#the way they harp on and on after the employee apologizing....

[holydivers]

customers will act like they want you to cut off your pinkie finger to atone for the crime of not having the size of dr pepper they want

[mouse-of-dimitrescu]

𝟷𝟸 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 🎄 #2 J𝚊𝚗e Murdstone 𝚇 𝙵𝚎𝚖 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Christmas Confessions ( nsfw )

Jane Murdstone X Fem reader

WARNINGS: mentions of church, slight blasphemy, the usual and expected lesbian sex, mentions of guilt, Mr Murdstone's brief presence.

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Initially, working for the Murdstones was extremely intimidating — especially when Miss Murdstone arrived: Mr Murdstone's sister. You found yourself freezing in place every time she spoke to you. You were a hard worker and always completed your tasks which was why, in early November, Miss Murdstone hired you as her personal worker. You would help her dress in the mornings and undress in the evenings. You would run baths for her and out her hair up in the mornings, change her hairstyles for dinner time and bedtime. Miss Murdstone was highly intimidating, No matter how hard you tried to get used to her presence. You soon realised that this intimidation made you feel things that an employee should never feel — yet alone towards a woman of a higher rank.

On Sundays, the Murdstones initiated a rule that the house and garden workers accompanied them to the church service. You despised this — finding the services a complete bore. On the Sunday, the week before Christmas, you found yourself sitting next to Miss Murdstone — the Raven Goddess herself. You fidgeted throughout the service and lip synced through the tedious hymns — unable to speak a word. You heard Miss Murdstone's sweet, melodic voice and silently prayed that her voice would whisper your name — fingers like lips, producing a sweet sound from a golden harp.

After the service, you walked out, relieved that the Sunday ritual was over. You followed behind Mr and Miss Murdstone as you all took a short walk back to the house, the housekeeper, Margaret, walked near you but no one spoke. You silently evesdropped on the conversation in front of you, to your surprise, you heard Mr Murdstone say that he would be absent on Christmas Day: he would be travelling with his wife out of the country which left Miss Murdstone all alone. Normally, Mr Murdstone would allow his staff the day off on Christmas. This time, things were a little different.

That evening, you heloed Miss Murdstone undress as per usual and she spoke up. " Girl, I expect you to work on Christmas Day. You're staying in the house with me. My brother will be absent as he is travelling with his wife." Without a word of confirmation from your side, Miss Murdstone walked towards the bathroom. You tried to pull your eyes away from her nude body but you couldn't — so you closed your eyelids, not noticing that Miss Murdstone was looking at you.

" Praying?" She bluntly asked, her voice unusually soft but tinted with amusement.

You quickly opened your eyes and shook your head. With trembling hands, you began to assist Miss Murdstone in washing her hair. She looked at you skeptically as you did so but you tried to ignore her quizzical gazes. You were more frightened and more awkward than usual. This was not because you had to work on Christmas Day — it wasn't as though you had any plans outside of your employment so assisting the Murdstones gave you some form of distraction. The problem was that you began to realise a deep attraction towards Miss Murdstone and you wished to help her in more ways than one.

" You're awful fidgety today, girl." Jane noted in annoyance and looked up at you.

" Y-ye-yes. Apologies, Miss Murdstone. I found myself rather out of sorts today." You admitted, not wanting to dwell on the topic any longer. " Which scent would you like this evening, my lady? Rose or lavender?" You asked.

" Rose." Jane kept her eyes on you the entire time. You eventually left so she could have some privacy while she bathed. Jane came out of the bathroom a while later to find you organising the items on her vanity.

She sat down at her vanity, leaving her nightgown open and occasionally exposing spoilers of her chest when she bent or moved. You tried to avert your eyes by distracting yourself with Miss Murdstone's hair. You made a soft, comfortable hairstyle as you did every night and got her nightclothes ready. You quickly helped her into them and afterwards she looked at you. Miss Murdstone gripped your chin and made you look up at her — you gazed into her eyes, finding it physically impossible to look away.

" What's the matter, girl?" Is it with regards to your ruined Christmas?" She asked sternly.

" No, Miss Murdstone. I am merely tired." You lied, feeling the grip on your chin loosen and she let go of you entirely.

" Then you are excused for the night." She dismissed you with a flick of her hand and you scurried out the room. You walked briskly down the hall and went to your small living space, getting ready for bed.

Mr Murdstone eventually left with his wife for their trip. The employees were dismissed — except for you. It was Christmas Eve and you busied yourself downstairs, preparing tea for Miss Murdstone who was knitting in the living room. You brought the tea to her with a small smile on your face.

" I made you chamomile, Miss Murdstone." You said, placing the tray down. Miss Murdstone sighed and put her knitting aside, taking the teacup from your hands. She looked at you for a short moment.

" Did you make yourself a cup?" She suddenly asked, sipping her tea and making direct eye contact with you. Only confidence and a blatant air lingered in her words. You frowned slightly and forced yourself to keep the eye contact with Miss Murdstone.

" No, I didn't think it was allowed." You explained shortly, busying yourself by unnecessarily cleaning the living room up.

" Don't be ridiculous, girl. It's Christmas Eve. Make yourself a cup of tea." Miss Murdstone ordered, sipping from her own cup and humming slightly in approval at the taste.

How could you refuse? You walked to the kitchen and made yourself a cup of tea, letting your fingertips trace the golden rim of the teacup. You drank your tea in the kitchen, not wishing to intrude in any manner. You initially felt immensely awkward: being alone in the same place as her.

In the evening, you and Miss Murdstone did your usual nightly routine. After her bath, she slooked to you. She left her nightgown open again, revealing teasing fragments of her slightly dampened body. It was too late in the evening for you to care about anything. You failed to avert your eyes from Miss Murdstone's body and you looked to her. She watched you with a slightly amused expression as she sat down at her vanity.

" Don't bother putting my hair up tonight." She said plainly, staring at you through the looking-glass.

You silently obeyed Miss Murdstone, finding the atmosphere extremely intimate — given that you were alone together and it was possibly the beginning of a very long evening. Jane watched your every move as you brushed through her hair. You admired how the dark strands fell over her pale skin and how her shoulders tingled with a shiver from the winter air.

" See something you like?" She asked, raising her eyebrow.

You quickly shut your eyes and looked down. You walked away and quietly began to clean up the conjoined bathroom. You didn't want to face Miss Murdstone. You coujdnt stand it. Not when you wanted to worship her so badly. Everything about her attracted you: her cold demeanor, her icy eyes, her melodic voice.

You spent a while in the bathroom, completely unaware that Miss Murdstone was watching you. " I've seen the way you look at me." She spoke up, making you jump slightly.

You immediately understood your words and stood up straight. Jane clasped her hands in front of her and you took a deep breath. " My apologies if I have come off as intrusive, my lady. I didn't mean it in a negative nor sinful way." You explained, trying to tone up the innocent act. Miss Murdstone silently walked up to you sjd gripped your chin for the second time that week.

" Don't lie to me." She looked down at you and you felt as though your knees were going to give way.

" My lady, I'm not." You lied.

" Jane." She corrected. You looked up at Jane for what seemed to be the first time. When she muttered her name, her voice was slightly softer — you wanted to melt right then and there.

" Jane, I'm sorry." You looked down, you couldn't bare to look at her. Not now. Not when she knew your thoughts.

" Say my name again." She ordered, leading you back into the candlelit bedroom.

" Jane. Jane. Jane. Jane." You whispered out. Tears fell down your cheeks. Jane wiped them away with her thumbs, not questioning them. She knew why you were crying: you were afriad, but you were also relieved that you didn't have the pressing burden of unconfronted guilt weighing you down.

" Stay with me tonight, if you will. It is pathetic to be alone on Christmas Eve." Jane whispered, her voice still cold. She made no attempt to comfort you but by that invitation alone, you were placated by her acceptance. She didn't turn you away. She invited you in.

You went back to your own room, getting ready for bed before going back to Jane. " Jane, I — what if someone finds out about this?" You asked, fidgeting with your fingertips, standing at the foot of the bed.

Jane looked to you. " Lie down, girl. And stop fussing." She commanded with slight annoyance. You quickly lay down next to Jane, wanting to obey her every command. You let your gaze linger and wander over her figure.

You noted how the nightgown carved itself over her soft skin — outlining every curve and muscle — emphasising every movement. The light from the candles casted a new perspective on her face, making the details on her cheeks and nose more evident. Her eyes shone from the fire. You noted the small wrinkles from her occasional smiles and the way her soft and slightly tired eyes moved as she looked at you. Her eyes wandered over you too, in utter silence you lay. She searched your eyes for and approval for a kiss and you nodded ever so slightly, eyeing out her soft pink lips.

Jane's hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you closer towards her. He lips ghosted like a confession over your own and you felt your body begging for mercy, which Jane gave — pressing her lips against yours, consuming your breath, colliding it with her own. She kissed you with an urgent softness that you attempted to match. Your hand found the back of Jane's head, the strands of her dark hair tangled between her fingers. You didn't want the moment to rot away, and neither did Jane. She deepened the kiss, needing more. Her tongue slipped inside your mouth and you moaned slightly at the feeling, making Jane smile. Your bodies pressed against each other, the candle light coated your figures with a fixed but flickering golden tranquility.

When Jane pulled away, she looked into your eyes and kissed your forehead. You melted against her and held her hand.

" May I take this further?" She asked. You looked to her and nodded. Jane lay you down and leant towards you, placing your hair behind your ear as she gently kissed you.

" I've never done—" you stopped yourself from uttering the words. You didn't want the moment to cease.

" That's okay. May I be your first?" Jane asked, looking up at you. A shadow of desire clouded her eyes.

" Yes please." You nodded and Jane made you lie down properly.

Your newfound lover undid the ribbon on your nightgown. She removed the garment from your body and slipped your arms out of the sleeves. Your cheeks burnt with self consciousness and you instinctively brought your arms up to your chest, trying to cover your hardened nipples. Jane looked into your eyes and gently pulled your hands away from your chest. She taoped your thigh gently with her index finger — making you lie down properly. Jane leant down and grasped one of your nipples between her lips, grazing the peaked bud with her teeth ever so gently. You moaned and whimpered slightly — frowning with need at the unusual but pleasurable sensation.

