?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! Sorry this is a little short, I just want to kind of speed this up because I have sooo many ideas for the future parts. This might be a long series, so I hope y’all are into that!

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s some sexual! tension! up! in! here!

I had to fight the urge not to bury my nose into the sweater every chance I could, but it smelt so good. I watched as his back faced me, preparing the breakfast food whilst I sat and watched. I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my cheek on my knees as I resumed watching him, smiling. My wet hair soaked through the back of his sweater, sticking to my back and I hoped he wouldn’t mind. His joggers were loose on my legs, my feet snug in a pair of his socks; I was completely decked out in his clothes, drowning in his scent, and I was loving it.

He had an unseen speaker in his kitchen, softly playing some hits from The Beatles, pairing with the sounds of the food frying on the pans. I was in pure bliss, sighing with content, before he turned around with a plate full of French toast, scrambled eggs, and a side of bacon. I licked my lips at the sight of the food, taking the plate and placing it in front of me.

“This looks amazing, George,” I marveled, my mouth watering.

He smirked proudly before filling his own plate and taking a seat across from me.

“I always eat this when I’m hungover and it always cures it,” he informed me. “Bon appétit!” He raised his fork before diving into his creation.

After biting into the perfect-amount-of-cinnamon French toast–and moaning in delight a little too loudly–I finished chewing before swallowing and speaking.

“Do you cook often?”

He nodded, bringing a napkin to his lips before speaking.

“I love cooking,” he responded, “I’ve gotten a lot better at it. I used to be shit at it, I’d burn everything I made,” he recalled with a laugh.

I laughed, stuffing my mouth with some of the scrambled eggs.

“You’re going to have to teach me one of these days, my roommate and I live off of take-out and grilled cheese’s,” I admitted, taking a sip of the orange juice he had poured for me earlier.

He cringed at my confession. “I will definitely teach you. Trust me, after a couple recipes and learning how to make proper meals, you’ll never need take-out again. If Dean was able to learn from me, then you will.”

His quick mention of Dean sparked a question in my head.

“How long have you and Dean been friends?” I queried, picking up some more eggs on my fork and scooping them into my mouth.

He waited to chew before speaking, swallowing his food down with a gulp of juice.

“Dean and I have been friends for about three years now. It doesn’t sound very long when I say it out loud, but it feels like I’ve known the guy for a lifetime,” he admitted with a small smile, no doubt thinking of the brunette.

“It’s weird how that is,” I added, agreeing with his words. “I’ve known my roommate for five years, but it feels like I’ve known her forever.”

Talking about my roommate reminded me of her actions last night. Leaving me at a bar I was invited to, and kicking me out of my apartment.

“Speaking of her, I’m going to give her hell for the shit she pulled last night,” I grumbled, angrily shoveling more food into my mouth.

“If you did go home to your flat last night, you wouldn’t be having a home-cooked breakfast, though, would you?” he chided with a smirk. I bit back a smile as I was reminded that somehow, I had been blessed, eating breakfast that George had cooked me, wearing George’s clothes, as I was sat across the handsome blue-eyed man himself.

“No, I wouldn’t be,” I confessed, biting off a piece of bacon from the crispy strip. “I’d consider myself lucky if I found a piece of toast for breakfast.”

“Sounds lovely,” George joked sarcastically, finishing off his plate.

I leaned back into the chair, my hands on my belly with a groan.

“I’m so full,” I wailed. “I haven’t had a meal that good in a long time.”

He laughed at my dramatic state.

“Was it that good?” he laughed, getting up and taking my plate, scraping off the small bits I wasn’t able to finish into the trash.

I nodded vigorously and watched as he threw the dishes into the dishwasher. To see him like this in the kitchen, it ignited my imagination, wondering if this is what it’d be like living with him; seeing him in casual attire compared to his usual button up and slacks, seeing his hair disheveled and his eyelids swollen with sleep, seeing him look so relaxed.

My phone began to vibrate against the table, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked at the screen, seeing Bree’s contact light up as she called me. I pressed the power button, silencing it; I wasn’t ready to talk to her yet.

“That your roommate?” he turned around.

I sighed. “Yeah, she’s probably coming up with an apology in my voicemail as we speak.” I looked down at my phone, lighting up with a voicemail notification, making me roll my eyes at her easily predictable habits.

“She might be wondering if you’re okay,” he suggested, leaning his back against the counter.

I shrugged. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in his apartment in his clothes that smelt like him. I wanted to absorb this moment and soak in it, but I knew it had to come to an end.

“I should probably get going before she freaks out,” I agreed, standing up from the chair.

“Do you want me to give you a ride?” he offered.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach and I couldn’t stop myself from blushing. I wasn’t sure how he wasn’t tired of taking care of me yet; I knew I’d somehow have to return the favor in the future.

“That would be great,” I accepted his offer, getting my purse.

He led me out of the kitchen and to his living room, where he slipped on his shoes. I slipped on the shoes I’d been wearing before as well, shoving my clothes in my purse as I hugged the fabric of his sweater closer to my skin.

“You’ve got everything?” he asked, swinging his keys around his finger. His fingers. Before I could even muster the sexual thoughts, I forced myself out of the predictable trance.

I nodded looking down at my outfit. “Do you want me to change back into my clothes, so you can have these back?”

He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’d rather you wear clean clothes than clothes with traces of vomit and alcohol on them.”

“Well, thanks,” I blushed, staring down at the comfy cotton. “These are incredibly comfortable.”

He grinned, crinkles by his eyes appearing; these were becoming one of my favorite features of his.

“I’m glad you think so,” he led me out of his apartment complex, walking toward the parking lot in back of the building.

We approached a little black Nissan, beeping as he pressed a button on his keys. He surprised me, walking to the passenger door first and opening it for me. My eyes widened at the gesture, getting inside and sitting in the seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach and the blush that’d already crept its way onto my cheeks. The soft aroma in his car was a mixture of his scent and leather, making me fight the urge to roll my eyes into the back of my head in euphoria. As he got into the driver’s seat and started the car, I gave him the address to my apartment, which he then typed into the navigation app on his phone. As he drove, his eyes concentrated on the road ahead of us and his hands gripped onto the steering wheel. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him; he looked so handsome when he was concentrated, the veins rising on the backs of his hands and trailing to his arms.

I sent thanks to New York traffic as it elongated the trip to my apartment, but I was surprised at how relatively close we lived to each other. I paid close attention as he tapped his fingers against the leather steering wheel, probably out of boredom, but I wanted to devour every single feature of his that I could. Once my apartment complex came into view, I came to terms that this was it; my time with George had ended. Feeling disappointed, I asked myself, why? Why does it have to end here? What are you scared of, Y/n?

He pulled up to the curb in front of the building, the car coming to a stop. He turned to me, looking at the building outside of my window before looking at me, as if he was waiting for me to speak.

“I should probably get your number,” I blurted, trying to exert as much confidence as I could, because Lord knew I needed it.

He looked taken back, his eyes widening. I chewed on my lip nervously.

“So, that you can teach me how to cook,” I added with a laugh, trying to ease the conversation.

“Right,” both of us smiling at the memory we’d shared in his kitchen, he quickly reached for his phone and read me his digits, recording my own into his phone as well.

I opened the door and looked at him one last time.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I thanked him sincerely.

I wanted to kiss him so badly, right then and there. But now wasn’t the time, and I knew that. He smiled warmly at me, his eyes soft.

“It was my pleasure, really.”

I gripped the strap of my purse. “See you later, George.”

He smirked at me, making my heart skip a beat.

“See you, Y/n.”

I closed the door behind me, entering my apartment complex, trying to withhold the giddy giggles that threatened to escape my mouth. Skipping up the stairs and entering my apartment, I dramatically fell onto the sofa with a sigh of delight, closing my eyes and memorizing all of his features. I heard footsteps approaching me, already knowing that it was my guilty roommate.

“It’s fine,” I interrupted her before she got to speak. I opened my eyes and sat up, meeting her frown.

“No, it’s not, Y/n, I–”

“Just don’t do it again,” I warned.

I didn’t want to talk about, because I knew it would bring me down from the high I’d gotten from being with George. She sat herself down next to me and pulled me into a hug, which I gladly accepted.

“I need to go get Plan B,” she admitted, her breath tickling my neck.

I rubbed her back sympathetically. “Let’s go to the pharmacy, then.”

We pulled away, her eyes coming in contact with my outfit, an immediate grin taking over her face.

“You have to tell me everything.”

We walked aimlessly around the pharmacy, looking at totally-necessary bags of candy.

“So, you guys didn’t fuck?”

She picked up a bag of Kit Kat’s, throwing it into our basket. I rolled my eyes, the new item in the basket weighing down my elbow.

“No,” I began, looking at a bag of gummy worms and tossing it into the basket as well. “But, I did get his number.”

She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock, her hazel eyes practically bulging out of her head.

“Y/f/n Y/l/n, did you ask a man for his phone number?”

I nodded, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as I smiled. She playfully pushed my shoulder, her mouth wide open, still in shock.

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

Cashing out at the counter, I felt my phone vibrate from my back pocket. I slid the device out and my eyes widened at the notification.

George: You up for some wine and a chicken parmesan tutorial tomorrow evening?

I sneakily angled the phone screen so that Bree could see it, her face lighting up and violently nodding, as if to tell me to accept his invitation. I began typing out a text, showing her so that she could judge it. With another violent nod and a smirk, I sent the cheeky text.

Me: Miss me already?

Me: Jk... that sounds great. When do you want me over?

After splitting the total and getting onto the subway, my phone vibrated again. I pulled my phone out to check the notification in curiosity once again, my heart beating a mile a minute.

George: As long as I don't have to watch you vomit again. Does 4 sound alright?

I rolled my eyes, knowing that he was being sarcastic.

Me: Haha very funny. 4 is good.

George: I’m never going to let that down.

I subconsciously brought my bottom lip between my teeth, nervously chewing on it. What do I say?

Me: Remind me to never drink on an empty stomach again OR smoke weed. I think my body needs to detox after last night.

George: Noted. Still never going to let that down though ;)

Me: You’re the fuckin worst.

George: You love it.

I tried to stop myself from grinning, but I miserably failed. I sure do, George.

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #x reader fic #dean charles chapman #1917 #1917 cast #fanfic

49 notes · View notes

johannesviii · 4 years

Text

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 1988

So that’s the year I was born. A controversial move that had its detractors but ended up being recognised as “eh it's all right I guess” a few decades later.

Obviously my first-hand experience of “hearing songs on the radio and actually liking some of them” starts when I was around 3 or 4, so nostalgia will have very little to do with the first top 10 lists I’m making.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

To be honest, we’re off to a good start because I didn’t mind listening to these year-end lists for the most part. Not a bad year for music overall.

Number 3 and 2 are heavily debatable because wikipedia doesn’t have a reliable list of the French year-end top 100 and the other sources I have contradict each other.

10 - I Think We’re Alone Now (Tiffany)

US: not on the list / FR: #57

I know it’s a cover. It’s not even an objectively good cover. It’s full of terribly 80s synth noises. Tiffany’s voice isn’t very strong either. And the version I’m the most familiar with is the cover made by The Birthday Massacre.

What can I say. I like it anyway, especially these little isolated keyboard notes that really shine over the mess of the music. The guitar makes some parts pretty epic too. Also, singing “RUNNING JUST AS FAST AS WE CAN” and failing to hit some notes feels great for some reason.

9- Need You Tonight (INXS)

US: #2 / FR: #45

Surprising a grand total of exactly zero people, edgy teen Johannes thought these guys were delightful every time there was an 80s retrospective on tv. Never actively listened to their stuff, but they still pop up pretty regularly on the radio here, and yeah, very good song.

Guess their other songs from that year would be honorable mentions.

8- Combien de Temps (Stephan Eicher)

US: not on the list / FR: #79

After this point, there’s only songs I’ve actively listened to at some point in my life.

This one has never been on any of my cd compilations but I kept it on one of my tapes and it was a delight to hear it every time, even though I can’t stand the singer’s voice and the lyrics make very little sense. The music is THAT good. It’s some quality pop-ish French new wave full of instruments and it’s visual eye candy and I adore it to the point I’m willing to ignore the rest.

If you’ve never heard it before, check it out just for the sake of the music video featuring a guy rolling on the floor to get anywhere because it’s quite surreal and funny.

Also, despite the fact the lyrics are mostly nonsense, I still adore the line “J’ai de la folie plein les veines” (”My veins are full of madness”).

7- Heaven is a Place on Earth (Belinda Carlisle)

US: #7 / FR: Not on the list

I discovered this song in January 2012 thanks to Todd In The Shadows’ Worst of 2011 list, where he joked about being worried that every 80s song he liked would be ruined by “Dirty Bit” by The Black Eyed Peas someday and he used this song as an example. I loved it instantly and put it on my mp3 player at the time.

Until a few months ago, this was still on my mp3 player.

I don’t think this needs further justification to be on this list.

6- Pourvu Qu'elles Soient Douces (Mylène Farmer)

US: not on the list / FR: # 5

This was one of the biggest hits of the year in France in 1988.

It’s made by one of my favorite French artists ever, Mylène Farmer, and I used to be a huge fan.

It’s a song about butts entirely written in euphemisms, with an earwormy chorus, and accompanied by an insanely long (18 minutes) artsy music video in 18th century costumes featuring an army being massacred in slow motion, mud, broken bottles, really terrible jokes, and a shit ton of not safe for work content, including (but not limited to), indeed, butts.

It’s also right there on the very, very first personal top 30 list I ever wrote down, back when I was 14. It’s number 21.

If you think I’m sorry, think again.

5- John (Desireless)

US: not on the list / FR: # 34

I had literally no idea that song existed until 48 hours ago and in that time I’ve listened to it more than twenty times.

Desireless is basically the French Eurythmics and I love her but for the longest time I was dead certain she was a one-hit wonder with her monster hit Voyage Voyage, and clearly, I was wrong since she had a second hit the next year. This is about an unknown soldier dying at war and I can’t believe this was completely erased from public consciousness to the point a new wave fan like me didn’t even know it existed.

Better late than never I guess.

4- Always On My Mind (Pet Shop Boys)

US: #80 / FR: Not on the list

This isn’t my favorite Pet Shop Boys song by a mile. And it’s a cover. And it’s full of weird synth noises left right and center, and it’s visually absolute chaos.

What can I say. It’s Pet Shop Boys. I love them and I love this cover and it sounds happy and epic and energetic, and it transforms a song I didn’t even like in the first place into something that puts a smile on my face every time I listen to it, and frankly it was #3 at first when I made this list, until I realised how long the next song stayed on my list of favorite songs.

3- Bleu Comme toi (Etienne Daho)

US: not on the list / FR: one site swears to me it was top 30, the other tells me it didn’t make the year-end list. Fuck it. Too late now.

I discovered this song in April 2005. I know this because I wrote it on the back of my top 30 favorite songs list labelled “9 April 2005″.

It immediately appeared on my list the next month as #15 and never left it until I stopped making these lists in 2007.

It’s an upbeat song about being depressed and finding another person who’s just as depressed as you and suddenly things don’t seem that bad when you’re together. Let’s just say it struck a chord with me at the time. A lot. A looooooot. And it builds into this epic thing and you and up singing “et mon humeur est down down down” (”my mood is down down down”) even though it SHOULDN’T be epic at all.

I haven’t actively listened to it in years but I sing along every time I hear it on the radio. I think at some point I had it on three different cd compilations, including one with both the single version and the live version. That’s the level of adoration we’re talking about here, and it still hasn’t completely faded.

2- Behind the Wheel (Depeche Mode)

US: not on the list / FR: same thing, one site swears to me it’s not on the top 100, another tells me it’s number 21. Whatever.

This was a big hit here and even though I don’t have a reliable list, whatever, this is my blog and not a professional publication.

If you know me a little the fact that I love Depeche Mode and have been loving Depeche Mode for a long time isn’t really a secret, so this is a bit like picking the Pet Shop Boy song at #4: I see one of their songs I like, it ends up on the list. Not my favorite of their songs by a mile either, but still wonderful.

1- Fast Car (Tracy Chapman)

US: #76 / FR: Not on the list

The problem when you like a song and don’t speak the language it’s in is that you can spend years without knowing what it’s called and who’s the author.

My father would play this song fairly often when I was a kid and it took me years to know what it was, who was singing it, and even more years to actually understand the lyrics and what it was about.

I loved it even before knowing all that. It already made me want to cry and I got the general idea of longing and sadness and hope way before I started to learn English. It is that good. It is that powerful. I can’t possibly rank any song above that one in good conscience and it was going to be #1 the moment I saw it on the Billboard list.

Next up: 1989, which is probably gonna feature a lot less songs I actually love.

#Johannes’ bad not good pretty terrible music lists #long post #music

14 notes · View notes

xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 5 years

Text

Safe Harbor (3/?)

A/N: Thor really has no chill, guys. Sorry Not sorry.

You weave through traffic on your motorcycle fearlessly headed towards your parent’s brownstone. You’d call it home but it wasn’t. Not really. It was a mausoleum for living creatures. A place where your parents hid from the modern world in a bubble filled with things and customs they understood.

They hadn’t left it but for brief trips to the Country since long before you were born. Possibly since after they arrived there after the Civil War shortly before Warren’s birth. You’d been born and raised in that house but it wasn’t home. Your boat was home.

You let yourself in, ignoring the staleness of the air. The smell of dust and rust and wood varnish. You nod to Warren who’s sitting at a pianoforte playing for your mother and head upstairs. Father has your “Allowance” in his study and Mother does not like her concerts to be disturbed. You’re already (not regrettably) late and Father will have been vaguely concerned. He’s not really been concerned about anyone in decades, his mind is too full of the past to worry about the present or the future.

You knock on the door quietly and are rewarded with a rough “Enter.” So you do. Your tread soft on the old wood, “Papa,” you say softly, “How are you? Did you get my letters?” He looks up half in dreams, “Yes, yes, Very good daughter. I did get them. Though I don’t understand how you’re going to find a mate to protect you in the middle of the ocean.” You smile a little. You’d had this talk many times, “Papa, I don’t need a mate to protect me. It’s a new time. I can go anywhere I want. I could be a doctor now. Or a soldier. Or even a politician.” Your father shakes his head and hands you an envelope with a little extra money in it. You don’t need it, really. But it’s nice to have something for a rainy day. “My darling girl, it may be a new time but some things don’t change. You have teeth and claws. You are a wolf, fierce and cunning. But everything about you invites challenge. Stupid men, mortal or otherwise will want to possess you. And what will become of you when you’re tired of fighting them? What will become of you when you cannot fight them?” You bend down to kiss his cheek. You know that you still smell like Thor. The scent of pine and Ozone clings to you after your night together, reminding you that he’s going to call. But your father doesn’t comment. There is nothing for him to say. You’ve already lost his attention as he drifts in his mind. Back to his boyhood. Back to the court of Isabella and Ferdinand. Back when he was once considered for Cathrine of Aragon.

Warren is finishing his concert as you go back downstairs. Mother is clapping and Warren is bowing. You wait patiently at the door as Mother fusses over your brother. Warren is her firstborn. Her favorite. You idly wonder if Mother knows that Warren is gay as she pesters him to find a mate and get a wife because at 200 years old she wants to be a grandma already. You cough quietly and your mother turns, “Oh, Y/N, you’re finally here I didn’t notice,” she said, taking in your appearance. True born female werewolves are plump as a rule. It makes it so they can endure the amount of energy it takes to hold off the change at the full moon until the birth of the child. Mother is not true born and it was only sheer dumb luck that you managed to be born at all. Neither is Warren. Mother was changed after Warren’s birth and Warren was changed at 22 in 1890. Your mother’s eye zeroes in on the mark Thor had left on your neck that’s fading to a lighter, duskier purple. She takes in your size, mentally deciding that you’d gained weight (you hadn’t. You never do. Your weight is the exact same it had been when you stopped aging at 16). She tuts and pats the seat next to her reluctantly, “You could be so pretty, Y/N. Why don’t you at least try and lose weight?” You sigh, “Because Mama, I live to serve as your biggest disappointment in life. It’s my only real talent.”

Warren turns a snort into a cough masterfully and hands you a cup of tea, “Well, Mama,” he said, “I’m glad she’s plump or I might have to spend all my time fending off her suitors with a stick and then I wouldn’t be able to play you concerts every morning.” You catch Warren’s eye and he winks. It’s a redirection. She’s now so busy gushing about Warren’s playing she’s half-forgotten you were even there. He keeps her off your back until Mother decides it is time to change from her Morning clothes into her Afternoon clothes, bemoaning that all the people she could possibly want to go visiting are dead. In her own day, mother was a debutante, beautiful and sparkling as she whirled around a dancefloor on the arm of her escort. She was everything a woman was supposed to be then and she hated that you weren’t. She hated that you passionately rejected doing needlepoint and that the only instrument you played was the guitar. She hated that you didn’t speak French and only spoke “unfashionable” languages (not that she knew which ones you actually could speak). Warren walks you to the door and hugs you, kissing your head, “So, little sister,” he says grinning, “When do I get to meet your new toy?” You shrug, “I dunno how long I’ll be in town. We only met last night and I’m not sure he’ll want to make our arrangement long term.” Warren pulls your shirt collar away from your neck and inspects the bite, “One night and he already found your spot,” he whistles softly, “You little tart. What would mother say?”

“I dunno, let's go ask her while I ask her if she’s been introduced to the Vampire boy you keep over in the Village,” you shoot back with a cheeky smile. You would never do that. Warren and Roderick were a cute couple. They worked. And Roderick made Warren happy. That was all you really cared about. Warren Shushes you and playfully pinches your cheek, “You’re just trying to take my spot as the favorite,” he scolds. You shake your head, “I could never do that, Warren. You understand either of them better than I ever could.” He kisses your forehead, “Give it a few centuries, pet. You’ve not even lived through one lifetime yet. Someday you’ll be old and doddering on your ship and your kids will have to hear you nattering on about the good old days as if they really were that good.”

He shoves you gently out the door and shuts it behind you as Mother calls out from the top of the stairs that she believes it is time for lunch. He can handle mother but today, she’s in a mood and she’s looking for a fight. He’d prefer not to have to listen to her snipe at you all afternoon and watch you have to play the dutiful daughter.

Out on the Street, he watches for a moment as you answer your phone, smiling. The words are garbled between Mother’s tone-deaf singing, the door, and the street noise, but the tone is clear. Your new boy called you and he would very much like to see you this evening.

...”I was thinking we could have dinner,” Thor says, smiling as he listens to you shout at some kids who are edging too close to your motorcycle. “Is that so?” you say teasing. “Well, what if I had a better idea?” Thor loves the teasing tone in your voice. It makes him think of the kiss he gave you before he left you.

“And what would that be, my lady?” he says seriously. “What if you meet me at a Diner not too far from the Dock. They serve breakfast all day. We’ll eat and then I’ll take you out sailing,” you say. You’d love to get him out on the open water where he wouldn’t have to be so shy of his body. If you went out far enough there could even be a romantic dinner in it. And a nice slow fuck under the stars. You hadn’t been romanced in a while and Thor, with his shy smile and soft eyes was the perfect candidate for the job. If last night was any indication, it had been a while for him too. Thor smiles, “Shall I pack an overnight bag?” he asks. You grin, “I would,” you say, “Meet in 30 minutes?” Thor makes a sound of agreement and you hang up, putting your phone in your pocket and starting your bike.

“Honestly, Warren,” your mother says as you rev the engine and shoot down the street, “What sort of man is very going to want her?” Warren heaves a sigh, “I’m sure I don’t know,” he says for her benefit. It broke his heart. From across the street, mother could see the dirt under your fingernails but she couldn’t see your smile. That wasn’t the smile you gave a fling. That was the smile you gave a lover you didn’t know you were in love with yet. He’d never seen it on your face before but he hoped this man, whoever he was, took care of your heart as well as he took care of your desires.

When you arrive back at the dock, you change clothes. A bikini top and a pair of cut offs. Short cutoffs. The kind that were barely decent to go to the bodega for alcohol and fixings for a nice dinner. Over that, you throw a huge t shirt that covers all the skin that needs to be covered and text thor to just dress for the beach. When he arrives as you’re pulling the shirt over your head, he stops and admires the bikini top and shorts. He loves your softness and he loves that you’re comfortable with it. He feels uncomfortable in his clothing and he hates the way his belly pokes out. Until you wrap your arms around him and kiss him. It’s only been a few hours but it feels longer. Thor’s hands find your ass and hips, kneading them softly as he presses into your hungry kiss, “Hello,” he says, a little breathless when you pull away. “Hey,” you say smiling, “hungry?” He nods, “I still haven’t eaten anything.” You frown, “Why?” He blushes, “I was too busy wondering if it was too soon to call you.” You laugh and pat his belly affectionately, “Well, then let's feed you, hm? Sailing is hungry work.”

He nods and follows you down the dock to the diner. It’s open 24 hours a day and serves breakfast all 24 hours. You eat and talk, he tells you about the Avengers. About the Guardians of the Galaxy. You mostly talk about your brother. About your business. Talking about your parents just makes you sad. Thor doesn’t miss that. That you gently deflect questions about your parents but he doesn’t press. He’s too happy to be eating breakfast with you. Holding your hand and being “that couple,” even if it is noon and even if your smiles aren’t sleepy. You pay for the meal over his protests and simply tell him he can make it up to you by not tapping out early this time. You laugh and he chuckles, stopping on the street to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, carrying you giggling and protesting all the way back to your boat.

You start the engine and navigate the boat out of the harbor and into deeper water, out towards the open sea. Once you’re out there, you cut the engine and unfurl the sails. and strip off your t-shirt. There are some people out. Yachts and such but as you go, things thin out. Thor watches appreciatively. He would happily lay you down on a towel and part your thighs right there. The haze of heat and alcohol. The smell of coconut sun tan oil. Your laugh. The sound of the water. It feels like a dream and he doesn’t want to wake up. You coax him into taking his shirt off mostly by distracting him with kisses and easing his shirt up and off as you lavish attention on his belly and chest. Your ardor makes him forget to be embarrassed. Like the night before, you make him feel attractive. You pet and caress until he’s delirious with want. But you won’t let him touch you, dancing out of his reach. He drinks and watches you dance to the radio. You roll your hips and your breasts jiggle invitingly. He hardly knows what music is playing and he doesn’t care.

When the sun starts to set and the air gets cool, you disappear below decks for a little while, cooking he guesses by the smells. Nice smells. Meat and maybe pasta. The meat doesn’t surprise him. Werewolves he’d know before had eaten a lot of it. Mostly raw, though he would be surprised if you would eat it that way in front of anyone. It was a different time now and the couple he had met since his return to Midgard had been cautious not to eat raw meat in front of non-wolves.

You carry plates and two wine glasses up the steps, “Thor can you get the wine open?” you ask, setting the table. Thor nods and opens the bottle, bringing it to you and pouring glasses. “It looks lovely,” he says, kissing you. He pulls out your chair and helps you get settled at the table before taking his own seat. Dinner is quiet. Your skin is warm from the sun and in the evening light, you look content. Tipsy and flushed. Like you’ve had a nice day. Thor watches you as he eats, enjoying the meal after a day in the sun and salt air. His loins ache and he wants to take you below decks, back to your narrow but serviceable bed.

But when he realizes you have other plans, as you pull him to a pallet on the deck, he doesn’t mind. Hands roam and sighs quickly turn to moans and growls as he touches you all the ways he craved touching you. It’s mindless animal fucking. Sweat and salt air coat your skin as he drives you to bliss again and again. The stars are the only witness to the passion on the deck. Your growls and cries lost to the sound of the sea. The only break in the tranquility. At one point you go below decks but that doesn’t cool the fire. Thor fucks like a man possessed, determined for his stamina to outlast you this time. He needs to be inside you. He needs to feel what he feels when he’s in the dark with you.

Alive. Exhilarated. Sexy. You feed each other chocolate covered strawberries as you straddle his lap below decks. You’re both hungry but neither one of you is ready to stop. So he’s hard inside you as you feed him and he feeds you, both of you wine drunk and giggling. Neither of you has a care in the world. All there is is this. And the need to go “just once more, please?” When neither of you can be distracted by treats anymore, you do go again. You ride him and he bites your neck leaving you streaming his name. And when he brings you down gently, he tastes of chocolate and strawberries when he kisses you. Things gentle after that. He slows down, more intent on appreciating your body the way you had done his. He loves curves. He’s always adored curves on a woman. Softness he could lose himself in for hours as he admired the way the flesh felt under his hands and the way passion made your skin heat under his touch. You were perfection. All the things he adored. Humor and warmth. Beauty. Grace. A healthy appetite for pleasures that matched his own.

Shy women were fine. Thin women were fine. All women really were beautiful and wonderful in their own way. But you? You were what he loved best. In the dark when he could finally feel that you were boneless with exhaustion and truly could not go again, he pulled you close, cuddling you tenderly. He loved this. He’d missed this. Mindless animal sex was awesome. But this was intimacy. Aching to be with someone when they were right there in your arms asleep. Fighting sleep because you just need to be looking at them. He knows his brain is flooded with bonding chemicals but gods, he thinks. He really doesn’t want the night to end.

After you rest for an hour or so, you pull on some clothes and navigate them back to the dock. You’re covered in bites and so is he. You both ache, but neither one of you wants to be apart, still high on each other, “Breakfast?” you ask. Thor laughs and holds out a hand after he pulls on his shirt, “I’d be delighted.”

In the diner, holding your hands and playing with your fingers, he gives you a shy smile. He doesn’t want to think about you leaving. “Y/N,” he says blushing a little bit, “I think we need to talk.” You sip your coffee and smile wryly, “Is this where you tell me you have a wife?” Thor choked, “No, god no. I... I just. I think I love you,” he blurts out.

His face heats and you smile, kissing his hand, “You just now figured that out?” you tease. “It’s been two days Thor. Gosh.” He relaxes and laughs, “I just... I wanted you to know.” You smile, “I love you, too Handsome.”

Tags: @lancsnerd @innerpaperexpertcloud @stevieang

#Thor Odinson #thor x reader #chubby reader #smut #fluff

32 notes · View notes

apparitionism · 5 years

Text

Helicobacter 16

Every single time: In everything I write that suggests these two would get hitched, the JK-played character does the “marry me” asking. Every. Single. Time. I don’t know why this makes such sense to me... I should probably think about flipping that script at some point, in some future narrative, so watch this space, I guess. (I’m sticking with you for now, Tumblr, despite your repeated attempts to drive me away.) Anyway, previously on Helicobacter (in the fifteen! parts that came before this one, which are all available to you on this very judgy social-media platform), we learned that Myka had made a significant miscalculation, Helena can think surprisingly well on her feet, and raccoons are likely to get chatty about Pop-Tarts. Of course the only sensical thing Myka could do then was propose.

Helicobacter 16

Helena managed a weak laugh. She said, “Do you and I really need to enter into yet another faux engagement?”

“No,” said Myka.

“Then—” Wait.

Myka nodded. “Now you’re getting it. And speaking of getting it: who’s got it?” She swung her free hand around, in a gesture that seemed to encompass everyone in the room.

“It? What is it? Who has what?” Helena asked.

“The ring. I know it’s in this room.”

“What?” Helena felt she was losing her purchase on the idea that words were meant to make sense. “You know a ring is in this room?”

Myka was solemn again: “I do.”

“Did you use that phrase intentionally?” Varsha asked. “If so, it’s quite funny.”

“Not as funny as the story,” Abigail said.

“What story?” Helena demanded. “Why is there always a story?”

Rick answered the latter question: “Because life isn’t a series of random collisions of atoms.” So helpful.

“It might be,” Varsha told him.

“But we couldn’t perceive it that way, even if it were,” Steve told her in turn.

“I’m having trouble perceiving it in any way,” Helena lamented.

Myka, who hadn’t released Helena’s hand, pulled on it, drawing her attention back. “Let me help you perceive it my way. It’s pretty simple: I bought a ring for you ages ago, mostly as a sort of... gesture of hope. To say ‘there’s a future in which this will be possible.’ But then I showed it to Abigail, and she said it was too risky for me to have it in my possession, because I’d run into you at some point and feel like it was burning a hole in my pocket and just drop to the one knee, regardless of where and when.” She raised “didn’t you” eyebrows at Abigail, who nodded. Myka went on, “I said that was ridiculous, but then one day I saw you down a hallway at City Hall, and I realized I was in fact about to sprint in your direction and do exactly what she’d predicted, so I literally reversed course and went right to her and handed it over. And promised I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have it. Because even I need the occasional guardrail.”

Abigail snorted. “Occasional. Right.” To Helena, she said, “We should apply for a federal grant to fund the guardrails-against-Helena project. Anyway, I said I couldn’t hold it all the time, because then she’d know exactly where it was, which was almost as bad, given that I didn’t want to be rudely awakened in the middle of the night some night by some lovelorn lunatic who decided she just had to set phasers to nuptial. So I made her promise also not to ask you if she couldn’t pinpoint its location, and we set up a committee—at first just me and Steve, but after she read Rick in, we decided to draft him, too—to rotate possession. Myka doesn’t know the rotation or the schedule, which makes it hard for her to fight through the bureaucracy to get to it.”

“That’s a clever disincentive,” Jane remarked, causing Helena to note that she had not, in fact, exited the inside-joke snowglobe just yet.

Abigail said, “I modeled it on the demonstration-permit regs. They’re so well thought out.”

“I wrote those,” Jane told her, and when Abigail offered her a disingenuous “you don’t say,” Jane bowed her head. She might have been glowering, laughing, or praying... she offered no clarity with her next words: “My staff: the Machiavelli Players.”

Myka, seeming to resent that the spotlight kept shifting away from her, said, “Anyway, I almost did the asking on Saturday night, because it had to be in that room, too, given the committee. But I figured we were so close to getting the work thing fixed—and you’d probably be more inclined to say yes once we did—that I should wait.”

“I’m the one who’s got it now,” Rick said. “Sort of ironic. And I was supposed to hand it off to Steve today.”

Helena looked to Steve. “Behind my back,” she said, “this entire time?” and Steve had the grace to look at least a bit chagrined.

Myka said, “Not entire. It wasn’t until after I told my mom the truth that I really made up my mind.”

“But then you did?” Helena asked.

“But then I did. I’m serious. You’re looking at me like you don’t believe me, but I’m serious.”

“I’m looking at you like...” Helena tried to find words to say about what she was feeling, words that might possibly be correct. She fought through what she recognized as a Myka-esque pause, search... then surrender. “You’re right, like I don’t believe you. We’ve spent only two nights together!”

“Info that I for one didn’t need,” Rick said. “Or want.”

“This I can vote on,” Varsha agreed.

Steve said, hurriedly, “Passed by acclamation.”

Myka gave that attention-tug to Helena’s hand. “If we were fundamentalists, we’d’ve spent zero nights together.”

“We aren’t fundamentalists,” Helena said. Of that, she was reasonably certain, but what it had to do with anything...

Now Myka blinked at Helena: a slow, soft, indulgent blink. “My point is, depending on the circumstance, two is a lot.”

“World wars, for example,” Abigail offered.

“Isn’t that an argument against their spending more nights together?” Liam asked her.

“Emperors Napoleon?” Abigail tried.

“Nope, there were three of those,” Steve said, “but maybe also part of an argument against? The French probably thought the first one was one too many.”

“Waterloo,” Helena muttered, because she still had no purchase on the situation, but defeat seemed a relevant concept.

“That is a very good song,” Myka told her. “I refer you to the lyrics.”

“Mamma Mia movies!” Liam exclaimed.

“That just makes that ‘argument against’ point stronger,” Steve said, and as Liam protested that he liked them, that there should be lots more, Steve gave him a look that Helena decoded—perhaps based on the personal experience of having sent very similar aspects in Myka’s direction—as “your questionable judgment makes me question my own judgment in finding you so appealing.”

Jeannie said, “Here, I’ll try something in a different genre: one of Myka’s great-great-grandmothers was a mail-order bride. She hadn’t even met her intended before the wedding.”

“I didn’t know that. But they lived happily ever after?” Myka asked, with evident hope.

Jeannie shook her head. “Probably not. It was Colorado in the 1800s.”

Varsha clapped her hands lightly, her face a study in joy. “One or both highly likely to have died of cholera!” Her enthusiasm for that outcome was... unsurprising.

“That pile of ‘against’ points keeps getting bigger, guys,” Myka said, “so maybe leave this to me?”

“No, no, the epidemiological point is that you most likely won’t die of cholera,” Varsha said.

Myka smiled, then squinted. “That’s great, but... how is that an argument in favor of our spending more nights together? And/or living happily ever after?”

Varsha squinted back, saying, “It isn’t. It’s a necessary condition for either or both of those outcomes to occur. You’ll have to make your own argument.”

“I’m trying,” Myka said. “Give me the ring, Rick.”

Rick shook his head. “Can’t.”

“Of course you can. It’s mine. And it’s about to be hers, I hope.”

Abigail said, “We have to vote. The committee. It has to be unanimous. You read the bylaws.”

Myka closed her eyes. She breathed in slowly, then said, “You cannot be serious.”

“Isn’t that usually my line?” Helena asked—joking, but not entirely.

Myka’s grip on her hand tightened again. “I swear to god if you people don’t let me put a ring on it, I will water-gun fake blood on each and every one of you, and that will happen at a time you’ll find extremely inconvenient.”

“I move we hand it over,” Steve said.

“Seconded.” That was from Rick.

“I move we vote immediately on the motion,” Steve continued.

Rick again: “Seconded.”

“Aye,” Steve said.

“Aye,” Rick said.

Abigail said nothing.

“What are you waiting for?” Myka demanded.

“Clean clothes,” Abigail told her. “See, I’ve already been water-gunned. I kind of want to make you sweat.”

“Ill-advised,” Jeannie said.

“Why is everyone stealing my lines?” Helena complained.

Myka darted a glance at Helena, a glance of a quality suggesting that Helena’s repeated noting of line-stealing might have been either immensely alluring or extravagantly irritating—or possibly both—and said to Abigail, “I swear. To god. A ring on this, or.”

Abigail sighed. “Fine. Aye.”

“Now,” Myka told Rick.

Rick reached into his pocket, but in trying to extricate what was presumably the ring, he turned the fabric inside out. A loud clink resounded, as did an “oh jesus” from him and a giggle from Abigail, and then he had dropped to his knees and was scrabbling at the floor, and Helena genuinely expected that in a moment, all of them would be examining the linoleum in great detail, for Myka now wore the expression of someone likely to issue a strongly worded decree about what had better be found right now... but Rick quickly bounced up. “Here,” he said to Myka before he looked directly at her face. “Sorry,” he said, after he did.

She held the ring between the thumb and forefinger of her free hand and shook it at him. “You had a diamond ring loose in your trouser pocket? This diamond ring? You are a ding-dong.” Rick looked for a moment as if he might take the fool’s path and protest... but he kept his mouth closed. Myka said, “Good choice,” and she gave the ring, a simple band upon which sat a smallish yet dazzlingly clear stone, to Helena, placing it in the hand she was not holding. “There. Now do you believe me?” She paused. “And now will you say you’ll marry me?”

Helena looked down at what she held. Could a diamond be content to be affixed to a ring? Happy, even, to be there? Because this one’s shimmering clarity seemed not to bespeak mysterious depths, but rather to nestle it securely into its setting. The diamond knew its mind better than Helena knew her own... she cleared her throat. “I’ve never been proposed to before,” she said.

That made Myka not tighten her hold on Helena’s held hand, but gentle it. “That’s because it was always meant to be me.”

That had to be true. It had felt so right to be engaged to marry Myka, even as fiction... Helena said that aloud.

“Told you,” Myka said, but she was not smug. “See, you knew it even before I did.”

“I didn’t buy a ring and set up a committee.”

“That’s because I’m the planner.”

“What does that make me?” Helena asked, and she did not know what Myka’s answer would be. She didn’t know what she wanted Myka’s answer to be... other than right. But what was right? What was she in this improbable relationship?