" Jane..." You fekt your breathing grow uneven when Jane circled your nipple with her tongue. She granted the same attention to the other one and placed a kiss on your neck, nibbling at it slightly.

Your hands wrapped around Jane's back and you pulled her in for a much-needed kiss. Jane trailed her kisses down your torso, sending shock waves of cold shivers through your touch-deprived body. You felt Jane's hands grope your figure gently, familiarising herself with your form. You wantonly bucked your hips when Jane placed a small kiss against your embarrassingly wet folds. You press your legs and laid your head back gently on the propped up pillow. Your eyes gazed down at Jane who wrapped her arms around your legs, pulling your hips up slightly so she could have better access.

" You smell delicious." Jane whispered against your throbbing cunt. Her lips wrapped around your clit and you let out a small needy moan, not knowing what to do with your hands. You fondled with the sheets, trying to stabilise your body as Jane continued to pleasure you, picking up the pace with her tongue against your clit. After a while, Jane decided to do something different. She entered her tongue inside you and you let out a louder moan of Jane's beautiful name. Her hands squeezed your thighs and she used her teeth to gently graze against your clit, making your hips huck again from the unexpected stimulation.

" Jane...oh my god...I feel so..." You moaned loudly, feeling Jane's chuckles vibrate against you. " Jane, something happening." You confessed shutting your eyes as you experienced a strange sensation in your lower abdomen.

Jane watched your every move, continuing to speed up her movements. " It's okay." She whispered against you."

You heard Jane's words and you let go. Your moans became slightly louder — you didn't recognise them. You have never sounded like this before — so desperate, so unforgiving of your previous deprivations. Your body spasmed slightly with the shocks of pleasure and the thought of Jane coursing through your mind as you squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to savour the moment.

Jane eventually slowed down her movements and looked up at you, her mouth letting go of your cunt. She crawled up to kiss you and you accepted the kiss desperately.

" Did you enjoy that?" Jane asked, caressing your neck.

You nodded and smiled, you gently flipped Jane over so she was lying down on the bed, taking your place. You straddled her waist and Janr looked up at you, slightly amused. " May I?" You asked hopefully.

" Yes." Jane nodded and lay back properly on the pillows. You watched her breathing grow more uneven with each kiss you planted on her delicate skin. She let out little gasps when you sucked on the sensitive spots.

Jane spread her legs for you and placed a pillow beneath her hips. You smiled and hesitantly nibbled at her clit, trying to mimic the way she did it. Jane let out a groan of approval and gripped harshly onto your hair, drawing a groan from you. You began to explore her cunt, every hidden corner and every sensitive nerve ending.

You carried on using your mouth, drawing moans from Jane until she mumbled the word: " fingers." She frowned and moaned, her eyes closed as she gave in to the pleasure when you entered a finger inside of her. Her warm wetness coating it.

" More." She moaned. You happily obeyed her and added a second digit before moving them in and out of her dripping cunt, curling them up. You found her g-spot and began massaging it in time with your tongue's movements. You began to move in a faster rhythm, adding more pressure as you heard Jane moan with every nip and flick of your tongue.

Jane's body began to tense and tremble slightly as she neared her orgasm. Every muscle in her body felt alive with sensation. Your mouth and fingers increased their pace, your fingers thrusted into her, finding her g-spot once more. With a cry of your name, Jane reached her climax. Her body shuddered as the pleasure washed over her veins — a purification — a rebirth of sorts that would make angels envious.

Jane began to calm down a bit and she looked to you with a soft smile, still breathing heavily. She beckoned you to come closer and you obeyed. You lay next to her and wrapped your arm hesitantly around her waist.

" Thank you." She whispered.

You smiled. " Thank you." You repeated back to her. Jane smiled slightly and kissed the top of your head, holding you gently.

You and Jane got ready for bed and eventually fell asleep in each others' arms. If you perished that night, you would be content. The confessions that melted off your lips that evening were the only hymns you would ever voice. You looked up at Jane to see that her eyes were closed and soft breaths escaped her slightly parted lips. You smiled and cuddled into her, enjoying the wamth that her body emitted. You blew out the candle and in the darkness, you heard Jane's light breaths and you mumbled one word that only mattered to you: Jane.

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

[writertitan]

Only You

pairing: levi x reader 

word count: 2307

themes: jealous!reader, so much fluff and comfort, one could say too much fluff (but not me), angst if you squint at the beginning

requested by anon

A single, light touch of his arm and batting of lashes never affected you. Plenty of girls had done this before and were always shaken off of Levi by the man himself, almost instantly. He was always quick to draw a boundary, with women especially, if they got too close for comfort. It was the persistence of this current girl, though, that made you squirm and made you uncomfortable. Because she was good at making it lighthearted, innocent, not as brash and bold as all the others who had tried to flirt with Levi before. And if Levi had caught on to her advances, he hadn’t done a thing to ward her off. 

Granted, she was an employee, someone who was helping you both pick out a birthday gift for Hange, but you were able to read between the lines. The way she let her fingers brush with Levi’s just for a moment as she handed him a potential gift for your mutual friend, the way her smile was polite for you but beaming for Levi, the way her eyes sparkled when his own gaze landed on her, the way she was either between the two of you or next to him, but never next to you. Her praises of his taste when he looked at a new gift, her polite recognition of you when Levi would ask for your input, all of it, just all of it. You weren’t blind to it but it seemed that Levi was. It made you quiet, quieter than usual, but you couldn’t help your own unspoken behaviors that told more than words could. You were fidgeting, withdrawn, and while Levi didn’t seem to notice the girl’s advances, he did quickly tune into the fact that getting a full sentence out of you was suddenly like pulling teeth. 

Eventually, you let Levi take the lead and shrunk back from him and the girl, your heart sinking low each time she smiled at him, each time she complimented him. Your arms were folded tightly over your chest, as if to keep your heart in one piece, and you hoped that you didn’t look as uncomfortable and upset as you felt. Still, you felt your eyes squinting each time they interacted, and you felt yourself hiding into yourself, wishing you could do more than just watch.

“What do you think?” he pressed you, holding up a small apothecary box. “Four Eyes has been harping on and on about experimenting with alchemy like the crackpot she is. You think this set will be put to good use?” 

You watched as the girl blinked at you expectantly, eyes wide and innocent as she shuffled closer to Levi. 

Try as you might to try and get even a short approval out of your mouth, the words couldn’t come. They were stuck in your throat, bubbling over and dying out before you could even open your mouth. You gave Levi a shrug, and finally, a short and simple, “She’ll like it,” left your lips. Barely above a whisper. 

Levi was frustrated with you now, you could tell, but said nothing of it as he walked up to the counter to pay for the gift. You hadn’t followed him and that had spurred the employee on a little, it seemed; she was much chattier as she packaged the gift for Levi, marveling again about what a wonderful gift giver he was. It wasn’t until she handed Levi the package and set her hand on his arm for a moment too long that it seemed to click for him. 

“Come back again soon,” you heard her say. Levi said nothing to her, and said nothing to you as you both stepped out into the evening. 

                 — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Not a word had been said since leaving the shop. Levi had taken you back to his room and you sat down in a chair in the corner as you fidgeted quietly, those words still squashed and thick in your throat. Truth be told, you knew that it was a little silly. Levi would never encourage flirtatious behavior, much less reciprocate, and he may have genuinely not noticed earlier. But that had been the first time someone had blatantly disregarded you like that. That had been the first time a woman had been so shameless in her pursuit, however discreet it was. 

“Are we going to talk about it or are you going to keep moping?” Levi asked from his closet, grabbing some clothes to change into for bed. His voice cut clear into the air, cutting away at the tension that was palpable. After grabbing the clothes he’d decided on, he walked to his bed and sat on the edge, gazing at you intently. 

You blushed, huddling up in your chair more and sighing. He knew, better than most, how you preferred to show how you were feeling with your actions, your body language, rather than with actual words. In a lot of ways, Levi was exactly the same, the only difference being that he wasn’t one to shy away from confrontation when needed. 

Part of you wanted to just shrink away into nothing and try to pretend it never happened. You’d get over it. After all, you weren’t mad at Levi, weren’t even mad at the girl. You were just mad at yourself now. All of these words wanted to be blurted out, but you didn’t even know where to begin. The other part of you that didn’t want to run away from this took the lead, not giving you time to think or regret the choice to get up and sit on the edge of Levi’s bed next to him, your eyes downcast as you swallowed thickly, as if physically opening up your throat to finally speak your mind. 

“It made me uncomfortable,” you admitted to him in a quiet voice. “How the girl was acting with you, I mean. And I know it’s so silly to feel like this. Nothing happened and nothing was going to happen. I trust you completely and I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at anybody except for myself. I’m just so upset that I let it get to me, and I’m even more upset that I still don’t know how to speak my mind like you can. I also just...don’t want to seem like a crazed and possessive partner, but I’ll admit that I got jealous. I’m sorry.” 

And there you were, rambling away, hoping that what you were saying was even coherent. 

When Levi didn’t answer right away, you looked up from your lap to see that he actually looked taken aback, like he hadn’t expected that to be your response. He scoffed your name moments later, back to his usual self, but you saw the softness in his eyes as he gazed at you. 

“I didn’t realize what she was up to until the end,” he said, reaching over to place a hand on your thigh. “You know if I’d caught on earlier, I would have put a stop to it.” 

“I know,” you said lamely, gazing at him from under your lashes. “I’m sorry for getting jealous. It was just...the first time it had happened like that. She just didn’t stop.” 

Much to your chagrin, your words elicited a small smirk from Levi. 

“Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said to you, willingly letting you lean into him. “The one who should apologize is the snotty girl who honestly wasn’t even that helpful. I’m surprised you were jealous of her.”

“Huh?” You lifted your head up from your place on his shoulder to look at him. “Why surprised?” 