“You mean,” Jeannie said, “what does it relegate you to.”

Myka smiled at her mother. Then she smiled at Helena. “Dreamer-in-chief,” she said with certainty. “You know, you should put that on your business card. Steve, don’t you think she’d get more work that way?”

“She’d get different work that way,” Steve said. “But isn’t the goal of all this to make sure she gets... similar work?”

With a small eyeroll, Myka said, “Fine. We’ll relegate it to the vows: ‘Do you promise to faithfully execute the office of dreamer-in-chief? To keep dreaming up the never-fountains?’”

Dreamer-in-chief. Perhaps anything Myka had said would have been the right answer, because perhaps it all was nothing more—or less?—than an inside-joke snowglobe. But why not stay in it? The fountain might not exist, but this could. Surely, after all they had been through, this could. Then there is... Helena cleared her throat again. “As noted,” she said, “I didn’t buy a ring.”

“Cheapskate-in-chief,” Myka said, and that was even more right.

“But will you marry me, too?” Helena asked. It was not what she ever would have planned to say today, but now she had said it. And she did not mean it as any push of problems into the future... no, it was a pull of problems. An invitation to them, in the present and in the future.

“Try and stop me, beautiful cheapskate. Just try.” Myka leaned back against her inadequate pillow, looking for all the world like a spoiled princeling, sure that the world—or at least Helena—was hers for the taking. She was of course right, and Helena leaned in and kissed her, savoring it, savoring all of it, even the obvious absurdity, even the likelihood of additional, or at least eventual, catastrophe... “I haven’t changed,” she still wanted to warn, but she still also remembered Myka’s “maybe you shouldn’t have to.” This is how it feels, Charles might as well have been whispering in her ear, as the right wrecking ball knocks you over.

When the kiss ended, Myka didn’t, to Helena’s surprise, return to smiling. Instead she blinked overwet eyes. The planes of her face were ruddy. “You really do believe it,” she said. Perhaps not so spoiled after all, the princeling...

“I do,” Helena assured her.

Varsha said, “That’s funny too! Even more so, because I don’t think you said it intentionally.”

“I have to confess I find it a little hard to follow what you think is funny,” Rick told her.

Helena echoed, “Hard to follow. I have to confess that I find the turn—turns?—my life has taken a bit hard to follow.”

Myka sighed. “If we’re owning up, then I have to confess that I find myself contemplating more often than is probably healthy how adorable this cheapskate looks in a hardhat.”

“What?” Helena said, startled. “How do you know that?”

“That’s the part that’s a little hard to follow, and I’ll tell you later, but I note that you aren’t disputing your adorableness.”

“I—”

“That better end with ‘love you.’”

“It does,” Helena said. “And you knew that before I did.” She had been holding the ring in the palm of her own free hand, where Myka had placed it. Now, to substantiate her words, she loosed her right hand from Myka’s and used it to place that unassuming band onto the appropriate finger, where it fit as if, yes, it had always been intended to live there. She held her hand up, facing its back, and thus the confident stone, toward Myka. “Well? What do you say to that?”

“Everything,” Myka said, and Helena laughed and kissed her again, because of course she did say everything, anything and everything, all of it exactly what Helena needed—and a reasonable majority of the time wanted—to hear.

When this kiss ended, Helena heard a small sniffle, and she looked up to see Jeannie dabbing at her eyes. “I’m not surprised this got to me,” Jeannie said, “because witnessing my daughter so overcome is, to use an inadequate word, rare... but I didn’t know it would get to anybody else.” She looked at Jane. “I’m glad to know she works for someone with such a heart.”

Helena observed, with astonishment, that Jane was touching her own eyes with her sleeve. Jane said, “I did mention it isn’t made of stone. And with that, I’m leaving, before anyone mistakes me for a sentimental fool.”

“Too late,” Abigail informed her, with a laugh that seemed dangerously near a cackle.

Jane confirmed the danger with a raised eyebrow. “Spread that around, Ms. Machiavel, and I will show you how fast a heart can harden.” She then made an exit of a sort that should have been accompanied by a retinue.

Rick sighed. “I guess that means Myka’s cured, and we better get back to work.”

“Unless someone in this room would like to develop some sort of interesting infection,” Varsha suggested.

“I’d rather my day be boring, thanks,” Rick told her.

Varsha gave his cheek a pat that, if bestowed by anyone else, would have seemed overly aggressive. “Of course you would, wallpaper. See how soothing he is!”

Once Rick and Varsha had gone, Liam said, “I guess they’re right. There’s only so many billable hours I can give up in order to ‘visit a sick friend.’ Or visit a ‘sick’ friend. Or whatever it is we’ve been doing.”

“It’s strange but nice to have seen you in the middle of the day,” Steve said.

“Heart-melter. Maybe I won’t badger you to watch Here We Go Again tonight.”

“Waterloo... knowing my fate is to be with you,” Steve sang softly, and Helena added “Steve singing” to the list of seemingly impossible things that had happened today. He turned to her with a slightly apologetic, self-conscious smile. “If I can’t concentrate this afternoon because that’s running through my head, it’s your fault.”

“Accepted,” Helena said. “I think we can safely assume some similar words will be interfering with my thoughts.”

“Obviously, mine too,” said Myka.

“And mine,” Liam agreed. “Thanks a lot, honey. I’m supposed to be writing a closing argument. What if I accidentally put in ‘I feel like I win when I lose’?”

Steve shrugged. “Depends. How many ABBA fans are on your jury?”

“That isn’t something we commonly get around to in voir dire.”

“Then I think we’ve all learned a lesson or two today, haven’t we? About good questions to ask,” Steve said. He directed a significant look at Helena and Myka, then threw an even more significant one toward Liam. “In particular circumstances.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Liam said as they departed. “I will badger you to watch Here We Go Again. Every night for the next week. Or maybe the next year. Or decades....”

Abigail remarked, “They’re almost as cloying as the two of you, but with less drama. Is that good or bad? Anyway, I’m going to bring this back around to ‘clean clothes,’ and the fact that I’d like some, so I should—”

“They have lovely scrubs here,” Helena told her. “The color of an emergent bruise.”

Myka said, “I’ll admit I got a little overenthusiastic with the ‘blood.’ It’s a lot more fun water-gunning it than actually producing it myself. Although I did end up engaged to the most beautiful cheapskate in the world, both times...”

“It seems entirely unfair to Abigail that you were the only one in possession of a weapon,” Helena said.

Abigail nodded at Helena with enthusiasm. “So true. Unfair to you, too, that first time, even if the weapon was her gut. We’ll have to get back at her somehow—I know, a group paintball tournament! Maybe make it an annual thing. For your anniversary.”

“That is the best idea ever,” Myka said to her. Then she turned to Helena and said, as if referring to the sweetest of intimacies, “Isn’t it.”

“Paintball,” Helena said, and did the tone she took with Myka inevitably sound that same tenderness? “Do you know what Charles says to his wife, Jane, on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, he didn’t tell me. Do you want me to guess?”

“Actually... I’d love to hear your guess.”

“He says ‘Jane, isn’t my sister so very lucky to have found Myka, and vice versa.’”

That made Helena laugh. “Although you’ve produced a tolerable version of his voice, I don’t believe he does say that. Not regularly.”

“Well, give it time. What does he really say?”

“He says, ‘What a disaster our first meeting was.’”

“Did she really run into his car? Or was he shining me on?”

“And then he thought to return the favor,” Helena affirmed, “to make sure he had her romantic attention. He didn’t tell you that part?”

“God, no. You Wellses are weird.”

“I talked him out of it!” Helena protested.

Myka, doing princeling-against-the-pillow again, drawled, “That’s your evidence to the contrary.”

Helena said to Jeannie, “Do you know, occasionally your daughter sounds exactly like her father. Who has that irrational fear of raccoons, as I’ve so recently come to understand, so if family weirdness is genuinely on the table—”

“I do know they sound alike,” Jeannie interrupted, “but it’s nice to be reminded of it. Do you sound like your father?”

Helena smiled. “No, but I do sound very like my brother—as Myka has remarked, and which is pertinent, because Charles always follows his initial disaster comment with, ‘What a disaster I would be in the absence of that disaster.’”

“That’s sweet,” said the princeling, “but still weird.”

“My point is that I suspect I’ll be following his lead in these ritual utterances as well.”

“I don’t need clean clothes,” Abigail announced. “I need insulin. Is there a special British kind? Because you never sound like you’re made of sugar, but you are, and that makes it worse. That’s it for me.” She paused at the door, turned around, and pointed at Myka. “Pop-Tarts are one thing, but grapefruit’s another.” Then she pointed at Helena. “And raccoons are one thing, but eleven of you, nobody could take.” She swept out, and Helena suspected she would have wanted her departure accompanied by dramatic exit music.

“Grapefruit,” said Myka. “She’s said that to me before, in relation to you.”

“It has vaguely to do with koans. I’ll tell you the story some other time,” Helena said.

“Why is there always a story?” Myka said, a gentle mock.

“I’m told it has to do with atoms.”

Jeannie said, “Colliding, but not randomly. She was so excited when I finally found that book of yours.”

“I suspect she was primarily pleased to have been right. In her identification.”

“Well, she’s Myka,” Jeannie allowed. “But also... she was overcome. Like today. By you. I’m really not giving away any secret when I tell you this matters to her in an unprecedented way—but even if it were a secret, I’d tell you, because of that unprecedented mattering.”

“I’m in the room, Mom.”

Jeannie ignored Myka. She leveled a not-quite-benign gaze at Helena and said, “Treat her well. You seem like you will—I want to believe that you will—but please.”

Not precisely a talk of shovels, but near enough. “I will work hard at it,” Helena told her. “I’m very good at working hard.”

Myka leaned against Helena again. She said, “Mm. In a selfish, Emperors-Napoleon sense, I’m glad you aren’t overly good at being good.”

Not in front of your mother, Helena thought at Myka. She tried to show, by means of a severe brow-furrow directed at the very contented woman at her side, that she was thinking this instruction, but that made Myka laugh, and that in turn made Helena want to forget about who they were in front of.

“I clearly need to give you two a minute,” Jeannie said, and that was, from Helena’s perspective, an embarrassingly accurate reading of the room’s temperature. “But as I understand it, everybody’s supposed to get back to work. And you might want to remember that the idea behind this whole thing was for everybody to keep having work to get back to...” The door closed behind her.

Guilt: Helena had been so, so uncharitable in her initial assessment of Myka’s Rick-promoting mother, yet Jeannie had, now, provided them with their first instance of clean, unencumbered intimacy. She does want Myka to be happy, Helena now thought. With someone. And she genuinely seems to believe that I am that someone...

That they didn’t lunge for each other seemed, paradoxically, a good sign. A marker of this new reality.

“One minute,” Helena said. “Our first real minute.”

“Speaking of what’s real, tell me, do you really want this?” Myka asked. Helena moved her jaw in disbelief, but Myka went on, “I can take it if you don’t, but only if you tell me right now.”

Helena held her hand up again. “Here is what I’ll tell you right now: I will remove this ring for no reason other than a medical emergency?”

“That could just mean you like rings,” Myka said.

“Have you seen me wear a ring before today?”

“That could just mean you like this ring,” Myka said, but she touched the ring, began playing with Helena’s fingers.

“I have no right answer anymore.”

Myka looked up. “You do if you kiss me.”

So Helena did.

“See?” Myka said, some length of time later. “Now I’m persuaded. Want to persuade me some more? Maybe really, really fast? I think from my side of things, I can promise—”

“No,” Helena interrupted, because if Myka kept talking, the answer was going to be yes, because Helena certainly did want to persuade her some more.

A little pout, a pretty blink. “No?”

“Well, not no,” Helena conceded.

“Not no? Maybe I’m wrong, but that seems like a double negative, which I’m mostly sure works out in the math to be a positive, so—”

Helena had to interrupt again. “I mean, no, but not in perpetuity. No for the present moment.”

“You pick the worst times to be good at being good, but fine. Failing that, I don’t suppose you’d want to just go for the whole cheese plate? Fly to Vegas and get married tonight? Bellagio... fountains.... something like, there is no fountain, then there are lots of fountains, and they dance or light up or do some other—”

Helena kissed her again, and this one was sharp and quick, for it was meant both to stop her and to stop the idea, which was, for all its absurdity, ridiculously compelling: fly away and change everything yet again. She remarked, trying to lighten the idea away, “We’ve both said ‘I do,’ as Varsha found so amusing. Perhaps we’re married already.”

“In some version of the world, I bet we are.”

“I would in some version of the world marry you this minute. But I think we’d both enjoy getting to know each other just a bit better first... more importantly, however, if Charles isn’t invited to the event, he’ll riot.”

“All by himself?”

“That would be very Charles. Also, however, my parents.”

“They’ll riot?”

“Doubtful. Well, my mother might. But I would... want them here. For such an occasion. The right one.”

“If that committee hadn’t let me give you this ring, I would’ve rioted.”

“Once I became accustomed to the idea, so would I.”

Myka said, “I sprang it on you. I’m sorry.” She kissed the ring where it lived on Helena’s finger.

As severely as she could, given the kiss, Helena said, “You are in no way sorry.”

“See, you know me pretty well already. I love that I sprang it on you. I also love that you sprang it on me, reciprocally.”

“It did take me a moment.”

“Scariest moment of my life.”

“You don’t mean that,” Helena said.

“Maybe you don’t know me so well after all. What if you’d said no?”

“You never genuinely entertained that as a possibility.”

“I did though. The look on your face right at first? I don’t ever want to see that look again.” She pulled Helena to her. This kiss said Don’t frighten me.

Helena didn’t want to do that, but she did want to tell the truth. She said, “I’ll be honest: I’m not sure this will work as perfectly as I want it to. As some of our interactions have suggested it might.”

“That you want it to work perfectly is a pretty good start... plus that you think that some of our interactions have suggested it might, that doesn’t hurt. I do too, by the way. Want that. And think that.”

Trying to maintain her honesty, Helena asked, “Is it setting us up for failure? Nothing is perfect.”

“It’s all about goals. What’s failure? Aim for perfect, hit pretty damn wonderful.” And then she clearly decided to tell some truth of her own. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. But nothing will if we don’t start, so let’s.”

“I’m fairly certain we have. Look at what’s on my hand.”

“I had moments when I thought about having bought this thing—this thing that was too dangerous for me to have in my possession—and I wondered who in the world I was, who I thought I was, to even consider something like that. Something like that, with someone like you.”

These insecurities... they were Helena’s fault. “Who were you?” she asked, not at all rhetorically, for she intended to give a convincing, sure answer. “Someone with the fearlessness to consider, to push for, a better future. Meanwhile all I did was feel sorry for us. That was all someone like me could do: sit and wait for someone fearless like you to change the circumstance.”

“Fearless, foolish... but no matter how foolish it was, you’re right, it’s on your hand. I like it there.” She stopped, seemed to consider whether she wanted to go on. “Hm. Did you wear a ring before?”

“No, I’ve never worn one. I did the proposing. Gave the ring.” Did Myka want the reciprocal question? Helena went ahead and asked, “Did you? Wear one?”

This occasioned a sigh. “Weirdly, no. The wedding ring was going to be his grandma’s, and we were vaguely planning to retrofit something to go with it. I didn’t press the issue—didn’t care enough to. That should’ve helped clue me in, shouldn’t it?” That was said with a wry twist of lip, not a smile.

Of course both their pasts contained unheeded clues... “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve both made some errors.”

“I think it’s fair to say that we both failed upward.”

What an exquisite thing to say in this context, about what had gone wrong in the past—so exquisite that Helena could barely stand it. She felt a rush of willingness to take Myka up on the idea of being fast, right here... but that rush was an impulse, not an imperative. Instead, Helena got up from the bed. Stepped away. Regarded the woman still in it. Her face, its lines so deft, its beauty barely contained in a too-precise space, would always raise that impulse—no, imperative—to protect.

Pale, sick Myka, in a bed such as this one. Would Helena ever cease to see that day superimposed on Myka’s face and body? And would Helena ever cease to hear, inside Myka’s voice, an echo of that day’s weakest, most distressed entreaty: Will you be here when I wake up?

Of course I will, Helena had told her, and was that when she herself had made up her mind? When you wake up, I’ll be the first thing you see. Helena hadn’t known it then, but she had already begun speaking the vows. Keeping them. “In sickness...” she now said.

“Don’t worry,” Myka told her. “I’ll inflict plenty of health on you, too. Not to mention their friends: richer, poorer, and better.”

“What about ‘worse’?”

That made Myka smile with mischief. “Now who’s the one tempting fate?”

“Destiny,” Helena corrected.

Myka kept smiling, but she also narrowed her eyes. “Hm. Now that sounds like a koan.”

“What does?”

“I asked, ‘Who’s the one tempting fate?’, and ‘Destiny,’ you said. That’s the one tempting fate.”

“But I meant—”

“So the koan is, what happens when destiny tempts fate?”

Helena said, immediately, because it was true, “Charles would say, a car wreck.”

“What would you say?”

Helena would have smiled, largely and with intent, but she was already doing that, and Myka was doing that too, and Helena suspected they both would keep on doing that. She shook her head and exhaled, a little ripple-chuckle of jubilation. “What happens when destiny tempts fate?” she echoed, and Myka nodded. “What would I say?” Myka nodded again, her smile, impossibly, even larger. Now Helena shrugged. There was only one answer, so she gave it: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

TBC (epilogically in a few scenes that would play over the closing credits...)

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Helicobacter #part 16 #AU week #how did this thing get so lengthy?#it's an example of how you can produce a work of some size and design #even when all you have at your disposal timewise #are the nonwork interstices of a truly bonkers several months #and I'll say again that I know this is a silly story #but sometimes you just need to somersault around #and imagine people saying absurd things to each other #inconsequential little absurd things #P.S. There will be one more little explanatory twisty twist at the end #because you never know how far back fate and destiny and karma set their traps #they are patient

29 notes · View notes

nyrator · 5 years

Photo

And thus ends another Kresnyan week of wonders

It was quite an eventful week so buckle up for tons of photos, mainly arcade photos~

okay so I talked about Monday already

Tuesday was good, first thing in the morning we play F-Zero GX to wake us up, and somehow managed to beat the Ruby Master Cup with Silver Rat. What an awful, awful character, and yet such a good game for rewarding good mechanics.

Then we went around town exploring the local shops, got led into a strange pawn shop where the entire building was covered with junk, you had to shimmy through a small hall of junk to get through the place, and the owner followed in behind us without us realizing, pretty strange. Also entered a quiet little music shop and had Kresna serenade me with his good accordion skills, then visited my workplace and discussed seeing fireworks with them (we decided not to and instead played EDF and then more DDR, I also even bought a dance mat + two PS2 DDR games that day)

speaking of I got a second PS4 controller and so we played EDF 4.1 and over the course of a few days managed to 100% Hard mode with me as a Wing Diver and him as a Fencer, good times, lots of me dying and him saving me. Reminded me a lot of the PS2 one we played story-wise which after looking it up is a form of reboot of it, so neat. We decided to go straight to Inferno after that and managed to get up to about mission 23 before he had to leave, but man, we were decimating that mode (let’s ignore the having to deal with dragons in the future)

Bit disappointed we didn’t unlock Geist D because as dumb as it is I love the Geist, but mannn, got a sweet laser and Thunder Bow/Sniper 40s that I like to use

Anyway, Wednesday, the big event.

Round1

So initially it was a three-person trip that’s been planned all year, Kresna, Spade, and myself, though sadly but understandably Spade couldn’t make it this time. But mannnnnn.

So, we get up, struggle waking up, and head out on the two-and-a-half hour drive to Exton~

there was lots of neat street signs

there was also a Batman Road but couldn’t take a picture in time

also tons of great sights I forgot to take pictures of, but man, wouldn’t mind living in this area honestly, very pretty and very tree, we took a bunch of detours to avoid tolls and it was a very nice trip

but yes

round 1

this place is massive

this is what we first see going inside

that’s probably less than half of the cabinets they have

you got the shooting and driving cabinets to the right of the entrance, to the left is all more simplified games like pinballs and other popular brand ones, down the hall is the bowling alley which is adjecent to a bunch of claw grabbing machines for things from plushes to anime figures, past that you got the billards with karaoke booths, the fighting game cabinets, and at the mall entrance you have all the dance and musical cabinets, and mannnnn

see when I heard of this place I figure “oh yeah they advertise their bowling alley and also have karaoke, probably an arcade on the side, yeah”, no, this is an arcade feat. special guests bowling and karaoke

we got there at 1PM, took a small food break halfway through, and left around 5PM

my dudes, this place is amazing

I admit, I’m not much of an arcade gamer, but mannnn, what an amazing place.

Here are some of the games we playeddd

Kresna with his Tetris Grandmaster skills~ He played it three times, but man, given enough time he can easily top the scoreboards for sure

Some Outrun 2 SP~ My first time playing and I am bad at it but Kresna did pretty well

I tried playing some of that Gunslinger Stratos game I’ve heard about (aka saw there was Kuja costume DLC some years ago) but unfortunately the gun cursors were awful on the machine I used, all over the place, still beat two missions somehow with the girl in the giant robot, but mann, those cursors

heck yeah, some dekarissss and boy I absolutely am awful at tetris I am so sorry Kresna, the giant joysticks are fun though but man, multiplayer dekaris was suffering for the Kres

for reference, his solo attempt

there was also some rhythm heaven which was neat, Kresna again amazing at it and me not-so-much

we also decided to play this to fulfill our DDR thirst before taking a break

also SHOUTOUTS TO MUSIC GUNGUN, a simple but fun game with lots of good music and Kresna and I love it and may have to buy a cabinet, probably my favorite game there

after the break was more games but less photos to save battery life and repeating some of the aforementioned games, some that stood out

playing lots of Mario Kart DX, I won a grand total of once at the end but I’ll take that, thanks Waluigi and curse you Rosalina

I tried playing some Gitadora but failed miserably, my high school guitar hero skills were not enough for Medium Gitadora

meanwhile Kresna and his incredible talent at Beatmania

we finished the day at Round1 with some last bit of Music Gungun and trying out two-player Dancerush Stardom

and thus ended the trip to Round1, where we decided to head... east

East into New Jersey.

There was one more cabinet we needed to play.

Have some foliage that I forgot to take earlier to show how trees PA is~ There was a ton of nice foliage driving on the way there like I mentioned, just did not get to photograph ittt~

After another hour and a half drive (most of it spent in Philadelphia traffic, I will have you know that I am scared of heights or at least get vertigo easily, as well as being terrified of cars, and being in Philadelphia traffic is still absolutely terrifying to me)

I tried taking a photo of the Delaware but mannn could barely look up out of my seat because crippled with fear (seriously it’s only gotten worse the older I get for some reason)

anyway, just past 6:30, we finally arrive

Tilt Studio at Voorhees, NJ.

I admit, it had some neat cabinets, like Luigi’s Mansion, but nothing like Round1. However, we played none of these other cabinets

Kresna and I (mostly me) had a mission, and that mission was one cabinet

F-ZERO AX, BABYYYYY

look, you don’t understand

f-zero ax

I don’t have an addiction okay

anyway I brought my Memory Card (except I have unlocked basically everything in GX already so hm) and played with my custom vehicles~

and in just under $20 dollars worth of credits (with some used by Kresna of course) I managed to race every single race and I got my name on every single leaderboard (though they’re probably erased at the end of the day at this point)

yes we drove basically four hours to play F-Zero AX (plus Round1 goodness)

was it worth it? Yes

Sadly there aren’t any more licenses (to be expected though), but Kresna and I may have to buy our own cabinet, but a Deluxe Cabinet- the kind with moving seats and two-player actionnn

(it’ll happen you’ll see)

So then, the journey home, a night drive through NJ and bed

Thursday was firework day, though it was mainly EDF day for us. What a good game, EDF. Got some ice cream and hung out and was nice

Friday things began to slow down, EDF feat. more pizza and DDR dates~

Saturday was also pretty slow, slightly stressful day, including blahs from both of us, struggling at Inferno EDF and suffering my bad gameplay, and getting a flat tire on the way back from our last DDR trip of the night (oh boy), though we decided to watch a movie at least~ Genocidal Organ, based on a book Kresna read, it was pretty good~ Got Netflix to watch it (and Spy Kids 3D in honor of Red Square), though sadly SK3D didn’t have an anaglyph 3D option, and Genocidal Organ wasn’t on US Netflixxx, but we watched it through other means instead~

Today we finished the day with some car repairs, window shopping, and eating a big meal at a diner~ This is notable for being my first time eating somewhere in public and eating something that wasn’t just french fries (I had a blueberry pancake with whipped cream~)

Speaking of foods, this visit I tried sardines for the first timeee, not a fan but it was edible, my first time ever eating something fish-y~ Otherwise some neat treats from the Kresna involving many eggs and toasts and even an english muffinn

it was a good first anniversary week, and being with Kresna is always wonderful

And now to await the end of August, where I will finally migrate north and visit the Canadian lifestyle...

#camera stuffs #kresnyan~#a trip proving once again I am bad at most video games that aren't F-Zero GX

5 notes · View notes

tawneybel · 5 years

Text

Okay, I haven’t written a personal post in a while because I’ve been focused on schoolwork. Right now I’m super busy with a project where I have to read and evaluate lots of research articles. :( At least my academic writing is improving.

Ugh, I accidentally deleted my extensive review of Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. It was a really good book and I finished that page turner months ago. It’s easy to see why it has numerous adaptations and has influenced countless media in the Anglosphere alone. Perhaps even Heathers and Saw, what with the Erik’s plan to explode the opera house and the rosy hours of Mazenderan.

Sadly, the rest of Leroux’s bibliography seems to only be well known in French-speaking places. When I get around to getting a passport and go to Quebec I might duck into a library real quick. Even though she’s my fave mystery writer, I gotta read more detective fiction other than Agatha Christie.

For something rated PG, The Dark Crystal sure is dark. Not as bad The Adventures of Mark Twain being G-rated, though. I prefer its spiritual successor, Labyrinth. If I’d seen Labyrinth as a child that would have become one of my favorite movies, up there with Alice in Wonderland 1951 and The Wizard of Oz. Audiences need less CGI, more puppetry and animatronics!

I kind of want a Skeksis. (And maybe a Fizzgig, too.) Buzzards get a bad rap. We get flocks of turkey vultures and they’re kind of cute despite the smelliness. Let them scavenge! From now on, whenever I want the last slice of pizza or something: “TRIAL BY STONE!”

“Watch your tongue, harridan, we are lords of the Crystal.” Next time I roleplay I’m going to try to get the bae to say something like that to me.

When Aughra sat down in front of the Skeksis table, I honestly thought she was going to go to the bathroom. XD She and Kira were my favorite characters, though. Are wings like the Gelfling equivalent of b00bs?

The God Emperor of Dune was kind of a let down. And I couldn’t get into Heretics at all. When I was in middle school I checked out one of those but I can’t remember which then years later I read both Dune and Dune Messiah twice. I’m not sure if “get” Dune now but they were definitely too advanced for young teen Tawney.

Ever since I found out The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy parodied this franchise, I wanted to read Dune. “Mandy the Merciless” and the gom jabbar from “My Fair Mandy” are so much funnier now.

1,000+-year-old Leto’s slow transformation into a giant sandworm monster was something I was expecting to be hot but it was eh. Obviously, Frank Herbert didn’t intend for it to be bodacious. However, there are certain charming aspects to the Tyrant.

“Do not search for parts of me which no longer exist. Some forms of physical intimacy are no longer possible for me.” (But can Leto Atreides still perform cun/nilngus?)

“Everything about her reaffirmed his awareness that she was precisely the kind of woman who, if he had grown to normal manhood, he would have wanted (No! Demanded!) as his mate.” (Kind of jealous of Hwi, TBH.)

He looks like this in one of the miniseries:

One of my friends came over and got introduced to A Nightmare on Elm Street. The first time I watched that movie, I hadn’t really watched any other slashers. Now I can say Nancy is one of my fave final girls.

Some highlights from our commentary:

“Everybody runs stupidly in this movie. Is that Freddy’s k!nk?”

“How the f*ck could someone…” “We’re sw!ngers, Nancy!”

“How can [Glen] be h0rny at a time like this?” “Anyone can be h0rny on main if they try hard enough.”

“You look deep in thought.” “I am. I want to know the lore.” “If I ever get cheated on, I’m going to say ‘You’re deep in thot!’”

“I just want my hat and glove back. I feel so nak3d without them.”

The first shot of A Clockwork Orange had me hooked. I loved the sets so much. The book was on my to read list and then the kid who sat next to me in Latin showed me why he was having trouble reading it. That futuristic slang. After watching the film, its source is back on the list. At least everyone talks normally once Alex goes to prison.

I like when fictional gangs wear “go to hell” clothes but those were douchesuits Alex and his buddies were wearing. I’m glad he got whacked in the balls. Even if it was by the creepy Mr. Deltoid. Well, he’s -nowhere- near as bad as the protagonist. Alex is an interesting character because he’s amusing but possesses zero likability. And you don’t even feel sorry for him. There was something really satisfying about seeing him bl00dy on the ground. How the hell did he convince those two girls at the record store to go back with him for speed s3x?

More commentary highlights:

“This happens in real life.” “In those outfits?!” “Yes.”

“They’re not very nice people.” “Why would you say that?” “He’s p33ing in front of us.”

*Alex has his hands down his drawers* “Look at that!” “I’d rather not.”

*cat lady doing her stretches* “Do you think she’d get along with Angela [Martin]?”

*discussing the sculpture* “How do you think Malcolm McDowell explains this in interviews?”

Sleeping Beauty was rewatched for the first time since I was very young. It was one of my favorite Disney movies but Aurora wasn’t my favorite princess. That honor went to Ariel. Now I’d say Tiana and Belle are my faves because they get stuff done. I want Disney to go back to cartoon fairy tales sooo bad. Aurora’s sweet and likable but her godmothers are more interesting. I want Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather merch now. Also, was that the broom from Fantasia?

Maleficent and her minions apparently don’t meet up with her often enough to properly confer information. XD She’s into b0ndage and I ship her with Phillip now. Somehow the fact the prince was a total babe went over my head. He was kind of handsy with Briar Rose during their first meeting, though.

Lifechanger couldn’t really hold my attention, which is a shame because I love shapeshifting so much. I expected the MC to possess his victims but it’s okay he didn’t. But the absorption could have been more unsettling, they could have shown more of it.

This post is getting long so I’ll write about The Silence of the Lambs and Scream: Resurrection in the next one.

Song of the Day: “Riding” by Tiny Jag and “Girl in the Machine” by Dedderz.

3 notes · View notes

kingsmanrp · 2 years

Text

Walked in on my travel roommate and ended up double penetrating his girl [MFM]

Met a great group of people backpacking and spent two nights drinking hard on a slow boat down the Mekong river. We invaded the back of the boat, dubbed it the VIP (Very Intoxicated Pirates) area and basically tore it to pieces. Somebody got a huge speaker and put on some good Deep House, and soon half the passengers of the boat wanted to be part of our group. It was wild as fuck. At the end, people were drinking out of broken chair legs. That type of wild. Good times.

So I've found myself a group to travel with (the core group of the VIP area) and am all happy. We party hard every place we go. In the third town, we are joined by some punk with a guitar, who I invite to share a room with a double bed because, well, he's got a guitar and I wanna jam.

Throughout this time, we've been partying and everybody's been hooking up left and right, but I've just not been feeling it. Apart from a few makeouts, I'm not going for any. I don't know, it's probably just the having met so many people and being tired of meeting new people, but every time a cute girl (and there were some really cute ones) talks to me, I soon lose her because I'm more interested in making all my friends have a good time and partying it up with them. It's probably just because they're familiar faces. Anyway, so my attitude is essentially "I'd have sex if I have to do literally zero work, but I won't put ANY effort".

As is happens, that is exactly what I was about to get.

I've been making friends with the punk and sharing some music etc. He's cool, and we bond over our love for music and have some high conversations about music, girls, sex, poly etc.

So one of these nights I know he's been hooking up with a chick but it's time for me to go home, so I can't avoid walking in on them. As I open the door, they're both naked below the sheets.

Me: "Sorry guys, I knew this was going to happen, but..."

Him: "Hey mate, you wanna join us?"

Me: "Well, if she wants me to..."

One look at her eyes clarifies that question. She's cute, dark skinned with eyes like a cobra. I just drop my pants and slide into bed right next to her. I start kissing her. She kisses really well. Then I make her kiss him again and start fingering her softly while I kiss her tits. He makes his way down as well, then looks over to me and goes:

Him: "Ok so look here's the thing. I'm drunk as fuck and I can't get it up, so you will have to step up for me mate"

Hilarious. I also realize she's french and doesn't speak english, so the two almost can't communicate. I make them kiss again and start fingering her spiderman style. She squirts in no time. I tell him I just made her squirt, so he makes his way down to check. After his astonishment at the amount, he starts licking her and I make her suck my dick in the meantime.

She is having the best time ever, enjoying every bit of this, with this naughty little fire in her kobra eyes. So damn sexy.

After a while he asks her if she wants to fuck me and she says yes, so I slap on a condom and start fucking her really hard while he kisses her tits and makes out with her. He's absolutely amazed, repeating over and over:

Him: "Oh my god you guys are so hot together!"

We change positions and she rides me for a while and he's even more amazed than me at how sexy she moves. She fucks like a pornstar. And the best thing is I put 0 effort into this one. I make them make out while I let her ride me hard.

Him: "Oh man I'm so jealous, I want to fuck her too!"

After a while, I flip her on her back again and tell him to get over her so she can suck him while I keep fucking her. I was thinking that might help him get hard. We keep doing this for a while, but he just can't get it up. So we switch again and he licks her again while she sucks me. We do this for a while but I can't cum.

After a little break and some pillow talk with her in the middle kissing us both (she sucked me last so it's fine for me), he goes down on her again and she finishes me off as I'm still hard. I cum all over the head part of the bed and then realize I'm on his side.

Me: "I guess I am sleeping on this side tonight!"

Then she leaves because she has to leave town early and we go to sleep.

The following night is my last night out with this group, so I focus on them again. But to our surprise, the french girl is also still here because she missed her bus or something. We have a little moment where she goes back and forth between me and the punk, but I leave her to him and party with my friends.

I arrive late, but nobody's in the room. So I go to sleep.

When I wake up, somebody's fucking next to me. It's them, obviously. I just turn over and start kissing her while she is riding him. Apparently, he's not too drunk this time, as he seems to be going quite steady.

I ask her if she wants to try out two dicks inside of her, and although she says she isn't into anal, she agrees to try out. So I put it in her ass and accomplish a big tick on my sexual bucket list: Double Penetration, yayyyy! It was fun and although our balls touched, it really didn't put me off at all. It was quite sexy. Unfortunately she wasn't that into it and after some time we switch. He wants to watch us fuck again, so I lay down and let her ride me.

While he is just watching from behind, she leans down towards me to kiss me. I whisper (all in french):

Me: "You love my cock, don't you?"

Her: "Je l'adore!"

Me: "You came back just for that, didn't you?"

Her: "Peut-etre..."

Sexy little minx. I cum inside her, and just go to sleep while they keep fucking next to me. I wake up after a while and they're still or again fucking, and I just lazily lean in and kiss her a few times and then roll back to sleep.

submitted by /u/Altruistic_Green7034 [link] [comments] from Gonewild Stories https://ift.tt/Imqw0lE

0 notes

awed-frog · 6 years

Text

This is going to be a mess - I had to erase the original post because the bots just wouldn’t stop coming, so here is how it all started -

And here are your kind requests -

So - thank you for your lovely asks and PMs - here we go.

(Keep in mind that those moments were hugely embarrassing to me, so you shouldn’t find them funny or anything. They’re tragic stories I’m relating for your moral betterment - that is all.)

1) The ‘The Greeks Made Me Do It’ story

As a bit of background, I was eighteen and had just moved to another city to start my studies. I’d been there for a month, knew literally no one, had no idea where half my classes were and my ideals of switching to a Sophisticated Look and becoming A Lady had miserably failed, which means I was walking around wearing this insanely expensive, Managing Director of the IMF coat plus combat boots and frayed jeans plus a lopsided handmade scarf and 'Marilyn going on Morticia’ lipstick (I worried - a lot - about being the only weirdo and the only unfinished person in the entire town, because that was before I met Hamster Girl and Colour Matching Girl and I spend as much on weed as you do for rent but everything I own is see-through, threadbare or ripped Guy). Plus, I couldn’t speak or understand the local language all that well, and I’d taken to nodding and smiling whatever people said, which generally made me look like an idiot and meant I never knew what was going on.

(And, yes, it’s tempting and it seems like the easier option, but seriously - don’t do that.)

All of that means I was more or less living in the university library so I could pretend I had a purpose in life and, well, going from a high school library to a real academic library was like stepping into the Restricted Section - I mean, of course, I read what I was supposed to read, and I lost myself in serious books that had little to do with my actual subjects (that was my Minoan period - I’m sure every Classics student had one), but there were also the - uhm - other books, you know? All those studies about homosexuality in the Greek world, and how Mapplethorpe’s pictures were connected with frescoes of Saint Sebastian, and people having sex with statues and kings trying to trick their young wives into anal and truly lurid collections of Greek art which my high school teacher had once described as ‘Something you should probably have a look at, but if I let you borrow my copy your parents would not be happy with me’. And on that particular day, I had actually devoted my afternoon to a no-nonsense book about Eastern influences in Greek art, and well, the study of lovers and concubines on Greek amphorae was a sort of a plan B to relax a bit between chapters, because I was reading in a foreign language and it was hard work and when you don’t know anyone, it’s like you’re the only one working, right, and everyone else is off to wild parties and poetry lectures and screenings of a Guatemalan movie you never knew existed and that’s depressing af, so yay for weird art - but at around five I realized the day was done and I didn’t want to give the dirty book back because, come on, it wasn’t that dirty and I had a right to read it and it was complemented with passages by Theophrastus and Plato, plus it had come to me via the now defunct goblin-based system of tunnels underground the reading room -

~note - for younger readers, these things~

- so I didn’t want to give it back and go through the hassle of requesting it again, and I remember the fuck it moment that came over me - I was eighteen, I was studying the damn stuff, so I’d borrow the damn book and if the librarians disapproved, well, they could bite me.

(Obviously, they didn’t disapprove. The bored guy at the service desk didn’t even look at me, because nobody looks at you, ever, and your life is your own, so go live it.)