Levi returned your gaze steadily, raising a brow as if it were so obvious and you weren’t getting it. 

“Because there was no contest. There never is. I don’t give a shit about anybody but you.”

Oh. 

Instantly you were blushing, your heart sputtering out of control. It wasn’t often that Levi admitted things like that, but when he did, it always caught you off guard. He always said things so bluntly and so decisively. 

He only had eyes for you. Though you already knew that, it was nice to hear it, and it washed away the remnants of the jealousy still stirring through you. 

Again, you couldn’t find the words. Only this time, it was for a good reason, a positive thing. Left speechless by Levi yet again. You took your preferred route of speaking your feelings through actions, and leaned in to press a grateful kiss into his mouth, your hand reaching up to comb back his hair from his face. 

“You know that no one compares to you, either, right?” you asked against his lips, slowly pulling back to gaze at him. 

“Of course,” he snorted, squeezing your thigh before getting up. “I’m making us some tea before bed. Be back soon.” 

You stood and got changed for bed, greeting Levi with a tight-lipped smile when he returned with a tray filled with your teacups, the tea pot, and a few of your favorite tea snacks. He set the tray down at the small table by his bed and changed into his own pajamas as well, calling over his shoulder as he adjusted his shirt, “Let’s read some of that book you’ve been wanting to finish before bed, too.” 

“Really?” you asked, brightening up at the thought. You and Levi hadn’t done that in a while; you in his lap, resting against his chest as he sat up against the headboard, the two of you silently reading a book you held with Levi always nudging you to let you know when he wanted you to turn the page (and then making fun of you for reading too slow). The current book you were reading was a little too sappy - his words, not yours - so he hadn’t been following along. 

“Come here,” he instructed, getting under the covers and pulling you into him once you’d grabbed your book. You settled into him like you normally did, both of you reaching over to grab your cups of tea and take a sip, and that’s when you noticed that Levi had prepared your favorite kind of tea, and had made it his special way for you: a small hint of honey, which he only saved for special days since it had been such an expensive batch, and a dash of cinnamon. Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, knowing that instead of telling you, Levi was showing you how much you meant to him. Hell, he was even willing to have tea in bed with you. He usually made you drink at his desk with him. 

“Just the way I like it,” you murmured after taking another gulp, giving Levi a warm and loving grin; your way of letting him know that you appreciated what he was doing. 

Levi hummed in acknowledgement and set his cup back down on the tray, nodding towards the book silently, and you quickly flipped open to the page you’d ended on. Squirming around in his arms until you were sort of facing him, you gave him a brief summary of what had happened so far, so he wouldn’t be lost. 

“So my prediction is that, since he’s leaving and doesn’t know when he’ll come back if at all, she’ll tell him that she still loves him,” you finished proudly, turning back around to press your back flush against Levi’s chest. 

“Like I said before...sappy as shit,” Levi grumbled. You smirked when his chin rested on your shoulder to read with you, though, and reached up with one hand to stroke his cheek with your thumb before completely absorbing yourself into your book. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, with both of you silently reading to yourselves and Levi pressing a soft kiss to your jaw to signal he was ready to turn the page. Occasionally you’d stop for short tea breaks and to nibble on the snacks he’d brought along, a comfortable silence embracing the two of you. 

After a loud yawn from you, Levi squeezed his arms around you and made a small noise in his throat as he nuzzled into your neck, one hand moving to snatch the book from your hands to toss it to the end of the bed. It was well into the night now and all the candles you’d lit at the bedside table to help with reading were burning low, making your eyes heavy. 

“Time for bed,” he announced, hoisting you up by the waist and gently scooting you off his lap and into your own spot in bed. He adjusted the blankets around you and then gave you a long, unreadable look as you settled your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded and blinking slowly as you tried to hold his gaze. He didn’t speak, just reached out to adjust the hair out of your face. But then, after another moment of deliberation, leaned in and whispered, “Do you feel better?” 

You smiled tiredy and nodded, reaching out to hold his hand in yours for a moment. “Much. Thank you for making me feel better.” 

“Jealous brat,” he murmured before pressing a kiss to your forehead, getting out of bed and grabbing the tray to clean up and get it out of the room. You tried to wait for him to come back but just couldn’t stay awake much longer, much less keep your eyes open. 

You vaguely heard Levi come back in after a while, sliding under the covers with you, but your mind was foggy and already in the beginnings of a soft dream. Absently, you moved to be closer to him, succumbing to sleep as a voice whispered in your ear, “There’s only you.” 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Mysterious Night Blooming Roses pt 3

Hey look, more of that vampire bodice ripper. 

Things are really heating up at Castle Pankratz!

tw: blood drinking, horny

---

“Many of your predecessors found my feeding to be...pleasurable,” the Viscount shrugged. “So don’t be embarrassed should any such feelings or physical reactions arise during our time together.”

The blush that bloomed across Geralt’s pale cheeks was enchanting and the vampire felt himself falling a little more in love with his most recent pseudo-employee. 

“Wh-What happened to my, uhm, predecessors?” Geralt asked, biting at his bottom lip. 

“The one before you, Moira, she’s off to start a wool trading business in Temeria. She wanted to learn a skill and find a job; you know, become a woman of independent means.”

“Oh.”

“And before her there was Thoren, and he’s probably teaching his children to fish by now. I suspect he has his own fleet of ships with the price cod has been selling for in Redania.”

“They’re still alive?”

“Of course! And they left Castle Pankratz with a hefty payment in thanks for their service. Enough to buy a whole herd of sheep, if you’re Moira. Or a nice cottage and a fishing boat, if you’re Thoren. I don’t know what you’ll choose to do with your money when your ten years is up. How old will you be, then?”

“Thirty-four.”

“You’re the perfect age! I became a creature of the night some time during my twenty-seventh year of life and that’s how I appear now; or so I have been told. I’ve actually been living here for nearly two thousand years.”

The peasant’s went wide and he swallowed thickly. “Hmm.”

“May I have your consent to drink from you, Geralt? I know it’s an odd way to meet and a rushed explanation of things, but it’s been rather a long week and I’m… I’m hungry, Geralt. Would you mind?”

“I suppose not, Your Grace,” the peasant murmured, and tilted his head to the side.

---

Their first time together had been rushed and uncomfortable and awkward. Fumbling. Like two teenagers attempting their first romantic embrace in a barn, avoiding their chores and praying that their parents or siblings didn’t accidentally peek inside and catch them. 

Things had gotten better since then. The village’s Samhain celebration was drawing ever closer and the darkness of night came earlier every day. There was more time for Geralt and Jaskier to spend together, talking and laughing in the library or sitting room. Jaskier wrote music, and often played his compositions for Geralt on the harp, lute, or piano. Geralt would read out loud some nights, his fingers playing idly with the laces of Jaskier’s shirt or the fringe of his hair as he did so. 

Then, early one autumn evening, Jaskier summoned Geralt to his private chambers.

“Your Grace?” the peasant asked, peeking his head and shoulders into his Master’s enormous bedroom.

“Come in, Geralt. Please come in and close the door behind you.”

Geralt stepped inside and closed the door. His eyes remained downcast as he turned towards bed where Jaskier lay, reclining comfortably like some kind of presiding deity. “You summoned me, Your Grace?”

“Come here, pet, and have a seat. I’d like to talk to you about something rather important.”

Geralt crossed the windowless chamber and took a nervous seat at the very edge of Jaskier’s mattress. He’d never been in this part of the castle before; usually the vampire took him to the sitting room or his own bedroom to feed because it was easier to tuck him in for a nap afterward. It was, as the vampire liked to joke, a rather draining experience for the young man. 

“Are you displeased, Your Grace? Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh no! Of course not, dear heart! You could not possibly be any more pleasing, in all honesty. I just wanted to know how you were getting along. How do you spend your days in my castle when I am asleep in here?”

“I read, mostly. You have some of my favorites in your library.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve read The Three Musketeers twice. I’ve read Treasure Island, Faustus, and a few collections of poetry as well.”

“Studious,” the vampire smiled, tugging Geralt closer. The mortal man allowed himself to be moved up the bed and into Jaskier’s cold yet inviting embrace. “I like that in a man.”

“In… in a man?”

“Have I misunderstood something, my dear? I thought I saw you peeking at me while I changed for supper yesterday,” Jaskier explained, relaxing his arms enough so that Geralt could easily leave if he wanted to. The vampire was right, however. Geralt had been peeking and he had liked what he’d seen. “I thought that you had perhaps begun to feel the same things for me that I have begun to feel for you.”

“What are you feeling exactly, Your Grace?” Geralt’s voice was low and sweet and dripped like honey. The warm human wrapped in Jaskier’s arms smelled fantastic, like lust and mint; the wine from dinner still sang in his blood. The vampire shivered and narrowed his eyes. The irises flashed from blue to red and then back to blue again, revealing to his guest the intense emotions he usually held in check. 

“In regards to you, my dear Geralt? I’m afraid that I feel significant attachment. I have not tasted blood so sweet and floral in over a hundred years, nor have I had conversations so scintillating. I suspect it has been many more years since I’ve had that, if I cared to actually count, but that would be a waste of time in your presence. You are clever, curious, loyal, and your chivalry seems to know no bounds, dear heart. How could I not feel something romantic in nature towards you when you, yourself, are so naturally easy to romance?”

The peasant’s face flushed prettily and his heartbeat sped up to a pleasant, ringing tempo. Jaskier could smell the mixture of love and arousal wafting off his darling Geralt and it nearly intoxicated him. He felt his fangs go sharp and steely in his mouth and he bit back a predatory hiss. “Fuck!”

“Your Grace? Are you alright?”

“Perhaps you should go after all, my pet. I’m afraid I-”

“No!” Geralt stiffened and pulled out of the Viscount’s arms. He shrank back against the covers and looked up at his Master with wide, worried eyes.  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’m so confused. I can’t leave again until I know what your intentions are. It’s only been a few weeks since my arrival and yet I still I -” the young man grappled with his language, pleading for something that would get his feelings across to the ancient, all-knowing vampire before him. “- I can’t stop dreaming about you, Jaskier! I can’t get you out of my head! The more I try not to think about you the more I fantasize about sneaking in here and laying at your side as you sleep. I ache to feel your skin against my own. I long for your hands, colder than death as they are, to caress me and hold me.”