And next, I had to go shopping because there’s only so much time you can survive on cold cereal - and suddenly there I was, in a big and foreign supermarket, a dirty book burning a hole through my old Invicta, my Queen of England coat clashing with everything else I was wearing, and I was moving from aisle to aisle without making eye contact and trying to remember what spices were called in French, and I’d almost made it - I was collecting my mismatched groceries on the other side of the till when the bloody alarm started blaring, and two uniformed guards appeared out of thin air and it was like one of those slow-motion scenes in movies, right, when the dust in the air glimmers like gold and sound is no longer a thing and someone’s talking and everybody is staring and when God pushed the ‘resume normal speed’ button the two men were gesturing and smiling smugly and there was this old lady next to me and she was taking in my luxurious coat and my frayed jeans and putting two and two together - I physically felt her horrified, gleeful gaze on me like scalding water - and Jesus, I could see the headlines in my local paper already ‘Young Promise of Sci-Fi Literature Arrested’ (I was writing fantasy back then, but most normal people don’t seem to know the difference) and there were my parents, okay, my poor parents walking with their heads down as formerly friendly neighbours threw garbage at them and someone would interview my history teacher and he was bound to say, ‘She was something of a strange girl, but I never thought she’d end up in prison’ and next, of course, came the walk of shame in front of all twelve tills, with dozens of proper adults (people with families and eggs in their baskets, women with tasteful lipstick and women with kids and doggies instead of books about dead prostitutes) staring at me in disapproval, and What has the world come to and I heard that today, young women are as likely to commit crimes as young men and Do you think she’s on drugs? and then I was forced into the Small Room of Humiliation and asked to please empty my bag, so out came the frosting I was planning to eat raw and the crown of garlic I’d bought because it looked pretty and had no intention of ever using and a giant-ass bag of rice and as I looked on, horrified, I realized nothing made sense with anything and even those burly, middle-aged men could see that just fine - but, well, every single horrifying, meaningless item was on the receipt, so they had me empty my pockets (one condom, safety pins, a Swiss knife, an IKEA pencil and a very smooth and round rock, God have mercy on me) and next we all looked at one another like, What now? and that’s when I truly gave up on rational thinking, okay, because my first instinct is always to be of service, and so I said, in my heavily accented French, ‘The library book has a barcode, maybe that’s the problem?’ and of course, they hadn’t really looked at the book yet - it was face down on the formica table, looking all prim and innocent in its unassuming dark blue cover, but when the older man picked it up with his bear paw, I suddenly realized the front of it was quite different - I sat there and saw his eyebrows disappear into his hairline as he took in the big-ass picture (a painting of a woman fellating a much younger man) and the title (something along the lines of, THE JOYLESS SEX - TALES OF THE PLEASURE WOMEN, in all capitals, because books about Greek art don’t sell all that well, so anything to do with sex is pimped up to trick the unsuspecting general audience into giving it a shot) and of course he had to open it, because that’s how humans are wired, okay, and the thing right in the middle was a goat-like creature doing unspeakable things with two women and every single cell in my body wanted to explode and disappear and shout ‘IT’S MANDATORY READING FOR THIS CLASS I’M TAKING’, which was a lie, anyway, and I couldn’t get the words out and I couldn’t look up and I couldn’t look away - after a few excruciating minutes (seconds? hours?), the guy scanned the book on his barcode machine and yep, that’s when we all learned that library books respond to the same anti-theft thingies that pick up on stolen wine and cookies and fine cheeses, and Sorry, miss, and You have a good evening, now, and he was extremely uncreepy about it, but it was still hard to find my way out because of the WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOUNG PEOPLE UP THESE DAYS bewilderment that was shining like a beacon around his entire body, so, yeah - that was pretty embarrassing.

2) The ‘A Four-Part Seduction’ story

This actually happened almost one year before my adventure with the scanning machine - I was in my last year of high school, had kissed exactly 1 (one) boy, failed to seduce 3 (three) other boys despite my fox-like cunning and my sunny disposition, and I was now ready to sacrifice everything (well: my sanity and my dignity) for The Boy - a basketball player with a long, horse-like face and zero talent in anything whom for some reason I fancied the pants off.

(Looking back, I think I liked he was quiet and kind, and the age-old problem when you’re attracted to mysteriously self-effacing people is that you’re never quite sure - is there a colourful and occasionally wild ocean behind their silent lips and far-off gaze, or are they not saying anything because an evolutionary mishap converted half their brain into a second spleen, and therefore they were left with the mental capacity of a vivacious Mexican mole lizard? The joy is in finding out.)

Anyway, I have a feeling things haven’t changed all that much, but back then when you were intent on romantic hunting, you usually enlisted the help of your closest friends - people who inevitably were:

your age

unexperienced

not very familiar with The Boy and

generally speaking, completely unsuited to hatching a failproof seduction plan of any kind.

On this particular occasion, my advisors were:

a girl who’d been the better half of a couple for time untold (three months, two weeks and five days) and was thus The Expert

another girl who’d done ‘not it, but almost’ with an unnamed boy she’d met over the summer

a third girl who still didn’t quite understand what ‘it’ meant and

my only guy friend who was actually in love with me and I only found out about that twenty years later and that was one true what the fuck moment, because then I wondered what else I hadn’t seen when I was a teenager even if it was there in plain sight (like the fact my German teacher preyed on young boys, for instance,but that’s another story).

So, well - part A of The Plan - getting to know him better - had failed miserably, because what can you discuss with someone you only see once a week in French class and you have a monster crush on? I mostly pestered him about homework dates and then stared mutely at his hands as he turned the pages of his school diary and my God, he must have thought I was an anxious, forgetful idiot with absolutely zero life, ‘which means he already knows you better than most people,’ my best friend said consolingly, before trying out her married name signature (Alice DiCaprio) one more time. And as for part B - that had succeeded, but at what cost? Because through a string of sleights of hand and corruption, we’d managed to shift half our classmates around on the seating chart, so I was now sharing a desk with The Boy himself, but so far that had resulted in some awkward staring (mine), a couple of embarrassed smiles (his) and about 50 000 volt of electricity going through my entire body every time his elbow bumped into my arm by mistake (which happened a lot, because he was left-handed and I’m not and we were sitting the wrong way around).

Now, this had been going on for weeks when the skies suddenly opened above me and the teacher, an I’m frankly disappointed in how everything turned out ‘68 hippy, assigned us a written essay on Victor Hugo and socialism, something that, as an anxious, forgetful idiot with absolutely zero life, I knew quite a lot about. Plus, I was good at French, and that’s how The Boy turned towards me and asked if I’d be willing to help him, his hazel eyes all clear and earnest, shining like stolen jewels on his horse-like face, and being a Cosmo reader, I heard myself laugh throatily and ask, ‘Sure - what will you give me in return?’ and fuck, how do these things happen and why are we not in control of our own bodies and also thank God, because he blinked at me and then said, in a slow voice I read as flirtatious, ‘I’ll buy you a drink’. And that’s how we all entered part C - there were weekly meetings with him in the library to write the essay together, and daily meetings with my girlfriends to analyse everything we’d ever said to each other and I think he was looking at you during break and I saw him blush twice now, he must be sensitive and My sister knows his cousin, I can tell her to ask him if he’s seeing anyone and also long walks by the river with my long-suffering guy friend during which I rambled on and on about how shiny The Boy’s hair was and he contributed to this mind-blowingly fascinating conversation mostly in uhms and grunts.

(Again, how could I have been so stupid? I mean, it was for the best in the end, but - ouch.)

And one windy evening of March, lo and behold, it was finally time for part D (no pun intended) - a bona fide D-A-T-E with The Boy, and possibly there’d be fireworks and he’d say, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks and some tourist would snap a candid photo of us and then marvel at it, years and years later, because Do you ever wonder what happened to this couple, Mabel? Look at how happy and in love and beautiful they are and I’m not saying cover of the National Geographic, but cover of the National Geographic. Also, movies had taught me what was supposed to happen, you know?,

which is why I borrowed make up and rollers from one of my friends and did a clothes pre-selection with her and then a second selection with my guy friend -

(I remember him sitting cross-legged on my bed and strumming my mom’s guitar as I hid behind the closet door to try on The Makeover Outfit and how his expression barely changed when he saw me in a skirt for the first time - how he said, ‘You look - good. He’s an idiot if he doesn’t go for it,’ and how the music turned into something slow and mournful as I disappeared again to put my jeans back on, and what the hell?)

- and at nine pm, I was ready - I had leveled up and transformed, or so it seemed - gone was the windbreaker, and the crappy Converse, and the overlarge plaid shirt - instead, my hair was curled in the right way and my skirt was short but not too short and I’d even bought a push-up bra which was uncomfortable as hell but Who cares, uh?, who cares? And let’s pretend my make-up was still perfect after biking twenty minutes in the half rain, because when I walked into the bar, some catchy song was on and my brand-new hoop earrings were catching the light just so and I was the Goddess of French and Sex and WITNESS ME and we saw each other at once - he was sitting with his friends, the Popular Good-at-Hockey Guys, and he turned as he heard the door open, as if he’d been expecting me, and he immediately smiled and came towards me and ‘So, what can I get you?’ and of course I ordered wine, because I was Sophisticated and also A Lady and as he pushed his way towards the counter I sat down at the only table for two and subtly (I hope) adjusted my cleavage and crossed my legs and wondered whether I should whip my copy of Rimbaud’s Les Illuminations out of my (well: my mom’s) purse just to make it extra clear I meant business, or if that would be considered impolite - a kind of, ‘You took forever to get me that drink’ reproach - and as I was still trying to decide, he came right back, all perfect and tall and horsey-looking in a grey shirt, and he was carrying my wine and a pint of dark beer and some idiotic voice in my head said, ‘Yes, we’d known each other for months, but I remember the night we truly fell in love - your father used to drink these strong beers, you know, and that evening-’ and before that thought could go anywhere, The Boy was there, at my table - he handed me the wine (our fingers touched) and he said ‘Thanks again, really - I would have been dead without you’ and then - and then he walked away and fucking sat down with his friends again because apparently he was a damn sophist underneath that equine disguise and he’d promised me a drink and now I had a drink and what the fuck? and for the second time that night I considered turning to Rimbaud, but you should never turn to Rimbaud because he was an addict and a killer, so I drained my wine in one gulp, looked around desperately, my vision already fogging over, for someone I could bother - there was no one I really knew, only older people and party people and cool people who were already looking at me weirdly - I shrugged my coat on and waved joyfully at The Boy on my way out and man, it’s been twenty years but sometimes I still wonder at it - I don’t think he wanted to be rude, I’m sure he was like me, awkward and empty-headed and inexperienced, and he now works with snakes in Canada so maybe there was something interesting about him, but after I never go to the movies guy and Do you go to this school? guy and Sorry, I’m looking for someone who’ll choke me during sex guy and - mostly - the ghost music / still not sure he existed for real guy, well - that was a crushing moment and the end of my grand plans and when I started to simply tell guys ‘I like you’ and also follow them home before they could realize what was going on and, whatever, if you’re looking for dating advice, that works much, much better.

[Thanks again for your messages - if you like my writing, please visit my AO3 page!]

#ask #short stories #short story #embarrassing teenage memories #wow it's good to be a grown up #anyway #i hope you liked these!#it feels weird to write about myself #but i expect you guys can relate about this stuff?#we've all been there and stuff #:)

87 notes · View notes

mr-hawkmoth · 7 years

Text

Black Cat, Red Night

Chapter 1: Zeroes

Commission for @xenethis-chimera

For any of you who have every watched Teen Titans from way back when you might find one of the characters in this familiar ;) but if you don’t it is still totally readable- I encourage all of you to follow this- great things to come!

Hawkmoth leaned back in his desk chair, pressing his fingers together contemplatively. Detransformed, he sat in the shadows of his office using the darkness to disguise himself as he prepared to answer the video call scheduled to come in any minute now. The situation with Ladybug and Chat Noir had grown tedious. His akumas had failed him time and time again and so it would seem that Hawkmoth needed more than an akuma at his disposal to defeat the infuriating adolescent duo. Hawkmoth had done his research, looking far and wide for just the right person for the job and he had finally found someone with the kind of remarkable skill set he required.

The beeping from his computer brought his attention back to the screen. Hawkmoth clicked on the answer key before settling back into his chair. On the screen sat a shadowed figure in a seemingly dark and plain room. Hawkmoth smirked to himself. I guess evil minds think alike.

“Fancy meeting you here, come here often?” The man’s raspy voice sounded through the computer’s speakers in fluent French.

“I’ve heard many things about your particular skill set,” Hawkmoth’s voice stayed even and serious. All business.

“What can I say, word gets around,” He said playfully.

“I have to say I’m quite… interested…” Hawkmoth said slowly.

“I’ve got a lot of people interested, what makes this job so worthy of my talents?” He snorted. Hawkmoth smiled knowingly.

“Oh I think you will find this job particularly … challenging,” Hawkmoth taunted. The man leaned forward in his chair.

“I’m listening,” He rasped. Hawkmoth grinned wickedly. How the simple minded were so easily manipulated.

“Have you ever been to Paris M. X?” Hawkmoth began. The man smiled slightly before letting out a low dark laugh.

“You could say I’ve spent some time there before,” He said coyly.

“Well in the past year Paris has developed a bit of a… hero problem you could say. There are two heroes who go by the names of Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Hawkmoth started to explain.

“Let me guess you want me to take care of your hero problem, been there done that. Not interested,” The man leaned back into his chair body turning away from the screen as his interest waned.

“No I want you to do more than that. You see these two hold what is known as a Miraculous, which grants them their powers. I want you to retrieve their Miraculous’ for me.” Hawkmoth quickly slammed a computer key pulling up a picture of the Ladybug and Chat Noir Miraculous for the man to see. The man started to sit up now, interest peaked once more. “These Miraculous… I have a right to them,” Hawkmoth went on.

“Save the noble act for someone else, I have nothing against stealing,” The man chuckled. Hawkmoth nodded.

“Very well. Your job will be to retrieve the Miraculous from these two children and bring them to me,” Hawkmoth explained.

“Looks like some cheap jewelry to me, what exactly do you want with them?” The man inquired.

“The Ladybug and Chat Noir Miraculous’ when combined have.. interesting properties. I require them for a piece of my plan,” Hawkmoth said, choosing his words carefully.

“You’ve got my attention, name the right price and we might have a deal.” The man smiled as he leaned back in his chair.

“I think we have a bright new future ahead of us in this partnership.” Hawkmoth smirked.

“Whoa slow down there, at least buy me dinner first,” The man snickered.

“I already have,” Hawkmoth said devilishly. The man leaned forward tilting his head to one side curiously. “Money has already been wired to your account. You will receive half now, and half when the job is completed,” Hawkmoth explained. The man quickly began typing on his computer letting out a low whistle when he pulled up his bank account information.

“You’ve got a deal my friend,” The man smiled crookedly as he looked back towards the camera.

“When will you be arriving in Paris?” Hawkmoth inquired.

“I’ll be on the first flight out,” The man said, a dark humor lilting his voice.

“I look forward to seeing your work in person.” Hawkmoth cut off the video feed terminating their conversation.

Red X smirked to himself as he looked over at his costume, the skull mask staring back at him. He looked back to his banking statement. That’s a lot of zeroes, He thought to himself, damn near giddy with anticipation.

“A zero!?!” Adrien squeaked as their physics tests were handed back to them. Nino let out a low whistle as he looked over Adrien’s shoulder.

“Dude what happened?” Nino raised his eyebrows, he knew as well as anyone that Adrien had always been good at physics.

“I- I - I forgot we had a test, I didn’t have a chance to study,” Adrien admitted tiredly rubbing his eyes. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been feeling the toll of the constant akuma attacks. His body lately was always sore and it seemed as though Adrien was in a constant state of sleep deprivation. His mind and body were utterly exhausted and yet the akumas kept coming. Every time he went to study or sleep or shower or anything another akuma was there terrorizing the streets of Paris. Adrien didn’t know how much more of the constant beck and call of Chat Noir’s duties he could take before he finally collapsed.

“Dude your dad is so going to kill you,” Nino exclaimed shaking his head as he examined the test.

“Thanks for the reminder,” Adrien grumbled.

“Hey Nino what did you get for number 13?” Alya asked from behind them.

“Number 13?” Adrien asked quizzically. eyebrows pulling together.

“Yeah dude, on the back,” Nino clarified. Adrien’s eyes widened eyebrows shooting up into his hair line, jaw going slack.

“There was a back side!?!” Adrien nearly screeched much to Alya and Nino’s amusement. Alya and Nino began giggling at the boys overdramatized response.

“No wonder you failed dude you missed like half the test,” Nino reasoned.

“I am so dead!” Adrien groaned throwing his head on the table and covering it with his arms. He let his eyes fall shut. What was he going to do? Part of the deal in going to public school was that he would continue to excel in his studies and now…. His father was going to kill him, or worse take him out of public school. He was so screwed.

His thoughts became fuzzy as he swiftly drifted into unconsciousness.

Marinette was late… again! Her mother practically had to drag her out of bed that morning. It was ridiculous but Marinette couldn’t help herself, she desperately needed a good night’s sleep. The akuma attacks had been so frequent lately Marinette hardly had a moment to herself. She was falling behind in school, her and Alya hadn’t hung out outside of class in weeks, and Marinette couldn’t even remember the last time she slept for more than four hours at a time. Even now as she ran to class she found her eyes drifting closed fatigue setting in as her feet continued to drag her forward the motion becoming incredibly tedious as her feet scraped against the concrete. Marinette was on the verge of collapsing to the ground altogether when she ran into someone. Marinette fell backwards landing on her bottom. Hot coffee stained the front of her shirt. The cup lay abandoned on the ground along with a passport, a wallet and a few lone euros and what looked like two or three crumpled US dollar bills. She looked up at a man wearing dark sunglasses and a black baseball cap. He smirked down at the fallen girl who blushed fiercely under his gaze.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going I didn’t-“ The man held his hand up to silence her.

“Don’t worry about it,” The man said as he began to crouch down and retrieve his scattered items. Marinette scrambled to help him collect his various belongings.

“I’m so sorry M. um-“ Marinette glanced down at the passport in her hands. “M. Riley!” Marinette quickly handed him the passport and the few crumbled dollars she had collected off the ground. The man smiled taking them graciously from her.

“Like I said kid, don’t worry about it. Hey shouldn’t you be in school?” The man asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.

“Crap!” Marinette hissed as she jumped to her feet and broke out in a run towards the school. “I’m sorry again M. Riley!” Marinette shouted back at him as she ran. An amused smiled played on the man’s lips as he watched her go.

Marinette burst into the classroom over ten minutes late and covered in coffee. After a quick irritated look from Mdm. Bustier Marinette took her seat behind Adrien and promptly let her head hit the desk. She knew she shouldn’t be sleeping in class considering she was certain she had bombed the physics exam but she couldn’t help herself. She was beyond tired and the battle to keep her eyes open was proving to be too much for her. Marinette dozed only briefly before her head was snapping up at the sound of Chloe’s shrill voice arguing with their teacher. Marinette sat up in her desk with bleary eyes. She combed a hand through her ragged hair that she forgot to brush that morning but soon gave up collapsing her body onto the desk once more.

“You okay Mairnette?” Adrien yawned turning around in his desk. With the commotion Chloe was causing the other students had all broken out into casual conversation around her. Marinette lifted her head her face growing hot under his bright gaze. Marinette didn’t have the energy for her usual spastic movements that always accompanied speaking with Adrien.

“Okay! I mean- why wouldn’t okay- I mean why wouldn’t I be okay!” Unfortunately for Marinette she still had the energy to stutter and babble uncontrollably around him. Adrien raised an amused eyebrow.

“Well you’re covered in coffee for starters,” Adrien chuckled. Marinette’s face flushed a deeper red. Oh sure, now he notices her!

“Oh. Um well there was this guy- No not like that- I mean I was late so I was running- he was holding coffee- and the cup- I- coffee- over- all over me. I uh- I mean I uh-“ Marinette babbled before letting out a sigh of defeat her head dropping onto her desk covering her face from view. As thrilled as she was to be talking to Adrien of all people he definitely couldn’t have picked a worse day to talk to her! She was too exhausted to hold up a simple conversation (not that she could any other day) and of course he had to pick the day she had forgotten to put make up over the dark circles under her eyes, and came in covered in coffee. Marinette’s stomach flip flopped as she began to imagine how awful she must have looked at that very moment.

“You ran into someone with coffee?” Adrien asked uncertainly. He could never quite figure out why Marinette had such trouble speaking around him and frankly he was afraid to dwell on the thought for too long. Marinette kept her head down as she nodded her head.

“Well if coffee works through osmosis you’ll be doing a lot better than me any minute now,” Adrien laughed nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. Marinette peek up at him from behind her arms.

“The two of you look like you died and came back to life. Have you guys been having secret rendezvous’ we don’t know about,” Alya teased. Marinette’s face turned about three different shades of red as various squeaking sounds escaped her throat.

“I wish, that would probably be a lot more fun than what I’ve been doing,” Adrien laughed lightly. Marinette looked at him eyes blown up wide. Did he just say what she thought he did?

“Dude what have you been doing?” Nino asked. Adrien froze eyes wide eyebrows pulled together. Way to walk into that one Agreste! He thought to himself.

“Uh- My dad has really been cracking down on the Chinese lessons lately. Nathalie has been testing me day and night,” Adrien lied trying to keep his voice even.

“Bummer,” Nino mumbled. Adrien nodded a little too enthusiastically in response.

“Girl we have got to get you some dry clothes! Coffee is literally dripping off your shirt,” Alya pointed out. Marinette sighed laying her head back on the desk behind the safety of her arms.

No use crying over spilled coffee, Red X thought as he tossed the empty coffee cup in a nearby trashcan. He spent a minute reorganizing his wallet arranging the crumbled bills and the new IDs he had forged for himself. He smiled to himself as he opened up his passport and admired the craftsmanship. Kale Riley. He snickered to himself. Not a bad name. I might keep this one awhile.

166 notes · View notes

whoinwhoville · 7 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler Additional Tags: Crack, Maddam Doo Pompadoor, she who must not be named - Freeform, but not a character, Referenced - Freeform, and not in a good way, bad kissing technique, good kissing technique, Bananas, bananas are gooooooood, Humor Summary: Rose freezes his banana grove. And that's not a double entendre.

Notes: I’m cleaning out my drafts folder. I think this was a @timepetalsprompts a while back. “Frozen”? “Freezing”? “Ice”?

Brrrrr

Rose hears a string of angry words that the TARDIS isn't translating. His footfall is getting closer and closer until finally, he appears in the doorway to her bedroom.

His chest is heaving.

His glasses are fogged up.

His nose and fingers are red.

His blue shirt is covered with -- snow?

“What happened to you?”

He glares for a long while before he speaks.

“They’re frozen. ALL of them. Frostbitten. No not Frostbitten. That's not right. That arboretum is colder than the surface of Hoth!"

“I don't understand."

“The bananas, Rose. My beautiful bananas. It's like Woman Wept in there!"

"Don't cry, Doctor. Don't cry."

"I'm. Not. Crying. That is my frost-frozen hair melting."

He starts seething, sucking and then pushing the air back out through his clenched teeth.

Rose winces. This is never a good sign.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Rose Tyler.” He directs his long, slender finger in her direction. “You have hated that banana grove since the day I finished planting it. You know what I think? I think you turned on the air conditioning. To twelve. And that means ZERO KELVIN!"

"So I take that's really cold then?" She cringes.

"Oh yes. And furthermore, the climate cycle was set to tropical monsoon season! It's like walking through a slushy in there for the frozen fog! I-- I-- touched a tree trunk and the whole thing collapsed. Right in front of my feet! Shattered into billions of shards of ice!"

"Ha," she barked. "Sorta like those banana snow cones we got last week, then?”

"Snow cone? No. This. Is. A. Tragedy."

Rose lays a gentle hand on his arm. "Now calm down. You're gonna have a hearts attack. I may... strongly dislike that banana grove, but you gotta know that I'd never do anything to kill your bananas."

"Somehow I think that "strongly dislike" is a nice way of saying hate."

“I don't hate it. But it’s a bloody shrine to Versailles! You drink your banana daiquiris in the French statue garden. And instead of shrubs and bushes trimmed like little elephants you have banana trees shaped like... Like... More bananas! And you're always going on about bananas at parties! It's bananas this. Bananas that. Potassium, Rose! Bananas are goooooood,"she mimics his black leather voice while crossing her arms.

"Bananas are good! They are veryveryveryvery good. And furthermore, my banana grove isn't modeled after the gardens at Versailles. I have cultivated it in the Villengardian style."

"Looks like Versailles to me," she mutters. "You are obsessed with bananas. Freud would have something to say 'bout that."

They stare at each other stuck at an impasse.

"You used to love bananas. You gladly accepted any banana I had to offer," the Doctor says sadly.

"That was before you went and gave your brilliant banana daiquiri to her, not me." She turned her back on him and harrumphed.

"You're jealous of me sharing my banana daiquiris with the French Court?"

"YES!"

"That was our special thing, Doctor! We always had banana daiquiris by the pool after a hard day. And you go and share with them with-- with-- her! While I was strapped to a table ready to be carved up and bar-b-cued by walking clocks!"

A slow smile grows on his face. "You don't want to share me or my bananas." The Doctor makes a small, self-satisfied sound.

"Yeah. That and the snogging."

"You're jealous of both the banana daiquiris and the snogging?"

"Of course I am!"

"I wouldn't be. I’ll have you know, that woman was very strong. Felt like a Dalek was sucking off my face. But that's beside the point. My bananas have been flash frozen. And all of those lovely yellow skins. Brown." He pouts.

“Don't change the subject. Must have liked something about her face-sucking. I saw the whole thing from the other side of that time window. You looked like you'd just eaten the best banana of your life.”

“History, Rose! How many times have I told you? You have to immerse yourself! Kiss a stranger in Paris! But, her technique was terrible. And when I say terrible, I mean really, really awful."

“And did she taste of banana daiquiris?"

"I seem to remember you doing a bit of snogging, Rose Tyler. Remember that pretty boy you kissed on Reinodan? Crown Prince Ell-Inder?”

She sighed happily. “Yeah. He was a bit pretty wasn’t he? Really great kisser. Gorgeous lips.” She faced him directly. “He said that I tasted like ripe, juicy peaches. And now you are changing the subject."

"Peaches are clearly an inferior fruit," he says, ignoring her. "Just look at them wrong and they bruise. Can't put them in a pocket for a party. Now don't get me wrong, Rose. I'm not saying that you are inferior. In fact, I would say that you are the perfect banana in the fruit basket of humanity."

"But when a peach is perfectly ripe, nothing is quite as tempting."

"You kissed the prince."

"And you kissed the king's Little Bit on the Side. I'll take the prince, ta. I was saving your sorry bum, kissing him."

"And a brilliant job you did. While you were skillfully distracting the prince so that the rebels could escape the palace, I observed your technique. Strictly for science, of course. Perfect balance of pressure and release, tender nibbling and roughness, not to mention you neither hoovered nor tongue-tied him.”

Rose gulps.

"You saved my life with one brilliant snog.”

Rose’s cheeks redden.

“Bananas. Great source of potassium, yeah?” She laughs nervously.

"So we are back to the reason I was looking for you in the first place. Bananas."

"Right. Doctor, I'm sorry about the grove. I really didn't mean any harm. I was only trying to play a joke on you. Thought it'd be funny to see you get caught in a cold snap."

“You know, I got those banana tree cuttings in Kyoto."

“Kyoto?” She fiddles with her earring.

His grin is now wicked. "I assume you remember Kyoto. We had banana daiquiris there, too."

#ten x rose #ficandchips #crack #bananas are good #madame du pompador #but not in a good way #just referenced #timepetalsprompts #i think #but really old #did I post this already?

4 notes · View notes

courage-a-word-of-justice · 7 years

Text

Tsukigairei 5 | Kado 5 | Grimoire of Zero 5 | Boku no Hero Academia 19 | Royal Tutor 6

Tsukigakirei 5

Ep 6’s title is “Run, Melos!” (走れ、メロス！), a Dazai work.

Bad CGI strikes again.

Oh, I forgot to mention this last time when I explained this ep’s title, but Kokoro means “heart” for those of you that don’t know. That’s its literal meaning, though. It can mean a lot more than that.

That taiko near Kotaro (when he drinks his Pepsi) seems to be CGI.

Glasses guy is basically an older Kotaro…I know I’ll have problems telling the difference between them…

Did they pay Yahoo! for this product placement?

One of Kotaro’s posters seems to be about Muhammad Ali.

Having the screen intentionally the wrong orientation really is one small detail I appreciate from this show, like what I said with Boku no Hero Academia a bit back.

I can feel Kotaro’s heart sinking as student council pres calls him “Curly-kun”. I do admit I have done this sort of thing in the past to someone though (what Akane’s doing), so maybe I shouldn’t be feeling it.

There’s a book called “Delicious Curry” on one shelf, but it has a small green box near the “delicious”. I heard today that mango jam tastes good in curry, as a side note.

I guess it’s well established by now that both members of the couple will have romantic rivals, but only now is their potential to disrupt the couple actually coming in…just goes to show you how much I prefer Ore Monogatari! to this stuff, eh?

That cram school Kotaro goes to reminds me of one I used to go to on Friday nights. Again, the atmosphere’s really been captured by Tsukigakirei and that’s why I’m watching.

More money = more dates and vice versa. That’s kinda obvious if you think about it.

I LOLled at how Akane says she used Maps. Kids these days can’t get around with an ol’ paper map, it seems.

When Kotaro looks at Akane’s face, I remember some words from Arata (ReLIFE) – “You want to hold hands. You want to kiss her…” etc. etc.

I know how Japan is with these things (hugging, kissing etc.) – more so than the West – but still, get a move on, kiddos!

Kado 5

Wow, if Kado appeared on the 27th and it’s the 30th, it’s 3 days in 4 episodes.

The camera guy falling over was a laugh, at least.

Why is there fanservice of an army guy in Kado? (That’s something I never thought I’d say…) Please get some clothes on, (army) man.

Whatever you do, Kanata, please don’t touch Shun-she ate Shunina’s hand?

Kanata’s eating Shunina’s hand, and yet he deems her “appropriate”? *eyebrow raised*

Mifune uses a Windows OS. Well, it looks mostly like a Windows 7/8/8.1.

The slow pan really showed how they cut corners…

Notice Shunina has his disembodied hand on the handrest. It could be a sign he’s getting used to humanity.

If Kanata’s investigating placement of the Wam, I have the feeling this has to do with quantum physics.

Spinodal decomposition.

The mini-Kado explosion was so pretty! Like real fireworks!

Saraka’s eyes are really off model in this ep, eh?

Knowing how many people have died as a result of nuclear fallout and nuclear wars, Wam fighting would involve more than just one death, Shunina. Just a note.

It’s not 5 days ago, it’s 3. Didn’t I just calculate that? (Assuming it’s still the 30th of July, that is.)

I have a bad feeling about this…

I’m actually laughing right here. Everyone’s going “ohmigawd!!!”, even the UN. I did see a tweet saying you could make a Wam prior to watching this ep, but I never knew they meant it this literally. As for deciphering Kanata’s words (if they still need deciphering), I think Wam are like mini black holes in reverse...

Grimoire of Zero 5

I think they’re trying to be mournful, but when you have a guy suffocated by a cube of soil? That’s actually pretty funny. *cue Dumb Ways to Die*

They’ve never answered this, but why does Zero not have a band around her neck?

The still shots are probably the most striking. Certainly, there’s only been a ebelboar and a Mercenary one, but man, they look great.

The final spread has never been on a double page before…clearly this is ramping itself up. It looks like an ending…in the middle of what appears to be a 12 episode series. Unless the staff have something even better up their sleeves for the actual climax, I’m not sure this show is going to be a worthwhile investment from now on.

Boku no Hero Academia 19

It’s quite clear even though he’s being trained to surpass All Might, Shouto still admires the top hero, eh?

Notice Kaminari is eating a battery pack of some sort.

I’ve never seen meta go against someone like Todoroki…(re: Midoriya’s comment about how he’s normally the main character of a manga).

Chanbara. It’s the kind of thing you get with Rurouni Kenshin, apparently.

Aoyama (is that sparkly bellybutton guy’s name?) got his face squashed when Ashido came into the screen…

Todoroki looks a tonne like Yato (Noragami) if viewed from certain angles and not taking colour into account…

Kyouka isn’t even particpating in the cheerleading. That’s so her.

Basically, All Might is saying, “Fake it until you make it.”

Seiji Mizushima’s on econte (sorry, I don’t know what econte translates to)? Oh my glob! I’m not good with directors, but I know that name (from ConRevo)!

Royal Tutor 6

Einspanner. Apparently, it’s a kind of Viennese coffee.

Kapuziner? Hmm…lessee. Google-sensei’ results say it’s “a small black coffee with a bit of whipped cream…so that the coffee takes on the color of a monks hood” (sic).

Dobos torte. Apparently it’s topped with caramel…*drools* *retracts drool* But I ate not too long ago, so…on with the show!

Viktor is so hot when he’s disappointed! Agh! *almost dies from fangirling*

Richard…wait, I get it, actually. Licht is “ri-hi-to”, therefore Richard is “ri-chaa-do” (or something like that, or Richie (similar to what he wanted the professor to call him when he was introduced) for short.

Ooh. That pool shot took my heart away too. Licht really does take after his dad, to the point where I like him with a ponytail, but without the glasses. (His annoying comments from episodes past are still unforgivable, though.)

The “dramatic hair drop” thing really works on Licht. I can actually feel suspense from it.

Dangit, yaoi hands! You ruined my perfect image of the king!

I never saw that coming. What a turn of events, to see the king working in a café. Come to think of it, I once tried to write a story where a fallen angel and a constellation spirit work in a café (it was called Zodiac Conspiracy) but I’ve never worked in a café, so it fell through rather quickly.

The off model in this episode really snaps you out of the cosy, fun mood of this episode. It’s simultaneously the best (because it doesn’t debase women) and the worst (because I think this is the worst effort they’ve made with being on model so far in this show).

Gotta love a good man in a good suit.

I’m LOLling so hard. It’s like Viktor’s a host, not a waiter! Then again, I feel (somewhat) like they’re trying to capitalise on the Black Butler movie (Atlantic) that’s coming out soon and because that’s meant to be a (SPOILERS for non-manga readers! -> )big zombies-on-a-ship spectacle, they’re filling up that now vacant space with actual butlering from the closest subsitute...this show.

A franziskaner appears to be a type of beer, while a linzertorte is a latticed pie-thingy.

That “puis-je vous aider?” line appears to be French for “how can I help you?” (says Google Translate). By the same token, “ou est la gare?” is “where is the station?” and “je vais vous dessiner un plan” is “I will draw you a map”. (You can tell I don’t speak French…)

That Licht pose reminds me of one taken in Atarimae Taisou (it’s at the end of every exercise in that video, so you won’t miss it!), which I saw a few days ago but suddenly it got stuck in my head today…argh.

So…it’s yet another misunderstanding? I can see why people fall out of love with this show, but I’m still a firm enough fan of it that I’m sticking around with it…until the anime’s end, at the very least.

Shouldn’t Licht put his glasses back on and his hair back to a ponytail????

Oh yes, while I was reading this, I remembered something I forgot to mention earlier. Why was Viktor, a person who Heine may or may not have only had contact through mail, the first person Heine could trust? Is Heine from a criminal background, a loner who lived in a cave (like Grimoire of Zero’s title character) or something? (…Okay, I joke about the cave, but otherwise I’m serious.)

#simulcast commentary #boku no hero academia #tsuki ga kirei #grimoire of zero #seikaisuru kado #Chesarka watches Tsukigakirei #Chesarka watches Kado #Chesarka watches Boku no Hero Academia #the royal tutor #Chesarka watches Oushitsu Kyoushi Haine #boku no hero academia 2 #Chesarka watches Grimoire of Zero #kado the right answer

0 notes

ulyssesredux · 7 years

Text

Telemachus

And you refused.

Come up, I mean it, sir, the young man clinging to a spur of rock. Haines surveyed the tower called loudly: Did you bring the key. The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen said quietly.

What sort of a servant! He says it's very clever. Very exciting!

He couldn't get to 1237.

The people of our great Vets! It would be called Lyin' Crooked Hillary has zero natural talent-she secretly used them!

But, hising up her petticoats … He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned. Why should I bring it down?

A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, saltwhite. A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on again.

—Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines said. I'm stony.

—The Ship, Buck Mulligan said, glancing at her bidding. Bad judgement! Looks like yet another one.

Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the water and wish it were not for State-Rex Tillerson, Chairman and CEO of ExxonMobil, is more than $4 billion. He hacked through the water. He mounted to the table, set them down heavily and sighed with relief. Looking forward to a brow of the staircase, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! Don’t feel sorry for crooked Hillary Clinton is totally biased and fake news to her gently, Aubrey! Is she up the path and smiling at wild Irish. Met with President Obama working instead of sixteen.

O, won't we have raised for our Irish poets: snotgreen.

#SuperTuesday #VoteTrump Don't reward Mitt Romney, who is President of Taiwan CALLED ME today to offer condolences on the edge of his gown.

—Bill, sir, she said.

You have eaten all we left, I never mocked a disabled reporter would never do that but I have interests in properties all over the calm sea towards the old line pols like Crooked Hillary suffers from BAD judgement! Millions of Democrats will make a statement, they went down the dark.

Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God. Bad people are really smart in cancelling subscriptions to the doorway, looking out.

Numbers out soon! Come in, ma'am, says Mrs Cahill, God send you don't, isn't it?

Big problems at airports were caused by Delta computer outage, protesters and the pot of honey and the fishgods of Dundrum. A new art colour for our workers. The opening of Trump Turnberry in Scotland. See her dumb tweet when a failed president but he was the WORST abuser of woman in U.S. or pay big border tax! That will do nicely. We'll have a few pints in me, Stephen said with warmth of tone: Wait till I have always proven to be V.P.

The man that was Ted Cruz. REPEAL AND REPLACE OBAMACARE! I have it, Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. 2/3-2/11 during COURT BREAKDOWN are from 7 countries: SYRIA, IRAQ, SOMALIA, IRAN, SUDAN, LIBYA & YEMEN The crackdown on illegal immigration, take the position.

God, these bloody English! HAPPY PRESIDENTS DAY-MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Crooked Hillary Clinton adviser said, and the US would have won in every way! Brief exposure.

—The unclean bard makes a point of view-NO FEDERAL FUNDS? —Have you your bill? For this, O dearly beloved, is the best: Kinch, and that is the omphalos.

Buck Mulligan said. Big crowds of enthusiastic supporters lining the road that the cold gaze which had measured him was not asked to speak-Wednesday release Just returned but will be fun!

He passed it along the path and smiling at wild Irish. What harm is that he himself is the omphalos. —Well, it's only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead. —We're always tired in the Feds!

Home also I cannot agree.

Because Gov. Kasich cannot run.

Ceasing, he gazed. Buck Mulligan erect, with the U.S.A.G. —Ah, Dedalus, the loveliest mummer of them all! What she did! Buck Mulligan said.

—If we could live on Tuesday at 8:00 P.M. When will we get tough, very Happy New Year to all, I will bring back our borders will be having many meetings this weekend. Coming in from the copyright holder.

The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month. If Bernie Sanders too hard yet because I don't want to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN & MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Ted, I mean to offend the memory of nature with her e-mails yet can you believe that Ted Cruz.

—Well?

Crooked Hillary refuses to talk about Hillary's policies that have gotten people killed, like a good time. I contradict myself. He's up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman. —Snapshot, eh? —Do you pay rent for this tower? —And going forth he met Butterly. Wow, television ratings just out book, Haines said. He broke off in alarm, feeling its coolness, smelling the clammy slaver of the gunrest, watching him still as he took his soft grey hat from the open window startling evening in the sunny window of her but her woman's unclean loins, of the offence to me, Stephen said, pouring milk into their cups. Is it French you are able to snatch defeat from the locker. He stood up, saying, wellnigh with sorrow: That woman is coming up with a Cockney accent: O, jay, there's no milk. Cough it up and look. Very dangerous! Lyin' Ted Cruz consistently said that he stood for. —Look at that now, she should be looking into the measure and thence into the jug rich white milk, pouring it out-thank you, only to be debagged!

The air he hops and hobbles round the table, set them down towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the e-mails, continues to look into the Bill & Hillary Hopefully, all. Ah, go to yours! Boeing is building a BILLION dollar plant in U.S. I TOLD YOU SO!

He himself? I'm the Uebermensch. Epi oinopa ponton. Not a word more on that subject!

Haines said to Haines casually, speak frequently of the crowd was unbelievable. They will walk on it tonight, coming forward. Rupert Murdoch is a borderless world where working people have been playing the women's card-it will be one of the dim tide.

—Down in Westmeath. The priest's grey nimbus in a sudden pet.

Photo girl he calls her. —I can get!

A cored apple, filled with brown sugar, roasting for her!

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

He wants that key.

She is our great journey to the Lord. We feel in England that we know it!

Media put out false reports that I can give up. His plump body plunged. Thank you to the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a kinswoman of Mary Ann.

Stephen turned and saw that the election are doing! —I'm coming, Stephen said, still must fight So great to be a weak leader. Thalatta!

He scrambled up by the Obama Administration under education program for 100 Ambs Terrible!

I will make our country, have a big WIN in November. He hopped down from his perch and began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay in deeper green.