The vampire let his lips part, his fangs gleaming in the low light of a few candles. Geralt’s words caught in his throat and his heart-rate rose again. It was nearly frantic. Jaskier would have been worried, but that particular rhythm combined with the way Geralt had started to smell was really getting to his head. 

He allowed himself to give a single, territorial little growl before he rose onto his knees. The vampire placed one hand on either side of Geralt’s head and leaned down, brushing the tips of their noses together as he trapped his human quarry against a goosefeather pillow. “I dream of you as well, my pet. I dream of running my fingers through your soft white hair and listening as you read to me in that deep, rumbling voice.”

“Your Grace?”

“I dream,” Jaskier sighed, tracing his nose along Geralt’s jaw, “Of how delectable you smell when you’re happy. Of how caring you are when you’re worried. Of how you might react to sweet, glorious compliments being whispered in your ear as I hold you close and take you apart. I’ve had centuries of practice, dear heart, and I really am quite good.”

“Your Grace.” 

“I dream of touching you, Geralt. May I please touch you?” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Gods, Geralt. When you call me that, it -” the vampire’s fangs lengthened again, pushing and straining towards his sweet human sacrifice, “- It really awakens the nature of a beast in me.”

“My apologies, Master.”

Jaskier groaned and leaned away, his hands covering his face to keep his fangs from finding Geralt’s neck on instinct. “That’s certainly not any better.” 

“Do you wish to drink from me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His voice was meek. Nervous. The vampire’s long-dead heart nearly cracked in spite of itself. 

The peasant had never referred to it as drinking before. Always feeding or supping. Geralt understood that he was a food source and kept his distance from the whole process by using such specific terminology for their activities. Yes, the human clearly enjoyed the endorphins Jaskier’s feeding process released throughout his body, and the inhibition-lowering side-effects of Jaskier’s vampiric presence had let a few specific terms of endearment slip through the human’s lips but…

This was different. This was Geralt offering himself up rather than accepting his status as an offering from the village. He was an equal participant, now. 

“Would you like it if I drank from you, my dear?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted. His face was aflame with either shame or lust; Jaskier suspected that it was a strong combination of both. He pulled himself against the vampire and tossed his hair to the side, baring the pale column of his throat. His voice was breathy and a little higher than normal when he locked his gaze with Jaskier’s and whispered, “I’m all yours, Your Grace.”

The backs of the Viscount’s knuckles swept across the smooth expanse of skin and both men shuddered with anticipation. Jaskier curled around Geralt possessively and ran his icy lips down the side of the human’s neck to his pulse-point. The vampire nibbled teasingly for a moment, letting his teeth and tongue worry the skin to a warm, vibrant pink before placing the tips of his fangs down. As he pressed in, breaking through and tasting the first few delectable ruby droplets, Geralt moaned openly. 

His hand clenched in the material of Jaskier’s night-shirt and his eyes rolled back into his head. It was rapturous. It was ecstasy. And now he didn’t have to keep himself silent and resigned; he could react the way he’d wanted to for weeks as his Master drank deeply from the fount of his heart.

“Jaskier!” The hand that wasn’t the vampire’s silk night-shirt was grasping at the skin of his hip, digging his fingers into the cold, firm crease where Jaskier’s long torso met his legs. He needed to hold on to something. He needed an anchor to this mortal realm or he’d go floating away forever, lost to the pleasures of his soon-to-be lover. 

Jaskier removed his fangs from the human’s neck after another moment or two and slowly licked the wound to clean it. Geralt frowned and glanced up, his eyes bright and his face flushed.

“Done already, Your Grace?”

“Oh, Geralt,” the vampire purred, clambering to straddle the taller man’s hips. “I’m just getting started.”

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

New fic!! The original idea was for a steamy one-shot gift fic for the wonderful @krisrix but the plot ran away with me and it’s now a full-blown multi-chapter fic. Updates will hopefully be on a regular basis. 

Hope you like it @krisrix! I”ve been meaning to write you something ever since you created that amazing art for Can’t Find My Way Home! 

Behind Closed Doors

Baz

I can’t get out of David Mage’s office fast enough. I thought weekly one-on-one meetings with him were torture but now he’s moved them up to twice a week, as we reach the end of year, and it’s simply excruciating.

I hate him. I hate this job. I’ve come to despise working at Watford, which breaks my heart. But I won’t leave. I’m going to stay the course and I’ll be damned if I don’t outlast Mage here.

My mother started this company. This is her legacy and I won’t let that pompous bastard ruin it.

He’s doing his best to do just that. The numbers bear that out. Month after month I’ve been trying to communicate to him what a disaster his policies are. How they’re actually weakening the company. He just spouts some drivel about “fresh starts ”and “thinking outside the box” and then the phrase I absolutely abhor: “take it to the next level.”

I damn near leveled him when he said that today.

Father still sits on the Board of Directors but it hasn’t been much help. Somehow the rest of the Board has morphed into collection of lackeys for Mage; sycophants, supporters, cronies. It’s sickening. I think the only reason Father still has a seat is because he started Watford with Mother. They can’t vote him out.

At least I don’t think they can.

I’m storming down the corridor to get to the blessed isolation of my office when a voice calls out behind me.

“Baz!”

I can’t deal with Snow right now. I really can’t. I quicken my pace but the wanker just speeds up to catch me. Literally. He actually tugs at my sleeve.

I stop and level a glare at him. “What do you want, Snow? Some of us have work to do to keep this company afloat.”

Simon Snow is Mage’s personal assistant. His right hand man. His closest confidant and staunchest supporter. His jack of all trades.

I wish I could hate him as much as I hate Mage. I’ve tried.

I’m stupid enough to have fallen in love with him instead. It’s a cross I have to bear, but at this moment being in his presence after that disastrous meeting is almost more than I can handle.

“You haven’t sent in an RSVP for the Christmas party yet. I need to send the final number to the caterer today. I’ve sent you three emails about it, Baz.”

I arch my brow and give Snow my iciest sneer. “As if I have time to read frivolous emails about social gatherings. It’s end of year, Snow. The busiest time for the financial department, which you should know. Happens this time every year.”

“Christmas comes this time each year,” Snow mumbles.

Did he really just quote the Beach Boys most idiotic lyric at me? It shouldn’t surprise me that Snow likes that utterly insipid Christmas song. It’s absolutely endearing that he does.

I harden my heart against his charm.

“Yes, Snow. I’m quite aware. End of year financial accounting also comes this time each year and that’s rightfully occupying far more of my attention than the utterly useless Christmas party you’re harping about.”

He looks hurt. I internally curse myself. It’s not Snow’s fault I’m in this mood. It’s not Snow’s fault that he’s in charge of the dreaded Watford annual Christmas party. It’s not Snow’s fault I’m in love with him.

Actually, that last one is entirely Snow’s fault. He can’t walk around this place with that riot of disheveled bronze curls, the constellations of moles and freckles on his tawny skin, that bloody dimple on his left cheek when he smiles, his distressingly charming personality, completely unwarranted kindness, and expect me not to fall recklessly, hopelessly in love with him.

I’m so weak for this boy.

I soften my voice. “Listen, Snow. I know you’re putting all your energy into the party right now. I’m putting all mine to the financials.” I take a breath. I can do this. “I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your emails.”

Simon perks right back up at my apology. “That’s alright, Baz. I know how stressful end of year is for you. That’s why I emailed, so you could get back to me when you had a free moment.” He glances back towards Mage’s office. “I should have known better than to run you down after a meeting with Mr. Mage.”

Two years working here and he still calls him Mr. Mage. It’s ludicrous. And that bastard never corrects him. It’s some hierarchy, respect bullshit. It’s not like Snow doesn’t know Mage well enough to call him David.

He’s Mage’s pet project. Scholarship student out of the care home system and under Mage’s tutelage for years at that small university Mage worked at before he inflicted himself upon us here at Watford.

Corporations don’t function like universities though and Mage’s management here is a testament to that. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d come to Watford to purposely run us into the ground.

Perhaps he has. I wouldn’t put it past him.

Snow is still looking at me, likely waiting for a response. Instead I let my mind wander, like I usually do when I am confronted with him.

I have to, for self-preservation. Being near Snow is like being caught in a tractor beam, like he’s the sun and I’m crashing into him. It’s why I try to avoid him at all costs. He’s too distracting.

I’m doing it again.

“So, shall I put you down as a yes, then, Baz?”

“Yes, fine, whatever.” I’m pathetic. I hate the party. I only go because I know how much work Snow puts into it and because he looks so damn good in a suit.

“And shall I put a plus-one?”

“What?”

“Are you bringing a date?”

Bollocks. This is why I should have answered his email. To avoid awkward questions like this. To avoid inadvertently saying something monumentally stupid like “you can be my plus-one, Simon.”

“Ah, no, no, just me.”

“Right, then.” Snow beams at me. “I’ll mark you down for one. We’ve still got a spot open at our table. I’ll put you with us.”  His smile grows even wider. “Saturday at seven. At the Club. I’ll see you there, Baz.”

He nods and then scurries back down the hallway towards Mage’s office.

Fuck. How am I going to get through an entire evening at the same table as Snow?

Simon

I really should know better than to interrupt Baz when he’s in a snit and storming down the hallway from Mage’s office.

If it weren’t for the fact that he’s always in a snit after a meeting with Mage.

I know they don’t get on. It’s too bad really. Watford’s a family thing for Baz. But it still must be hard to see someone else in his mother’s place. In her office. Running her company.

I’m not sure I agree with all of Mage’s policies either. I know he was the dean at the school but I uni isn't like the corporate world.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t work here, with him. I mean, I know it’s a good job, with solid prospects, a good salary, stable environment. But I’m not using my degree here, am I?

I double majored in Sociology and Human Resources. I’m actually overqualified to be a personal assistant, but here I am planning Christmas parties and managing Mage’s schedule.