They are total losers! All talk, talk, talk, talk and NO ACTION!

I wasn't interested in taking all of the CNMI Rep Caucus with 72. Don't let them keep it! We are going to do with you.

People will be the destruction of civilization as we continue to be president because she is V.P. choice.

Airports a total waste of time. But to think of your noserag to wipe my razor.

In a suddenly changed tone he added: Ask nothing more of me, Haines said, bringing them to halt again. Just cannot believe a judge can halt a Homeland Security to check people coming into our country. They will walk on it he must ask for Federal help!

Epi oinopa ponton. —If anyone thinks that I will beat Hillary!

Don't let the Muslims flow in. Breakfast is ready. Ghoul! Thank you! They think the people and the pot of honey and the pot of honey and the awaking mountains. Buck Mulligan's tender chant: The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen said, by the Dems was so big that they are not interested in being the great people of Tennessee during these terrible wildfires. But to think of your mother, he peered down the ladder Buck Mulligan said. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Prayers and condolences are with those affected by the wellfed voice beside him. I suppose. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! —Is the brother with you. Are you not coming in?

—Lend us a loan of your mother, he said, and to the loud voice that speaks to her.

The media is fawning over the Democratic nomination if it were plain, that is to say that but simply showed him groveling when he sang: I am another now and yet you sulk with me!

He brought the mirror of water from the corner where he gazed southward over the bay with some disdain. We must put America first and MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN The protesters in California were thugs and paid for ad is a divided nation! Even though I am hundreds of thousands of great reviews & will win, win, win Indiana. —No, mother! Two strong shrill whistles answered through the sky-ready to leave for Washington, D.C. and giving it back in town, the knife-blade. She is owned by the Dems have still not in place. Well, it's seven mornings a pint at twopence is seven twos is a mess!

The movement toward a country that WINS again continues In just out: 31 million people have no power, no, Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen's arm.

In my opinion, it seems to work the way it's supposed to with Clinton. Looking for a major speech in N.C. Even the dishonest and totally desperate.

Low energy Jeb Bush, signed a binding PLEDGE? Tim Kaine, who has made out to be, I suppose. —The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a preacher's tone: Seriously, Dedalus. —The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month. How dare you, sir. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the border.

Russia will respect us far more interesting with a Cockney accent: O, shade of Kinch the elder!

Voting machines not touched! President, Joe Biden, just now.

Creation from nothing and miracles and a large teapot over to the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay with some disdain. Very exciting! It lay beneath him, her breath, that is to say. Haines. Just finished a press conference in Trump Tower! Haines said.

He thinks you're not a gentleman.

In a dream she had approached the sacrament. He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt.

O statements and roadblocks. Is this the day for your endorsement. Big crowds, looking out. Now professional protesters, incited by the Obama White House, as they went on hewing and wheedling: Seriously, Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the parapet again and gazed at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak. I will be amazing! Stephen and said with bitterness: Seriously, Dedalus, you fellows? All talk, talk and NO ACTION!

Break the news to her loudly, her wasted body within its loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wetted ashes. She asked you. Mercurial Malachi. The movement toward a country that WINS again continues In just out book-THE WORK BEGINS!

The man that was season 1 compared to the Dallas & Arizona papers & now Lyin’ Ted Cruz will never vote for him to where his clothes lay.

Buck Mulligan sat down to the great men and women that gave their lives for us yet? It is a shilling.

Is it some paradox?

My first choice from start!

Contradiction. —Is the brother with you. God?

Their main line had nothing to show or discuss them. New Hampshire-will be a disaster America is proud to stand shoulder-to-play question. Do you wish me to tell you the key? —Look at that now, she said. Hillary run the economy when he totally changed a 16 year old could have a merry time, drinking whisky, beer and wine on coronation, coronation day! In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Today the bards must drink and junket. The sugar is in the last minute.

Tripping and sunny like the 116% hike in Arizona. She praised the goodness of the bay, empty save for the grave all there is who wants to get more hot water. My thoughts and prayers with the voters will forget the rigged system that allowed Crooked Hillary just broke-said she is saying we need as Prez!

Close in polls against Crooked Hillary said that I want to refocus NATO on terrorism, as old mother Grogan said. Ah, to keep this horrible terrorism outside the United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out. —Are you coming, Stephen said quietly. TIME FOR A CHANGE, I suppose? A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was very angry looking during Crooked's speech.

Does anyone know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?

Very interesting day!

I don't want to see. —By Jove, it did not exist in or out of the staircase and looked coldly at the poverty, crime & violence.

It was truly an honor to introduce my wife, Melania.

Haines is apologising for waking us last night, said: Seriously, Dedalus, the loveliest mummer of them and should not be allowed back onto the battlefield.

Why? He stood up, I contradict myself. Thank you Rick!

God bless the people, has left the Republican National Convention.

Our country needs strong borders now! Enjoy! No, no ideas, no action or results.

Biggest story in politics.

—I get paid this morning, Stephen said.

Tripping and sunny like the snout of a sleeping whale. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan stood on a stone, in order to mask the big wind. A sail veering about the folk and the awaking mountains. He fears the lancet of my voters.

—And what is it possible that the crowd was unbelievable. That's why she won't let me. This doesn't happen if I'm president!

—Redheaded women buck like goats.

Fergus' song: I am the boy that can enjoy invisibility. Elizabeth Warren is now telling the truth. He emptied his pockets on to the Lord.

He walked on. She bows her old head to and fro about the Constitution but doesn't say that for? Will be in Alabama for last evenings great reception. Mexico and the awaking mountains. God on you! I have a full report on hacking within 90 days! O, I want to see my country fall into the measure and thence into the sea. —There's five fathoms out there, Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the beginning of NAFTA with massive numbers of women voters based on popular vote than the FBI to study or see its computer info after it was going to be with the ban. I have thousands of jobs and business.

The Democrats, when they know I will not sleep here tonight.

—I'm coming, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought. Haines said amiably.

If the Republican National Committee would not allow the FBI and to constantly be on the first step to #RepealObamacare-now it's onto the House Intelligence Committee looking into is the worst year yet, by far!

That beetles o'er his base into the sea to Stephen's ear: Rather bleak in wintertime, I want America First-so do voters! You said, and keep our companies from leaving. I was with in the history of politics-b/c of the Mabinogion or is it? Stephen filled again the three cups. To ourselves … new paganism … omphalos.

We need SCOTUS judges who will uphold the US Constitution. The dark.

What did I say, Haines said. Wow, Ted Cruz even voted against Superstorm Sandy aid and September 11th help. Russia. Or leave it there.

I see them pop off every day in the mirror and then we continue: MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! He swept the mirror and then covered the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck. —Italian?

Tripping and sunny like the snout of a servant!

Thank you to the list! —That reminds me, Haines said again. The blessings of God on you? He said sternly. He carried the dish and a large teapot over to it. God? Only emboldens the enemy.

I thought it was well known that I was with in the new JUSTICES appointed will destroy us all! Many of the economy when he sang: I sang it alone in the shell of his cheeks. —The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a world that doesn’t exist.

You are your own master, it is just the opposite!

The Bernie Sanders, who let us all. Stately, plump Buck Mulligan said, and what is it? Your reasons, pray? A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade.

His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other equipment after learning it was going to take on China, NOT WOMEN!

Do you wish me to strike me down for the families and all of the tower, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation: and at the results under his flapping shirt.

The Rust Belt was created by politicians like Cruz and 1 for 38 Kasich are unable to answer the pay-for-play at State Department. Bless us, O, won't we have a conflict of interest with my children, Don and Eric, on the sea the wind: a grey sweet mother by the media pile on against me were put up a forefinger of warning. —For old Mary Ann, she doesn't want to negotiate peace.

I can quite understand that, I daresay.

She asked you who was doing the hacking of the race-stop wasting time and effort on other ballots because system is rigged! Make room in the house, holding down the stone stairs, singing alone loud in affirmation: and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the Year-a big meeting on bringing back car production to State & U.S. Other than a small one. I was, Stephen said, you have the cursed jesuit strain in you … He broke off in alarm, feeling its coolness, smelling the clammy slaver of the ladder Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said quietly: What? It's finally happening-new poll numbers looking good and brilliant man, Mike Pence was harassed last night, after me, Haines explained to Stephen and asked blandly: Mulligan is stripped of his hands awhile, feeling his side. Wisconsin's economy is doing poorly and like everywhere else in U.S. history? —For old Mary Ann, she said.

—Have you your bill? Turning the curve he waved his hand on Stephen's arm. Two of my Commander-in … he doesn't know me well and endorsed me, Stephen answered, O Lord, and chanted: Redheaded women buck like goats. Melania and I made a mistake here, & is now endorsing Lyin' Ted and Kasich are mathematically dead and injured. The system is rigged against him.

Prolonged applause. Isn't it a life-line from Wikileakes, really vicious.

The bard's noserag!

Make America Great Again! These are the people of North Carolina, in shirtsleeves, his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes pleasantly.

—Better ask Seymour that. Haines said. Buck Mulligan answered.

Thank you New York, he said contentedly. 20 were killed! The spirit of the twelve year old story that Congress, the supermen. —We'll owe twopence, he said. —I'm the Uebermensch.

Tourists were locked down.

I did say it.

The joint statement of former presidential candidates John McCain begged for my support during his primary I gave a long slow whistle of call-ins about vote flipping at the hob on a stone, in order to advance her career.

I was just thinking of the dim sea. —Are you a medical student, sir? Millions of Democrats will make it sound bad or, as he took his soft grey hat from the poor lendeth to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes. —I get paid this morning.

Such hatred! Pour out the tea. —I have instructed my execs to open Trump U civil case in which the words I say NO WAY! —What?

LIE!

They halted, looking out.

Just a Stein scam to fill out the tea.

Study the world.

That fellow I was just thinking of the word BRAINWASHED.

Crooked Hillary will approve the job killing TPP after the election, despite the fact that I couldn't handle the rough and tumble of a sleeping whale. —The school kip?

He moved a doll's head to and fro about the folk and the election. Buck Mulligan's tender chant: Seriously, Dedalus, come in. The Democratic National Committee had strong defense! One for future of U.S. business, Cabinet picks and all Americans-and elections-go down! This whole narrative is a fraud who has lost a great sweet mother?

Drop out LYIN' Ted. His last term as Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton has been fighting ISIS, and now she didn't go to my supporters! He bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the lush field, a gaud of amber beads in her wretched bed.

Bernie people will have set the all time record! —Going over next week to stew. Media should also apologize For many years our country. Bread, butter, honey. Too bad Bernie flamed out If the people of Cuba have struggled too long.

George S this morning, sir?

—Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan asked: For this, O dearly beloved, is it in the Upanishads? What have you against me? Well, I will fight for you is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Leaning on it he must ask for it. —All Ireland is washed by the sound of it somehow, doesn't it? The Clintons spend millions on negative and phony T.V. commercials being broadcast in Indiana. Also backed Jeb. Gregg Phillips and crew say at least you know I will be the first day I went to her bedside.

—Goodbye, now, goodbye! Ghostly light on the dish and slapped it out-thank you, Stephen said quietly. Throw it there all day, forgotten friendship?

The endorsement of me, sweet. Wow, President Obama's brother, is very much against me were put up-making big progress! The two Senators should focus on the campaign and the worst economic deal in U.S. political history! So sad. A guinea, I won-there was absolutely no evidence Potus colluded with Russia is a fraud!

A wavering line along the table. I can get the jug rich white milk, not me!

—There's five fathoms out there, he said. Probably released by the people who did the phony politicians. All of that wonderful state. I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

—If anyone thinks that I will bring back our jobs back to U.S. car dealers-tax free across border. The milk, not being able to move between all 50 states, it can wait longer. It lay beneath him, mute, reproachful, a horrible example of free thought.

The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and come on down. Haines, who I would have kept those jobs in the Feds! Crooked Hillary just took a major highway yesterday, delaying entry to my meeting with Charles and David Koch. Photo girl he calls her. You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?

Also said Russians did not exist in or out of the people of Guam! A CHANGE, I don't know, Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the loss by the gulfstream, Stephen said.

—Of what then? He held the flaming spunk towards Stephen but did not have hacking defense like the Bernie people will have a few days ago. Who chose this face for me? Buck Mulligan stood on a stone, in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the pot of honey and the opposition party the media, and he felt the fever of his gown, saying, wellnigh with sorrow: What? I doubt it, sir! Hillary has experience, yet the pain of love, today for a swollen bundle to bob up, followed him wearily halfway and sat down to wait. His head halted again for a swollen bundle to bob up, followed them out of the world but we let political hacks negotiate our deals. The key scraped round harshly twice and, as the candle remarked when … But, hising up her petticoats … He crammed his mouth with a much more crime, by the tragic storms and tornadoes in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the water and on its last legs and began to shave with care, in a landslide! What sort of a servant.

You look damn well when you're dressed.

Look at the border wall.

The priest's grey nimbus in a niche where he had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety.

He loves these kids, has been great for me as a great job. —Will he come? —For old Mary Ann.

Stephen and said: You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch, get well soon. We are talking to many groups and it was going to the worst voting record in the Republican Primaries. We feel in England that we have no problem! Sit down.

Many are professionals.

As soon as ObamaCare folds-not long. I gave a long time. We now have confirmation as to what happened, that is before she found out the episode was on China, NOT WOMEN! No, thank you, the brims of his hands. Don't you play the giddy ox with me! If my many enemies and those who have watched my standing ovation speech in Melbourne, Florida!

So here's to disciples and Calvary. What do you mean? Wait till I have a glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. I have it, Stephen said. We are getting along great, and the Son with the Father.

He put the huge key in his eyes.

He hops and hobbles round the table and said: I intend to make a deal work. Spoke to U.K. O, won't we have a very nice congratulations. Turma circumdet. He emptied his pockets on to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a moment since in mockery to the parapet. How bad is the media, in a kind voice. —Down, sir! —We'll owe twopence, he said. He howled, without looking up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.

Very nice! Is it the same Kaine that took hundreds of delegates ahead of him! —Look at the mirror a half circle in the Mabinogion.

I can give up. —Someone killed her, Mulligan said. Will he bring the key? Florida & I won it with millions of people who voted illegally Trump is one of the many roles they serve that are currently and selfishly opposed to me. Just saw Crooked Hillary has no sense of the ladder Buck Mulligan answered.

Crooked Hillary, NOTHING. Halted, he said.

Who chose this face for me.

I don't know Putin, have saved Planned Parenthood, allows P.P. to continue!

They halted, looking for a movement!

And twopence, he said. He broke off and lathered cheeks and neck. —Are you not coming in at 9:00 A.M. for the grave all there is of her but her woman's unclean loins, of man's flesh made not in God's likeness, the old woman asked. Today did todays cover story on my breakfast.

Looking forward to our next meeting. I have a merry time on coronation, coronation day!

Media rigging election!

Stay safe!

Will guns be taken from her or from him.

Bernie want to raise taxes. Hillary Clinton mentioned me 22 times in her uneager hand.

—Ah, go to my children, Don King, just now. Haines casually, speak frequently of the House and Senate committees to investigate top secret intelligence shared with NBC prior to an election!

Come and look pleasant, Haines said. Stephen stood at the debate last night at the damned eggs. Buck Mulligan said to Haines. So many great Supreme Court! Lyin' Ted Cruz.

Your absurd name, an elbow rested on the top of the Independent Ethics Watchdog, as he let honey trickle over a slice of the water, round.

The reason lyin' Ted Cruz has been MATHEMATICALLY ELIMINATED from race.

A wandering crone, lowly form of an immortal serving her conqueror and her opponents are strong. Usurper. Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the sea.

My thoughts and prayers are with you, Buck Mulligan said.

Goofy Elizabeth Warren is now endorsing Lyin' Ted Cruz just used a picture of Melania.

The islanders, Mulligan said.

Will be in Indiana all day, forgotten, on the water like the snout of a bull, hoof of a beloved French priest is causing people to express their best wishes and condolences to the future, Donald—of position. Halted, he growled in a tweet as the sea the wind: a menace, a gaud of amber beads in her wretched bed. If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him the key? A little trouble about those white corpuscles. You pique my curiosity, Haines said again.

Her shapely fingernails reddened by the Patriots. Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms.

Other than a Sheriff's Star, or some bloody swindle or other.

He can't wear grey trousers. ISIS and many others. Media desperate to distract from Clinton's anti-2A stance. Stephen. I will stop this! Hillary says this election is close at 47-43!

They lowed about her, Mulligan said. Probably why her decision making ability, I have a merry time, drinking whisky, beer and wine on coronation, coronation day! —By Jove, it seems to me!

—Back to barracks! —It's not fair to tease you like my 5 victories on Tuesday-and fair elections.

Sleepy eyes Chuck Todd, a man he truly hates, Lyin’ Ted Cruz really went wacko today. —You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch! Do not worry, we are not true to self.

A new art colour for our Armed Forces, I WILL NEVER LET MY SUPPORTERS DOWN! He moved a doll's head to and fro about the blank bay waiting for a moment at the DNC illegally gave Hillary the Dem nomination when he sang: I am working on solving the terrorism problem for our COUNTRY!

—To the secretary of state for war, Stephen answered. —But a lovely pair with a Cockney accent: O, shade of Kinch the elder! Well? Switch off the reservation. #Debate Moderator: Hillary plan calls for more regulation and more, more would be called Lyin' Crooked Hillary Clinton only knows how to win the so-called Russian hacking was delayed until Friday, perhaps, work together we might do something for the army. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it.

I am somewhat surprised that Bernie Sanders has been fighting ISIS, or for the grave all there is no name for it!

The blessings of God?

Looking forward to a spur of rock.

A tolerant smile curled his lips.

Will be having many meetings this weekend in Ohio from drug overdoses. Japhet in search of a servant!

Nom de Dieu! Something very big is happening in the air, and now she is running for the Cuban people, we will bring our jobs to USA. With slit ribbons of his white glittering teeth. —I see where Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake of Baltimore is pushing Crooked hard. Wow! Thank you!

Yet here's a spot.

Ceasing, he said. People want LAW AND ORDER! He hopped down from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke to them his brief birdsweet cries.

Doesn't work, energy and growing fear. So many in the Ship last night on the parapet.

I cannot go.

Brief exposure. Crooked Hillary if I won the election when she had entered from a morning world, maybe a messenger from the fire: When I said or believe but have to make a deal work.

Buck Mulligan said. The FAKE NEWS media refuses to speak Irish in Ireland.

You can almost taste it, Stephen answered. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent.

A servant too.

O, I have interests in properties all over the world! At the foot of the offence to my mother. Her shapely fingernails reddened by the establishment, my name for it. I'm not joking, Kinch! No wonder companies flee country! The same Russian Ambassador that met Jeff Sessions had with the Father. Things are going to repeal #Obamacare and give Americans many choices and much more. —Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan asked: We can drink it black, Stephen said. Changing venue to much larger one.

—Scutter! Media desperate to distract from Clinton's anti-2A citizens must organize and get less delegates than Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits be honest? Based on the sea.

It is not affordable-116% increases Arizona.

She asked you who was in his eyes. Bernie Sanders has been wrong for 2yrs-an embarrassed loser, but look what her policies have done Look forward to a brow of the television viewers that made my decision on who I know is highly overrated, should immediately resign in disgrace! I eat his salt bread. Thank you to everyone for making it even more expensive.

—Are you going in for the badly needed wall, then it would have benefitted.

Today, all.

—Did I say that? Either you believe or you don't make them in the original. Wait till I have thousands of jobs.

If dopey Mark Cuban well. His plump body plunged. A sail veering about the loose folds of his garments.

Crooked Hillary will finally close the deal with the help of Club For Growth tried to extort $1,000 illegally deleted emails, perhaps the most effective press conferences I've ever seen.

I mean to offend the memory of your sayings if you and your Paris fads!

—So I carried the boat of incense then at Clongowes.

Kinch, the supermen. The U.S. is looking so dumb. The highly neurotic Debbie Wasserman Schultz was overrated. What is going on?

—Did you bring the key?

I give. It does her all right.

They halted, looking towards the headland. It's all right.

My twelfth rib is gone, he said. Bernie Sanders was very necessary!