I owe him. For a lot of things. Getting me out of the care home system. Supporting me for that scholarship to the private secondary school that paved my way to getting into uni. Being my mentor at uni. Hiring me when he got this job.

It’s quite a lot. I can’t just walk away from this. I like Watford. I like what they do here. I like the values this company has. Or had, I suppose. Things are changing quite a bit under Mage.

He’s the one who would write a reference for me, if I left. Which is why I don’t dare leave. I’m not sure he wouldn’t consider it a betrayal. He’s funny that way. Very focused on loyalty and allegiance. Everything seems to boil down to “us and them” with him. He and I are the “us” and it seems everyone else is the “them.”

Particularly Baz and his father. The other long-term Watford employees. Half the Board.

Well, less than half now. A fair number have ‘retired’ and been replaced with people who are friends with Mage.

I didn’t think that’s how Boards worked. Maybe I’m just naïve.

I can’t let myself think about all that. I just have to concentrate on doing my job and doing it well.

I’m glad I caught Baz, even if he was in a mood.

I think he’s always in a mood. Two years I’ve been here and Baz is still an enigma to me. I’ve asked Penny about him. She’s been here longer than I have. She just says he’s brilliant and a tosser and that I should let him be.

Easier said than done.

There’s something fascinating about Baz. It’s not just that he’s fit either.

He’s quite fit.

But he’s intriguing as a person, not just because of how he looks. He’s young to be the CFO of a corporation the size of Watford. I know he was top of his class at LSE. Brilliant financial mind, could have had any job he wanted but he wanted to work here. With his mother. So, he started in the financial department and worked his way up.

Penny told me he’d just been promoted to CFO when the accident happened. It was a bad multiple car pileup on the M5. Baz actually passed by it on his way home that night. I can’t imagine how that must have felt. Seeing that car, knowing it was his mother’s.

I don’t know how he came back to work here, after that.

But he did. Agatha says he’s much more withdrawn since then. He used to be a bit more social, would occasionally go out to lunch with people, sometimes even to the pub for drinks after work.

Not now.

Baz comes in early, goes home late. He’s rarely out of his office unless it’s to lead a department meeting or meet with Mage. I think he even eats in there.

I’ve tried to get to know him. Hasn’t gone too well. I mean we’ve talked, of course, but not much more than that. Not for lack of trying on my part though.

I plan the corporate activities—the Christmas party, the summer soiree at the Club, periodic department morale boosters and whatnot. Retirement parties, new employee meet and greets. All sorts of events.

Baz rarely goes to any of them. I mean, he comes to the Christmas party every year and the summer event, but it’s more like he makes an appearance. Shows up, has a drink, shakes some hands with Board members and then buggers off.

I don’t know why I’m so determined to be friends with him. Penny says I’m obsessed. I disagree.

I think it’s just that he seems lonely and that bothers me.

I know how that feels.

Baz

The only diversion at the Christmas party this year has been Snow. He spent the first hour rushing around, talking to the caterer, having a word with the DJ, sorting some table seating mishap. We were well into the dessert course before he finally sat down.

In the open seat next to me.

I’d planned to leave after dessert, make my cursory rounds with the Board members and then scuttle out of here before anyone noticed. It’s still my plan, but having Snow seated next to me is definitely putting a wrench in the works.

I go to such lengths to avoid proximity to him. But having him so near, being able to look at him up close—it’s mesmerizing.

I practically swoon when his knee inadvertently bumps mine under the table. He’s left-handed so we end up knocking our hands together as he eats his food. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Snow eat before. He does it with a gusto, determination and rapidity that’s breath-taking. I think he ate every remaining roll in the bread basket. And he took my butter. Not that I was planning on eating it but still. I don’t think he’s quite aware of plate assignments at formal table settings.

Or he just loves butter.

From the way he slathered it on his roll I’m going to assume it’s the latter.

He’s also hitting the wine fairly hard. We have a few bottles at our table but Bunce and Wellbelove have only had a glass each. I’ve sipped at mine. I don’t think Rhys drinks and Gareth has a whiskey by him.

Snow’s on his third glass by the time the DJ starts playing and the dance floor begins to fill.

I think he’s well on the way to being pissed. He hurried off to hand over a check to the caterer but it appears he took a detour to the bar. Snow’s back and he’s got a drink in each hand.  

“Here.” He hands me one.

I shake my head. “Sorry, Snow. One glass limit for me tonight. I’m driving.”

His face falls for a moment but then he shakes his head and beams at me. “More for me then, I suppose.”

“Simon.” Bunce is seated on his other side. “I don’t think you need two Mojitos.” She commandeers the one intended for me and passes it off to Wellbelove.

Wellbelove just shrugs and takes it.

“I think I’m entitled to as many Mojitos as I please.” Snow leans back in his chair and proceeds to down his entire drink.

“What’s brought this on?” Bunce asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. She darts a concerned look in my direction.

As if I would have any idea why Snow has decided to drown his sorrows in rum. It’s a tempting idea to follow suit except for the fact that I despise rum.

And I hate being drunk. Hate the loss of control, the giddiness, the way I find myself saying things that absolutely should not be said. That would be a disaster here, with Snow at my side.

Who knows what nonsense I would start spouting about the blue of his eyes or the light glinting in his bronze curls. I’d never live it down. I’d die of mortification on the spot.

I’ll stick to one glass of wine and then a lonely drive home to end my night curled up with a good book.

Of course, that’s not what happens.

What happens is that Snow continues to drink. Profusely.

Wellbelove offers to take him home when she leaves but he waves her away. Bunce tries to be more forceful with him but he’s having none of her bossiness tonight (Bunce is a force of nature) (I’m secretly relieved I don’t have to interact with her department often).

“I can’t leave, Penny. Not until everyone else packs it up. I’ve got to pay the DJ and make sure everyone’s got a ride home. It’s my job.” Snow’s explaining this to her, with his hands on her shoulders and an adorably earnest expression on his face.

“Yes, I know that, Simon. Perhaps that would have been a good reason not to make so many trips to the bar, now wouldn’t it?”

He laughs. It comes out as a bark, nothing like Snow’s usual laugh. I take a closer look at him. There’s a hint of desperation behind the forced cheerfulness. I hadn’t noticed it before. Something’s bothering Snow, enough to make him behave this way, so out of character for him.

“It’s alright, Penny. I’ll be fine. It’s not like I don’t know how to handle my liquor. Better than most.”

“That’s not the point, Simon.” Bunce groans. She looks at her watch again. “I need to go. I’ve got to get to the airport early tomorrow morning.” She tugs at his sleeve.

Bunce’s boyfriend lives in America. I don’t know how they manage this long-distance relationship of theirs but I do know there’s a lot of flying back and forth for holidays.

I step closer to them and then, even though I’ve just had the one drink, I find myself saying something absolutely rash. “I’ll drive him home, Bunce. You go on.”

They both turn to look at me, Bunce incredulous and Snow inordinately pleased. “There you go, Penny. Baz’ll get me home. You can count on Baz. That’s what he does all day, he counts things. Count on Baz. Baz’ll take care of me, Pen.”

Bunce rolls her eyes and then fixes me with a stern look. “Baz, so help me, you better get him home in one piece.”

I give her a bored look, hopefully masking the ridiculous way my heart is pounding at the thought that I’ll be watching over Snow and at the way he’s gazing at me right now.

Because he is. Gazing at me, I mean. Raptly, intently, fondly. I can’t quite wrap my head around his expression. I want him to look at me like that all the time.  

“Relax, Bunce. I’m quite sure I can handle getting one pleasantly drunk employee home.” I focus on Snow, who is literally beaming at me now. “As long as you remember where you live, Snow, we should be fine.”

“I’m pleasant now, am I?” Snow’s latched onto that unfortunate word choice of mine. I’m not even soused and I’ve already said too much. I am utterly pathetic.

Bunce shakes her head but leaves Snow in my tender care. She writes his address on a paper napkin and shoves it in my pocket before she goes, to his disapproval. “I know where I live, Pen. I’m not a complete idiot.”

She gives him an odd look, her gaze going back and forth between us thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure, Simon. I’m not so sure.” And then she leaves.

It takes a while to sort everything out. Snow has a check in his pocket for the DJ. He has a conversation with the Club manager about sending the bar bill to the office. He wanders around making sure there aren’t any purses or coats or belongings left behind, and then we finally make our departure.

He’s tipsy, that’s for certain, but I think Bunce was mistaken as to how drunk he is. Granted, he’s taken in a prodigious amount of liquor, but I think he’s got the right of it—he can handle the alcohol, better than I had assumed.  He’s uninhibited, that’s for certain, but he’s definitely not incoherent.

I input the address Bunce scribbled onto the napkin in my SatNav as Snow leans back in the passenger seat of my car, a sigh escaping him as he does.

“You alright, Snow?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes are closed. He looks tired. I haven’t put much thought into all he does, to make these parties go off without a hitch. He’s the one doing all the work, behind the scenes, but he certainly doesn’t get any credit for it.

I feel bad for snarling at him as much as I do.

“Are you sure?” Why am I still talking?

“Yeah, it’s just been a bit of rough night.”

“Why’s that? You pulled it off again. Lovely evening for all.”

He turns his head to the side and opens his eyes. “You really thought it was lovely?”

I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight. My voice softens as I answer. “I do. You always do a wonderful job with these events, Snow. It’s a thankless job, I’m sure, but thank you for doing it.”

Snow’s smile is brilliant. I reluctantly turn my eyes back to the road. “Thanks, Baz. I wish everyone agreed with you.”

I frown. “I can’t think anyone would find much to criticize.” I give him a wry look. “Other than the DJ insisting on playing The Electric Slide.” I dare another sidelong glance at him. His grin is even wider now. “That needs to be on the no-play list.”

“Ah, come on, Baz. It got a lot of people on the dance floor.”

“Not me.”

“And what would get you on the dance floor? I didn’t see you out there at all tonight.”

My mouth is dry. I’m not prepared to have this type of conversation with Snow. It’s not intimate but it’s somehow far more personal than any we’ve had previously.

“I don’t dance.”

Snow snorts. Literally. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“And why not?”

I can’t help glancing at him again. He’s laser-focused on me as he answers, an intensity in his gaze that makes my skin tingle.  “You don’t move like someone who can’t dance.”

I swallow. This is definitely veering into intimate territory. I take a breath and answer him. “I didn’t say I couldn’t. I said I don’t. There’s a difference.”

“Ah. So what would it take for you to dance?”

“Nothing that comes to mind.”

“Hmm.”

We lapse into silence. We’re almost at Snow’s flat. I’m utterly failing at the witty banter. I’ve got Snow’s undivided attention and I can’t for the life of me come up with anything to say. It’s tragic, really.

I pull up in front of his building. There’s a spot conveniently open. I manoeuvre the car into the tight space and park. “Alright then, Snow?”

This smile of his is soft, not the heart-stopping brilliance of before. I think I love this one even more. It’s private, personal, like he’s saved it just for me. That’s a load of rubbish, I know, but I let myself believe it for a moment.

“Yes, thank you, Baz. Thanks for driving me home.” Snow’s made no move to unbuckle his seatbelt or get out of the car. He’s just contemplating me. Raptly.

It’s like staring into the sun. I can’t hold his gaze. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, clear my throat and force my eyes away from him. “Alright, then.” Christ, now I’m repeating myself. Will the embarrassments of tonight never end?

He reaches out a hand and gently touches my forearm. It’s electric. I can feel the heat of it through the fabric of my suit. Then it’s gone and Snow is swiftly unbuckling his belt and making his way out of the car.  He leans into the open door. “See you Monday, Baz.” And then he’s gone, the door thudding closed behind him. He’s not the steadiest on his feet but he’ll do. He just needs to get in the building and up to his flat.

I stay parked anyway, to be certain he makes it in safely. It’s a good thing I do, because I can see the distress on his face a moment later. He’s patting down his pockets, face rapidly growing more alarmed as his search continues. He stares at the car, expression frantic now. I roll down the window. “What’s the problem?”

Simon rushes back, stumbling a bit as he does. “Baz. I can’t find my keys. I can’t find them anywhere.” He’s scrabbling in his pockets again—trousers, suit jacket, overcoat. His eyes meet mine. “Fuck. I must have dropped them at the Club.”

“Is there a spare set anywhere?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been meaning to leave a set with Penny but I keep forgetting.”

Blast it. “Get in. We’ll head back to the Club. The cleaning crew should be there.”

The cleaning crew is not there. No one is. The Club is locked, dark and deserted. I’m a bit taken aback. You’d think they’d want the place cleaned up before the Sunday brunch crowd. I’m rethinking my whole attitude towards the place.

But that’s not helping with the Snow situation. “What am I going to do?” He’s got his hands in his hair, furiously pulling at his curls. “I can’t get into my building. I can’t call Penny—she’s got an early flight, I don’t dare wake her up.”

I make my decision. It’s a stupid, moronic, risky decision, but I’m tired and I’m besotted with this blasted boy and I can’t just leave him to his own devices, now can I? I told Bunce I’d take care of him and I damn well keep my promises. I can’t help the small sigh that escapes me. “You can come home with me, Snow. I’ve got a sofa you can use for the night. I’ll bring you round here in the morning so you can track down your keys.”

His hands drop to his sides and his red-rimmed eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry to be such a pain in the arse, Baz, really I am.” His brow furrows. “You can drop me off at a hotel or something. I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

I can’t help but frown back. “I am not having you spend the night in a hotel. I’ve got a perfectly serviceable sofa at my place. It’s not an inconvenience. It’s easier this way, truly. I can help you search for your keys tomorrow.”

His face softens to that fond look again and I’m wrecked. I can’t think when Snow looks at me like that. “Thanks, Baz. You’ve no idea how much I appreciate this. I feel like such a knobhead.”

I just nod at him. I don’t quite trust my voice at the moment. My heart is beating so rapidly that I swear he can hear it when he gets in the car.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. I’m fine. Snow’s fine.

Fuck. I most certainly am not fine. I’m going to have Simon Snow sleeping at my flat. It’s a fucking dream come true but not in the way I’d fantasized.

I’m simply helping him out. It’s just for one night. This means nothing.  

It means everything.

Christ, what am I even thinking? It can’t mean anything. Honestly, even if Snow were interested, which he’s certainly not, it’s against company policy. No fraternizing. No inter-office romances. Strictly off-limits, especially for one of the chief officers to potentially be involved with a subordinate.

It’s theoretically both an HR and Compliance violation, even if it’s not spelled out explicitly in the handbook.

It’s one of the reasons I’ve kept my distance from him. Not given in to the temptation to test the waters, see if he’s even remotely interested. Because it’s doomed from the start. I can’t date Snow. Not as long as he’s employed at Watford.

Snow’s still babbling rambling apologies to me. I let him. I’m too tired to argue and too overwhelmed to speak at the moment.

He falls silent by the time we pull into the parking garage at my building. He’s still a bit wobbly but not enough that I have to steady him, thank God. I don’t know what I’d do if I had him leaning into me right now.

I find out the answer to that question moments later as I fumble with my keys. My hands are shaking and it takes me a few tries to fit the key in the lock. Just enough time for Snow to slump against the wall and slide down to a seated position.

“No, Snow, what? Not here. We’re almost inside. Come on, now, get up.” He’s got his eyes closed.

“It’s spinning a bit, Baz.” The words are just a whisper.

“Bloody hell. You were fine just a minute ago. How much did you have to drink?”

He shakes his head and then stops with a moan, both hands going up to grip his temples. My eyes dart around the landing.  I need to get this idiot inside.

“I had a shot of whiskey when I went to get my coat, just before we left.”

“Snow, you are an absolute moron. What the hell has gotten into you tonight?”

“Mage.” It’s even quieter than before but I hear it.  It sears my heart. What did Mage do, to have Simon behave so out of character tonight?

It’s not something I’m going to delve into out here. Somehow, I’ve got to get him into my flat. I should be able to pry it out of him while I fetch him some water and paracetamol. He’ll definitely need both.

And pyjamas.

Blast it. I do not need the mental image of Snow wearing my pyjamas at this particular moment.

I shove the door open, drop my keys in my pocket and reach out a hand towards him. “Up, Snow.” He opens his eyes and stares at my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. We can talk about whatever’s bothering you then, alright?” I’m using my gentlest voice, the coaxing one I used to use on my siblings when I’d try to get them to go to bed.

Snow reaches up and grips my hand and I haul him to his feet. He stumbles a bit and leans into me hard. I’m not expecting it and my arm involuntarily slides around his waist to steady him. We stagger into my flat, Snow a near dead weight in my arms. I manoeuvre him to the sofa where he’ll spend the night and he drops down heavily onto the cushions. The momentum drags me down as well.  

Snow slumps against the back of the sofa and I leap to my feet. “I’ll just be a moment.” I take my overcoat off and toss it on a chair before hurrying to the kitchen to fetch Snow some water. It takes me a few moments to hunt down the paracetamol. I rarely use it so I check the bottle to make sure it’s not expired. Thankfully, it’s not. I tuck the bottle in my pocket and head to my room for a pair of pyjamas.

I return to find Snow, head lolling back on the sofa, snoring gently. He’s ridiculous and entrancing and the line of his neck is utterly enthralling.  I can’t take my eyes off him.  I shake my head in irritation and raise my voice. “Snow. Wake up. You can’t sleep in your suit.”

His head bobs up and his eyes widen. It takes a moment for him to focus on me but when he does a smile lights up his face. “Baz.”

“Present and accounted, Snow. Now, sit up, that’s right. Time for some water or you’ll feel like absolute shite in the morning.” “Think I’m going to feel like that no matter what.”

“You’ll feel worse if you don’t do as I say. Now, come on, drink the water and then I need you to take some paracetamol for your head. It’s going to be pounding soon enough, I’m sure.”

Snow obediently takes the paracetamol and drinks most of the water. I scamper off to the kitchen to bring him another glass. He’s managed to stay awake this time. He blinks up at me. “Thanks, Bazy.”

That’s not going to do at all. I’m absolutely not going to tolerate nicknames from this intoxicated wanker.

“You do not get to call me that, Snow. Under no circumstances do I answer to nicknames.”

“Baz’s a nickname.” It comes out as a mumble.

I roll my eyes. “That’s my name, Snow. It’s not a nickname. It’s what everyone calls me.”

“Not your father. Not Mage. Call you Basilton, they do.”

“I am not going to engage in a debate about my name while you are inebriated. It’s one o’clock in the morning. Give it a rest.”

“Alright, Bazy.”

“Snow.” My voice has an edge to it. I don’t care how adorable he’s being at the moment. I simply cannot allow this.

“Hmm. How’s this then. I’ll stop the Bazy bit if you stop calling me Snow. M’ok?”

“What?”

“M’name’s Simon.”

“I’m aware.”

“Rather you call me that, than Snow.”

I sigh. “Fine, then. Simon. Are you happy now?”

He grins in response and then proceeds to slump further down. This won’t do at all. He’s still in his suit.

“Might need the loo.”

Of course, he needs to use the loo. I position myself in front of him and hoist him up. We lurch our way to the bathroom down the hall. I go in search of a spare pillow and blanket while Snow—er, Simon—uses the facilities. There’s some thumping and bumping, which is likely his attempt at getting out of his clothes and into the pyjamas I left with him. I can feel my face heat up. I’m going to leave him in his suit if he hasn’t managed to change out of it himself. There are some lines that simply can’t be crossed.

Simon’s somehow managed to get out of his suit and into my pyjamas and I can’t say that the sight of him in them doesn’t make my head spin. His clothing is scattered on the floor and over the side of the bathtub. I tut at him and gather it all up, hanging it in the hall closet once I get him situated on the sofa again.

“You need to drink more water, Simon.”

“I will if you sit with me a bit.”