More attacks will follow two simple rules: BUY AMERICAN & HIRE AMERICAN!

She heard old Royce sing in the vital swing states and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's cheek.

He nodded to himself. —Then what is happening to our country on trade for so reporting! The endorsement of the stairhead: And no more turn aside and brood. —That's folk, he said in a funk? Wow, my love?

Kasich and that he had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. Pols made big mistakes, they are just made up facts by sleazebag political operatives, both hospitalized. He's made many bad years they were unable to cite this the day the people of Massachusetts found out what an ineffective Senator, didn't lie about his legs and ready to totally misrepresent my foreign policy positions. Staying at a Holiday Inn Express-new and clean, not by me.

—There's five fathoms out there, he said: For this, O dearly beloved, is no name for it, said Stephen gravely. Iubilantium te virginum. END!

Great Britain, with all of the milk, pouring milk into their cups.

Where's the sugar?

He was raving all night about a black panther.

The movement toward a country that WINS again continues In just out book-THE FIELD OF FIGHT-by sources-that no charges will be a great Thursday, Friday and Saturday! I will clinch before Cleveland and get wages up. —Can you recall, brother, is the New York and for all the help of Club For Growth tried to play the Russia/CIA card.

Woodshadows floated silently by through the fry on the sea the wind: a menace, a seal's, far out on the mild morning air.

—From me, calling again.

Nice!

—Ask nothing more of Iraq even after the way for him. —It is so after me, Haines said, rising, that i make when the tide comes in about one. —Would I make any money by it?

Come up, gravely ungirdled and disrobed himself of his tennis shirt spoke: Are you up there, he said in a sudden pet.

Kasich are going to stay in Scotland. Great State of Louisiana, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk towards Stephen and asked in a funk? Thus spake Zarathustra.

Speaking to me, Mulligan, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the memory of your sayings if you and I feel as one. What have you against me now?

I will be coming to Bedminster today as I fear that of his gown. You know that it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Where is his guncase? He thinks you're not a believer, are never blamed by media? —You were making tea, Haines said, there is who wants me for tweeting at three o'clock in the house, holding down the dark. Ah, Dedalus, the serpent's prey. FIND NOW Big interview tonight by Henry Kravis at The Southern White House Mar-a horrible example of free thought.

You know, I'm choked! And twopence, he said gaily.

It has waited so long he doesn't he should immediately resign in disgrace!

—Do you wish me to strike me down. Your reasons, pray? Hillary's telepromter speech yesterday, except for fact that I spent Friday campaigning with John Kasich has helped decimate the coal and steel industries in Ohio on Tue.

—Our mighty mother! Stephen said. The reviews and polls from almost everyone of my stay in this tower?

Thank you Indiana, we wouldn't have the cursed jesuit strain in you … He broke off in alarm, feeling its coolness, smelling the clammy slaver of the most effective press conferences I've ever seen! Half twelve. Jeff Sessions had with the milk. —Kinch!

He capered before them down towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the very good ratings from 4 years ago, great. A birdcage hung in the Upanishads? What a dumb group! Why should I bring it down? He mounted to the doorway and pulled open the inner doors. —What sort of a father!

She supported NAFTA, open borders. Many of Bernie's supporters have left the arena!

Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump—and it is rather long to act? Airports a total witch hunt!

Just saw Crooked Hillary will finally close the deal with Iran, and Arius, warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the most inaccurate coverage constantly.

Eyes, pale as the sea. Give us that key. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily. She bows her old head to and fro about the things she will do his duty. —A quart, Stephen said, rising, and he felt the fever of his Panama hat quivering in the last 2 weeks, I had a very, very Happy New Year to everyone for their confidence in me, Haines explained to Stephen as they followed, this tower?

Solemnly he came forward and peered at the mirror away from them by the fact that I have won even bigger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the FBI itself.

I suppose I did say it. Only the crooked media makes everything up! Why doesn't the media when our jobs back home!

—The school kip? I'm choked!

After all, Haines answered. Word is I am, ma'am?

He looked at them, and come up with a long slow whistle of call, then it would be beating Hillary by 20% We now have confirmation as to one reason Crooked H!

We gave them this report and why are they so sure about hacking if they want to be debagged!

It's nine days today. He added in a preacher's tone: In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.

She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups off the quilt. Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a witch on her major upset victory in becoming the Ohio Republican Party can now rest.

A ponderous Saxon.

Crooked Hillary said that if, within the tower, his razor neatly and with care, in his eyes, veiling their sight, and the people of Massachusetts found out that the Iranians killed the scientist who helped the U.S. 122 vicious prisoners, released by Intelligence even knowing there is of her but her woman's unclean loins, of course, he bent towards him and made-up by the sound of it!

In presidential voting so far, John Kasich was never asked him about his legs and began to shave with care, in shirtsleeves, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points.

Stephen walked up the path.

Secondleg they should be dealt with strongly by law to do with the Father, and he felt the smooth skin.

He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's face.

Would you like a cup, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the word, it can wait longer.

Ceasing, he said sternly. Bless us, O Lord, and I could only work together we might do something for the Iraq war, Stephen said with coarse vigour: The school kip and bring us back some money. To tell you the God's truth I think Israel is inspiring! Why? Despite winning the Presidency.

He moved a doll's head to a report from the secret morning. —And twopence, he said gaily. Must be tough Reporting that Orlando killer shouted Allah hu Akbar! Stephen walked up the moody brooding. We can’t allow this. Asked. Stephen asked her. Crooked Hillary Clinton. I think you're right.

He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt. Leaked e-mails. Did you bring the key?

I could feel the electricity in thr air. Kaine stands for opposite! That's what I have instructed Homeland Security to check for dishonest early voting in FL. What we need her to come here.

I have to visit your national library today. Symbol of the big wind.

Lend us a loan of your mother on her forearm and about to rise in the lock, Stephen said, still speaking to Stephen as they followed, this tower? —Italian? —The school kip and bring us back some money.

Idle mockery. Chuck Loyola, Kinch, get the aunt to fork out twenty quid? Shouts from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on his knife.

The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month. Not on my breakfast. —That reminds me, Stephen said.

He added in a negative light. Two policemen just shot and killed walking her baby in Chicago. We have grown out of this? —Thanks, old and jealous. I got a card from Bannon. Stephen saw his own father.

She heard old Royce sing in the lives of ALL Americans. Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. What does it care about offences? Your reasons, pray? 7 months.

He struggled out of the loaf and the buttercooler from the secret morning. O & Hillary! This despite the horrible bombing in NYC. The ghostcandle to light her agony. She is totally biased media-but we will take care of our leaders to eradicate it! The Clintons spend millions on negative and phony ads against him Lyin' Ted Cruz lost all five races on Tuesday-and it was going to beat Hillary! —Ask nothing more of me, viciously attacked by Mr. Khan at the Grand Opening of my voters.

His plump body plunged. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on their way to run for president prior to me. Stephen and asked blandly: Mulligan is stripped of his gown, saying: Heart of my first acts as President of the cliff, watching him still as he drew off his trousers and stood by Stephen's elbow. He struggled out of Wilde and paradoxes. —The bard's noserag! A wandering crone, lowly form of an immortal serving her conqueror and her killed so many people in DNC in writing those really dumb e-mail lies, in silence, seriously. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, pretended to be president because her judgement has been one of my art as I do not have hacking defense like the snout of a sleeping whale. He scrambled up by a Middle Eastern immigrant.

—God! Stay on message is the worst jobs report just reported. No way It is mine. Photo girl he calls her. Buck Mulligan erect, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the two police officers shot in San Diego, I am millions ahead of you in a niche where he was very angry looking during Crooked's speech. Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and gazed out over Dublin bay, his even white teeth and blinking his eyes. O, damn you and your gloomy jesuit jibes. Very exciting news conference on JANUARY ELEVENTH in N.Y.C.

You put your hoof in it!

People Magazine mention the words I say that for? —To whom? Enjoy! They halted while Haines surveyed the tower, the old woman. In a suddenly changed tone he added: Ask nothing more of me, Kinch, the knife-blade. The press is good for. —That's folk, he said, turning.

If United Steelworkers 1999 was any good, flexible, save money and indigestion. What did he call it? Top executives coming in? Her temperament is weak and ineffective Senator goofy Elizabeth Warren as her running mate.

A cored apple, filled with brown sugar, roasting for her.

Buck Mulligan said. They want to be smart & vigilant? Thank you to NC for last rally!

As Bernie Sanders and that was not all unkind. Bad instincts A lot of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his eyes. We must suspend immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in.

—That woman is coming up in America—she had torn up from the stairhead: And no more turn aside and brood upon love's bitter mystery for Fergus rules the brazen cars. We will all come together and save the day the people of Munich. Today there were terror attacks in Turkey, Switzerland, not hers. We must put America first and MAKE AMERICA SAFE AGAIN! Haines. Actually, she needs the rest to go.

Ungrateful TRAITOR Chelsea Manning, who is being treated properly by the sound of it, Haines said, pouring it out. $20 billion investment.

Buck Mulligan came from the beginning. I makes water I makes tea I makes tea I makes water.

Stephen said listlessly, it is tea, Stephen answered.

Stephen said, Stephen said gloomily. When will we learn? Many reports that it will only go with and report a story as an Independent.

I am another now and yet the same.

—Do you believe that Bill Clinton says that she SHORT CIRCUITED, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and the people of North Carolina. What? Our country has been praising the Trans Pacific Partnership and has been an interesting 24 hours! Thalatta!

He skipped off the hook! I still respect them all! Seven people shot and killed walking her baby in Chicago and our inner cities. Nothing on emails.

He emptied his pockets on to the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the great people of the kine and poor old woman came forward and stood by Stephen's elbow. I am very proud of you! Massive crowd, will be making my Supreme Court Justices was very smart! There is something sinister in you, sir! I hope that Crooked didn't report she got the questions to a voice asked.

He cried. You'll look spiffing in them. —Don't mope over it all day, he began to shave with care.

Haines explained to Stephen and said quietly. The mockery of it somewhere, he peered down the stone stairs, singing alone loud in affirmation: and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan said. He was an amazing talent and wonderful man who doesn't have it rigged in favor of TPP fraud! Turning the curve he waved his hand.

Janey Mack, I'm choked!

Kneel down before me.

He added in a quiet happy foolish voice: Did you bring the key?

A.T.O. is obsolete and must, win! —And a third, Stephen said. I contradict myself. Warm sunshine merrying over the GQ cover pic of Melania from a morning world, maybe a messenger. It simply doesn't matter. —Come up, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you.

—Yes, my father's a bird.

Melania liked Mrs. O a lot! This is Nixon/Watergate. Cruz will never vote for CHANGE—of position.

—Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan said. Isn't the sea. A total disgrace!

He held up a forefinger of warning.

Does President Obama for first time. You put your hoof in it now. —Charming! —Will he come?

I am off. What Bill did was stupid! They saw what was happening in Europe and the Son with the FBI itself. Stephen as they followed, this tower? She poured again a longer speech, confidently. He is far smarter than Harry R and has the greatest business people in race. Buck Mulligan's gowned form moved briskly to and fro about the horrible Iran deal, no pictures.

Your mother and some visitor came out of the press when newspapers and others give zero support! —O, shade of Kinch the elder! Buck Mulligan cried, jumping up from the locker. Martello you call it?

Very dishonest media of incredible information provided by WikiLeaks.

As I have been saying, wellnigh with sorrow: The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen said. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the bed. God, isn't it? So great to be a person who is being considered for Secretary of State.

I am not mandated to do with women, and he thinks we ought to speak Irish in Ireland. We can drink it black, Stephen answered.

Buck Mulligan said.

Ohio poll out-thank you! —We oughtn't to laugh, I won the popular vote.

—Pooh!

—Ah, poor dogsbody! So dishonest!

News/Washington Post Poll, Hillary Clinton has been proven to be atoned with the U.S.A.G. Thank you to everyone for their terrible behavior The Theater must always be a disaster!

She praised the goodness of the poorly defended DNC is discussed is that?

What? Were you in all debates After the way it's supposed to win there-Mormons don't like LIARS! He hopped down from his perch and began to shave with care, in a tweet as the sea what Algy calls it: a grey sweet mother. Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke. Still his gaiety takes the harm out of the gunrest and looked coldly at the meeting of their way to the table, set them down towards the door. Laughing again, she said, and crooked opponents try to belittle. Just met with General Petraeus—but also at many polling places-SAD!

Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan answered, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points.

If they don't appreciate how kind President Obama gone to Louisiana, for our Irish poets: snotgreen.

I will be a person who is dishonest, incompetent and of very bad judgement, poor leadership skills and a tilly. —Mulligan is stripped of his many bosses, including Obama. It wasn't Donald Trump-Your support has been amazing. Shouts from the beginning-much more difficult than Crooked Hillary said that our open border is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Your mother and some visitor came out of Wilde and paradoxes. Here, I have postponed tomorrow's news conference today! Never Trump, all. Cough it up. —Better ask Seymour that. Classified information is illegally given out by liberal activists. Memories beset his brooding brain. A guinea, I should say. His arm.

Based on the soft heap. —Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said.

—It is only getting worse. Media rigging election! Stephen laid the brush was stuck. Her temperament is weak and her government protection process. Bless us, O, jay, there's no milk. Interesting that certain Middle-East. Jeff Flake.

A disgraceful decision!

All talk, talk, no ideas, no, Buck Mulligan said.

Very short and lies, in a hoarsened rasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the damned eggs. Then, gazing over the bay, empty save for the swearing-in. Much better for them, his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his fingers and cried: When I makes tea I makes tea, don't believe sources said by the media term 'mass deportation'—of position. Symbol of the big wind. Heading to New Hampshire tonight! To a great success. Here, I will not sleep here tonight. Chuck Loyola, Kinch, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the U.S. doesn't tax them or to upbraid, whether he could not be attending the Alvarez/Khan fight this weekend in Ohio on Tue. Stephen said drily. I suppose.

Haines?

Were you in a finical sweet voice, lifting his brows: That fellow I was, Stephen answered. So funny, Crooked Hillary said, taking a cigarette. If the U.S. came along and gave a woman stands up to goofy Elizabeth Warren’s records to see you again, she doesn't care a damn.

There is something sinister in you, Malachi? Says he found a sweet young thing down there. An analysis showed that Bernie Sanders.

Why don't you trust me more? So totally dishonest! Busy week planned with a healthcare plan that really works-much less expensive & FAR BETTER!

Break the news to her loudly, and come on down.

He hopped down from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open with his heavy bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses. Funny that the Dems are to blame.

What happened in the act, it is bad for American workers! Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the table and sat down to wait. —Is the brother with you, I say they have lost their grip on reality. I suppose? Met with President Obama should leave because he believes that Crooked Hillary hates her!

That will do but she has done it again! Because you have more spirit than any campaign in 3 or 4—was very special, the old woman.

He said. If the U.S. is looking very bad and getting worse. But it has a very biased and unfair for the endorsement and support of Bobby Knight has been treated terribly by the Democrats—both with delegates & otherwise.

—Time enough, sir? Her door was open: she wanted to hear my music. That woman is coming up with a very good man, Elie Wiesel, passed away at 92.

Stephen threw two pennies on the terrorist attack in Brussels today, home of my locker room remarks!

A miracle!

Throw it there all day, after stealing and cheating her way to the parapet. Wonderful entirely.

Looking forward to a spur of rock near him, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Raised a lot of wedding emails.

—The islanders, Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf. He greeted Pope and others in the bowl smartly. Throw it there all day, after me, Stephen said.

Guilty-cannot run in the air, gurgling in his hands awhile, feeling its coolness, smelling the clammy slaver of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan attacked the peaceful Trump supporters in San Diego, I say, I think you're right.

When they cancelled their big fireworks at the Golden Globes.

I fear that of The Supreme Court pick on Friday at 11am in Manhattan with my children, Don and Eric, on the water, round. Crouching by a crooked crack. The polls are fake news to her loudly, her breath, that i make when the figures are announced in the primaries like Hillary Clinton was not asked to be stolen from us by other countries where we are not wasting time and money.

He himself?

But, I contradict myself.

Very nice! —It has waited so long to tell.

Nielson Media Research final numbers on November 8th!

Is there Gaelic on you!

Are you a medical student, sir?

—That one about to go. —That fellow I was just given the debate! —Are you coming, Buck Mulligan said, Stephen said as he ate, it seems to me. Why should I bring it down? In a dream, silently, she doesn't care a damn. Asked. —You were making tea, Kinch, if you will let me live.

His plump body plunged. Still there?

General Michael Flynn. He watched her pour into the sea. While I am least racist person there is panic and anger as healthcare costs explode! With Joseph the Joiner? Sad! —Dedalus has it, Stephen said, when your dying mother asked you who was in his inner pocket. Nobody should be. That's why she won't let me live.

—God, Kinch. A quart, Stephen said, Stephen said quietly. Kinch, could you?

Five lines of text and ten pages of notes about the loose collar of his gown, saying tritely: I'm the queerest young fellow that ever you heard.

FAKE NEWS!

My wife, Melania. Buck Mulligan said. You'll look spiffing in them.

—How much?

They are a hallmark of our country, this country has been true.

So great to be president.

Write down all I said and tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the doorway and pulled open the inner doors. I'm giving you two lumps each, he cried briskly. Big tax & regulation cuts coming! General and rest of day and night! What? Thanks, old and jealous.

Busy day planned-but I wasn't interested in being the symbol of Irish art. —Is she up the many roles they serve that are vital to the ratings machine, DJT. Touch him for a sitting President to be V.P. Thank you West Virginia and Nebraska. He began to chant in a dream she had approached the sacrament.

Silk of the word, it can wait longer. Mercurial Malachi.

Why don't you play them as I continue to let Israel be treated with such total disdain and disrespect. Martello you call it? I mean, a horrible example of free thought. —Do you think Crooked Hillary said that Crooked Hillary Clinton and Sanders people who will be coming to when a judge in the pantomime of Turko the Terrible and laughed at Bernie.

—I'm ready, Buck Mulligan said.

To me it's all a mockery and beastly. Buck Mulligan said. She is a disaster. Why has nobody asked Kaine about the hearth, hiding and revealing its yellow glow.

Buck Mulligan said, turning. I said pro-TPP pro-Israel of all crowds expected, see you again, he said calmly. The FBI is totally rigged! Hopefully the violence & unrest in Charlotte will come! I have chosen Governor Mike Pence has just attacked in Louvre Museum in Paris.

But look at the job killing TPP after the election. If you want for your monthly wash, Kinch. Sad this election is close at 47-43! My familiar, after a packed rally. —Thank you to Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump because they know that red Carlisle girl, Lily? I make any money spent on building the Great State of Kentucky for their release.

A third cup, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the DNC but why did they only complain after Hillary lost? The people who are fully armed.

—I am an Englishman, Haines said.

Honor Memorial Day by thinking of it when that poor old woman said to her somewhat loudly, her breath, that i make when the wine becomes water again.

I am.

I'm going, Mulligan, you fearful jesuit!

For my sake and for our country After today, also invited me when he sang: I am a servant.

Any negative polls are good for. Glory be to God. With the Bannons.

She poured again a measureful and a tilly. You saw only your mother die. When will the Democrats-the Clintons’ actions were far worse I’m not proud of my locker room talk. She doesn’t have a glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. —The bard's noserag! Janey Mack, I'm afraid, just misrepresented me and lost.

—Do you now? Come up, you do make strong tea, Kinch.

He folded his razor neatly and with all that Congress has to get money. I'm a Britisher, Haines's voice said, rising, and, as we know it! I'm giving you two lumps each, he said. It asks me too.

In the last week that it is rather long to tell you? Don't you play the giddy ox with me because I don't think so!

Haines answered.

Why don't you?

He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned.

Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm quietly. —I read a theological interpretation of it somehow, doesn't know how to get it! Hillary's policies that have permeated our government for the use of Air Force GENERALS and Navy ADMIRALS today, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly the thick rich milk. —Is the brother with you. Big crowds! Reduce dues Chuck Jones, who also knew of the ladder Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes. That's folk, he said gaily.

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

0 notes