I sit at the far end of the sofa, perched on the edge. Simon tilts his head in my direction, eyes heavy-lidded. “Thanks, Baz.”

“Drink your water.” He takes a few sips and then closes his eyes again. “What’s going on tonight, Simon? I’ve never seen you like this.”

He opens his eyes and regards me thoughtfully. “How would you know? You don’t really spend much time in my company do you, Baz?”

He’s right. I don’t. I observe him from a distance, taking note of every nuance of him, every facial expression, every burst of laughter. I’ve collected scraps of information about him from office gossip and the interactions we’ve had. I know him better than he thinks.

I’ve been to most of the corporate events since he started working here and I’ve never seen him behave in an inappropriate fashion. It’s not that he’s been behaving poorly tonight. It’s just so unlike him. “I know you take pride in what you do and you are usually impeccable in your behaviour. Tonight’s a bit of a departure from that, wouldn’t you say?”

He sighs.

“Simon. What’s going on?”

“I got into a bit of a scrap with Mage.”

“When?”

“At the party.”

I think back on the night. I don’t recall seeing Simon with Mage but I didn’t have eyes on him the whole time. He was running around quite a bit all evening.

“What about?”

“Quite a few things. The party mostly.” Simon exhales again and his expression becomes grave. “No one gave me any new parameters for the cost. I followed last year’s budget. Mage had approved it a few months ago.”

A chill goes through me. I’d just gone over the projected year-end numbers with Mage Friday. They weren’t good. He’s been vastly overspending with marketing and Board-focused events. Retreats. Strategic planning sessions. Consultants. Corporate mumbo-jumbo as far as I’m concerned. Colossally wasteful. It’s done nothing for our bottom line. Made it worse, if anything.

Our customers rely on our thoroughness and reliability. Mage has cut a swathe through the staff in the last two years, alienating long-term employees and hiring toadies who curry his favor. The loss of Possibelf six months ago and Minos a few weeks after decimated those departments. Mage hired Bunce’s brother, but Premal is new to the business and far too arrogant to ask for help. The managers under him have been floundering for months, despite my clandestine assistance.

Assistance Mage has sharply reprimanded me for more than once.  

He was incensed on Friday, with the numbers I had shown him. Accurate, up to date, precise numbers. He’d threatened another round of layoffs, which will only weaken us further. That’s why I was in such a foul mood when Simon caught me.

It seems Simon’s borne the brunt of Mage’s rage as well. “What did he say?” My tone is far gentler than it typically is with him.

“He was furious about the menu. The open bar. The holiday prizes we give out every year.”

That was my mother’s tradition. A series of gifts for random employees. She’d draw the names out of a top hat and the winners would march off with an iPad or a new watch. A television or a swanky SatNav. There were always one or two splashy items while the rest were more moderate. It was a unique way to boost employee morale and add a tinge of excitement to the party. Something a bit more personal than the yearly holiday bonus check.

Simon was still speaking. “Said we couldn’t afford it. Said I’d overstepped my bounds by not clearing it with him.” His face clouds over. “But I did clear it with him, Baz. I cleared it with him months ago, when I booked the Club. When I purchased the items. How was I to know the funds were more precarious now?”

There was no way for Simon to know. Not if Mage hadn’t told him. He is a direct report to Mage, no one else. It isn’t my place to peruse the budgets with the CEO’s assistant. Another example of how unfit this man is to run the company.  

Simon leans forward, his head buried in his hands. “Christ, I feel like such a fucking idiot. I never intended to make things worse.”

I’m not sure how I end up with my hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You did what you’re supposed to do. It’s his job to keep up with the finances. It’s his job to communicate if he needs plans to change.” My hand makes its way across his back and then he’s leaning against me, his head on my shoulder.

I can smell the clean, fresh scent of his hair. His curls are tickling my neck. He’s pressed up against me and I can’t pull away. I’m riveted to the spot.  

I find myself crooning soothing phrases into his hair. It isn’t Simon’s fault and it’s complete bollocks that Mage has made him feel responsible and guilty. No wonder he was hitting the drinks hard tonight.

If I know anything about Snow it’s that he’s frugal to a fault. He grew up in the care system, had nothing of his own. The scholarship may have rescued him from that environment but he’s never lost his sense of caution about expenses. It’s a well-known office fact. I don’t need to know him well to know this about him.

It’s obvious from where he lives. How he eats. I think he’s the only other employee who brings food from home almost exclusively. I do it because I’m anti-social and I don’t really like eating in front of others much. He does it to conserve his finances.

I keep murmuring comforting words to him. It’s basically a litany of “it’s alright, you did nothing wrong” repeated over and over at this point. I’m not quite sure what else to do. I really should get up and get him settled for the night.

But I don’t want to. I know it’s wrong to relish the sensation of him near me but it’s been far too long since I’ve had human contact like this. I know I’m supposed to be comforting him but this is consoling me as well.

I may never have another chance to hold him in my arms like this.

I don’t know how much time passes. I’ve stopped speaking now, I’m just holding him. He stirs and lifts his head. He’s so close. Our eyes lock and I’m lost in the blue of his gaze.

“Thank you, Baz.” It’s a whisper but the feel of his breath ghosting against my lips makes me shiver. His hand comes up to cup my face and his head tilts up.

And then he kisses me. Simon Snow is kissing me and it’s simultaneously the best thing and the worst thing in the world.

The best because it’s Simon Snow kissing me and I’ve desperately wanted this for so long. I’ve never been kissed quite like this. He’s doing this thing with his jaw and it’s overwhelming me. It’s soft, passionate, so devastatingly sensual that my lips part of their own volition and I lose myself in the taste of him.

It’s the worst because I can’t let him keep doing it. He’s not himself. He’s had too much to drink. He doesn’t mean this. He’s not thinking clearly. I pull away, every nerve in my body alight with the sense of him. I’m literally dragging my lips from his as the regret pools in my stomach, weighing me down.

“I’m sorry, Simon. That was uncalled for. I apologize.”

He blinks at me, face flushed. “What’re you apologizing for? I kissed you.”

“I know that. But you’re not yourself. I shouldn’t have let you do that.”

Simon frowns at me. “But I wanted to.”

I’m not prepared for this. I feel exposed, raw, vulnerable. It’s all I’ve wanted and the reality that I can’t let myself have this is devastating.

“You may think that now, Simon, but you likely won’t feel the same way tomorrow.” I shift away slightly and then stand up. I can’t help but reach out one more time, to rest my hand on his shoulder. I can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. It’s an effort to step back but I have to do it.

I yank the pillow and blanket from the armchair nearby and make a show of fluffing the pillow and settling it in place for him. I give him a gentle push and he slides down until he’s curled up on his side. He looks so young, so trusting. My hand creeps forward of its own volition to sweep the curls off his forehead, my fingers lingering in his hair for a moment. I settle the blanket over him and decisively step away.

Simon’s eyes follow me as I move towards the hallway leading to my room. “Good night, Simon.”

I close my eyes for a brief second and then switch the light off. I see him shift a bit in the dimness,hear his whispered “goodnight, Baz”and then I turn away to find the lonely comfort of my room.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep.

Simon

Baz may think I’m going to forget this or regret it in the morning. He couldn’t be more wrong. The only thing I might regret is the hangover I’m sure to have tomorrow, but I don’t expect I’m going to feel much remorse about that.  

I doubt I’d have had the courage to kiss Baz just now, if I hadn’t had a few drinks in me.

I probably wouldn’t have had the nerve at all, if Mage hadn’t aggravated me to the point of throwing all caution to the wind and indulging in more liquor than I’ve had since uni. Can’t be helped.

It did serve to clarify things for me.

I like Baz. More than like him.

I can’t delude myself that the feelings I have for him are just casual interest or fascination. The truth is I’ve had a crush on Baz for quite some time now.

I’d resigned myself to it being a one-sided attraction but I’m not sure that’s true, if the way he responded to my kissing him is any indication.

I liked that too.

I pull the blanket up to my chin. It smells like Baz; cedar and bergamot.

I breathe the scent in and let my eyes drift closed.

[libertariantaoist]

Director of National Intelligence James Clapper testified at a hearing on “Russian  interference” in the election that there’s a difference between “skepticism”  of the intelligence community’s assessment and “disparagement”  of said community. While stopping short of asking for a “safe space,” this  admitted liar used the opportunity to cry on the shoulders of Donald Trump’s  assembled enemies: “We’re not perfect,” he burbled, but hey everybody makes  mistakes.

Clapper’s remarks were clearly aimed at Trump, who has tweeted  his contempt  for the effort by the CIA and allied agencies to conjure up a Russian conspiracy  to put him in the White House. Citing  Julian Assange’s statement to Sean Hannity that a teenager could’ve hacked the  Podesta emails, Trump’s tweets evoked the rage of the Washington Establishment  – how dare he question those who failed to prevent 9/11, told us Iraq had “weapons of mass  destruction,” and failed to foresee the rise of ISIS, which they (through  President Obama) characterized as “the JV team”!

The hearing quickly degenerated into a “Hate Assange” session, with McCain  asking Clapper "if any credibility should attached to this individual”  given WikiLeaks’ “record of leaking materials that put U.S. lives in direct  danger.”

"Not in my view," Clapper replied.

Only in Washington would this exchange not be followed by howls of jeering  laughter. It was Clapper, after all, who lied under oath to Sen.  Ron Wyden and the Senate when asked about the extent of spying on US citizens  engaged in by the National Security Agency, and later was forced to apologize for it.

And of course it is a brazen lie  that anything published by WikiLeaks in its decade-long history has ever resulted  in a single  death – except, perhaps, the death of the US government’s credibility.

What will go down in history as the John McCain-Lindsey Graham dog and pony  show featured plenty of thunder and lightning. McCain pressed Clapper to declare  that Russia’s alleged actions were an “act of war,” but the DNI demurred, saying  it’s not the intelligence community’s job to make such judgments.  Sen. Graham  opined that he’d like to start “throwing rocks” at the Russkies, whereas President  Obama has been lobbing mere “pebbles.” While the spectacle of Graham trying  to go all macho had its comic aspects, as far as serious additions to the intelligence  community’s case went there were none. There was rhetoric aplenty, but no new  facts.

Indeed, facts were notably absent: while Clapper declared that the intelligence  community “stands ever more resolutely” behind the conclusions reached in a  report issued earlier this week, he gave no indication that the  many holes in that report would be filled any time soon – at least in public.  And so the question that has plagued the new cold warriors – where is the  evidence? – goes unanswered. But then again, evidence is something that  the McCain-Democrat anti-Trump alliance has absolutely no use for: they’ve already  reached their conclusion, and it is this:

Trump, in their view, is an illegitimate President: he was elected by the Russians,  and is for all intents and purposes a Russian agent. That is what the McCain  “hearing” was all about, and the Arizona Senator will continue to harp on this,  along with his Democratic allies, until the cows come home. It is unlikely,  however, that he will get much of a platform outside of his own Armed Services  Committee and CNN: Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell has said there will  be no select committee investigation, as McCain is demanding, and that the Senate  Intelligence Committee is “quite capable” of investigating what needs to be  investigated.

At one point, Graham got up on his hind legs and directly addressed Trump:  “What I don’t want you to do is undermine those who are serving our nation in  this area until you’re absolutely certain they need to be undermined.” These  underminers certainly need to be undermined, at least as far as the President-elect  is concerned. The Wall Street Journal is reporting  that Trump is planning a major revamp of the intelligence services:

“One of the people familiar with Mr. Trump’s planning said advisers  also are working on a plan to restructure the Central Intelligence Agency, cutting  back on staffing at its Virginia headquarters and pushing more people out into  field posts around the world. The CIA declined to comment.

“’The view from the Trump team is the intelligence world has become completely  politicized,’ said the individual, who is close to the Trump transition. ‘They  all need to be slimmed down. The focus will be on restructuring the agencies  and how they interact.’”

That the CIA, in particular, has become a thoroughly politicized cadre of desk  jockeys whose intelligence-gathering abilities have seriously atrophied is borne  out by the remarks of one “Ishmael Jones,” a former CIA officer writing under  a pseudonym: he is the author of The Human Element: Inside the CIA’s Dysfunctional  Intelligence Culture. Jones writes:

“CIA intelligence reporting stating that the Russian government hacked the  presidential election in order to elect Donald Trump is false. It is merely  a political attack against Donald Trump with the goal of delegitimizing his  presidency.

“The depth and quality of the CIA reporting is too good to be true. A December  16 NBC report states, for example: ‘Putin personally  directed how hacked material from Democrats was leaked and otherwise used.’ …  Such a conclusion would require access to Putin’s inner circle and knowledge  of Putin’s plans and intentions. Any spy that close to Putin would be one of  the best intelligence sources of all time.

“If such a source existed, he doesn’t exist any more. The leaked reporting  would have put him in grave danger, and he would already have been imprisoned  or executed.”

What Jones has to say about the culture of the CIA – its politics – tells us  why we are seeing this remarkable public spat between an incoming President  and the intelligence community he will (ostensibly) command:

“The reporting instead reflects the political opinions and agendas of bureaucrats.  CIA bureaucrats are a big blue voting machine with a long record of creating  information harmful to Republican presidents. The danger to Mr. Trump is ratcheted  up because the recent election influenced many people at the CIA to believe  that Trump is the second coming of Hitler. And to stop Hitler, anything is ethical,  even treason. CIA bureaucrats have chosen to attack Mr. Trump before he even  takes office.”

These are the Praetorian Guards of a decadent and corrupt empire: comfortably  ensconced in the swamp Trump has vowed to drain, they long ago lost touch with  their alleged mission: gathering intelligence overseas. As Jones relates:

“The CIA is meant to spy upon foreign countries. The secrets we seek are  located in foreign countries. Yet the bloated CIA bureaucracy exists almost  entirely within the United States. CIA bureaucrats appear to find foreign service  disagreeable. They enjoy their lifestyle and will fight with aggressive passivity  to keep it that way. More than 90% of CIA employees spend their careers living  and working entirely within the United States….

“The incoming CIA chief, Mike Pompeo, will be astonished by how many of  his senior leaders have not had an overseas assignment in decades. Brief junkets  and TDY’s to foreign countries do not count. CIA boss John Brennan’s 40-plus  years of CIA service have occurred almost entirely within the Headquarters building….

“Today, we have more employees working in encouraging diversity, and as  of recently, more transgender employees, than we do case officers operating  under cover in Russia, China, Libya, Syria, Yemen, Iran, and North Korea combined.”

As usual with these hypocrites, in claiming that Russia “interfered” with the  election, they are merely projecting their own sins on to Vladimir Putin. The  entire agency, as presently constituted, represents a threat to the Republic.  Forget “reform” of the CIA: what’s needed is a thoroughgoing top-to-bottom purge.

President Trump must not back down from his reported plans to do just that.  The alternative is having to battle these parasites for the next four years  as they work to undermine his agenda in alliance with the Democrats and the  hawkish wing of the GOP.

Let the purges begin!

[thisdaynews]

The short arc of a Sharpie captures the long arc of Trump

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/the-short-arc-of-a-sharpie-captures-the-long-arc-of-trump/

The short arc of a Sharpie captures the long arc of Trump

President Donald Trump shows the doctored hurricane map that extended the path of the storm into Alabama. | Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

white house

The Trumpification of a deadly hurricane turned a forgettable flub into an unforgettable presidential feud.

The tone of the entire Trump presidency was captured this week with the simple swipe of a black Sharpie.

An ill-timed, inaccurate but well-intentioned Twitter warning from Presidential Donald Trump at the start of the week extended into a five-day presidential feud by Thursday, transforming a forgettable fact check of his words into an epic storm of attacks as the president repeatedly doubled down and dug in.

Story Continued Below

Trump’s latest move of promulgating false information, blaming the media for the coverage of it and then subsequently turning that controversy into a seemingly pointless multiday story reminded current and former White House aides, advisers and Trump allies of all the times in business and government he has leaned on the same playbook of never, ever backing down: whether it was the value of his real estate business or the crowd size at his inauguration or his statements about Chinese tariffs.

“There are a lot of statements he makes to protect his base, but this is not him protecting his base. His base does not care about the hurricane,” said Barbara Res, a former executive vice president of the Trump Organization, who worked for Trump on and off from 1978 until 1998. “This is a personal thing. He just can’t be wrong.”

Thursday marked the fifth day that Trump was fixated on the idea that the state of Alabama was in the path of deadly Hurricane Dorian, which devastated the Bahamas and is now off the southeast coast of the U.S.

Since Trump canceled a weekend trip to Poland to monitor the weather threat, news about Hurricane Dorian dominated the president’s already prolific Twitter feed. He’s retweeted information from national TV news networks about the perceived strength of the storm, satellite images from the National Weather Service and short videos of him attending FEMA briefings about Hurricane Dorian. The flood of information has given Americans the sense that the president is both closely monitoring the hurricane but also that his involvement is at the center of it.

His fact feud started Sunday with a presidential Twitter warning mentioning Alabama among the states likely to be hit “much harder than anticipated.”

The National Weather Service office in Birmingham quickly corrected him online, writing on Twitter: “Alabama will NOT see any impacts from #Dorian. We repeat, no impacts from Hurricane #Dorian will be felt across Alabama. The system will remain too far east.”

But Trump referenced Alabama again Sunday at an in-person FEMA briefing, then started attacking the media over it and kept stoking it on Twitter in the days that followed.

Trump referenced Alabama again in person on Wednesday with some force, showing off a hurricane map — clumsily doctored with a black marker — that extended the path of the storm into Alabama.

When asked by reporters how the Sharpie marker ended up on the printed map, Trump said: “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

As the controversy escalated with “Sharpiegate” trending on Twitter, Trump tweeted out an early map of the storm — issued days before the president’s first Alabama tweet — that did not come from the National Hurricane Center: “This was the originally projected path of the Hurricane in its early stages. As you can see, almost all models predicted it to go through Florida also hitting Georgia and Alabama. I accept the Fake News apologies!”

Just as the backlash over the hurricane gaffe appeared to die down on Thursday, Trump revived it by tweeting that “Alabama was going to be hit or grazed, and then Hurricane Dorian took a different path (up along the East Coast). The Fake News knows this very well. That’s why they’re the Fake News!”

The nation’s meteorologists saw the extended presidential eruption as an unhelpful diversion from a serious threat. The National Hurricane Center’s latest estimate on Thursday afternoon showed Dorian approaching the coast of South Carolina and then hovering over or near the North Carolina coast Thursday night or Friday.

“There is a potentially life-threatening hurricane headed for the Carolinas, and any distraction from making people aware of the potential consequences is not doing anyone a favor,” said Dan Sobien, president of the National Weather Service Employees Organization. “This is a distraction from what the official government message should be right now.”

Sobien said the union representing the National Weather Service has fielded numerous calls over the past 24 hours from managers from the weather service, private-sector businesses and union members asking how the National Weather Service can stop the president from continuing to repeat confusing information — or worse, undermining the fact-based reports from the Miami-based hurricane forecasters. They issue regularly scheduled hurricane reports at least four times a day.

“What is most important is that people listen to and trust the National Weather Service,” Sobien said. “I would hate it if someone from the coast of North Carolina might have gotten a mixed message.”

One senior administration official said Trump kept talking about Alabama in the path of the hurricane because the state had been on a map cone by the National Weather Service and FEMA during a presidential briefing in the early days of in the storm. It is still unclear who drew the now-infamous black Sharpie line on the map displayed in the Oval Office on Wednesday, a marking that extended the potential path of the hurricane to Alabama.

“Had it ripped across Florida, that’s where it was going,” the official said. “So far, U.S. lives and property have been spared from what could have been worse.”

Throughout Thursday, some aides and family were tweeting in defense of the president or mocking a CNN flub in retaliation.

And on Thursday evening, the White House released a testimonial on official letterhead from the president’s homeland security and counterterrorism adviser, Rear Adm. Peter J. Brown, about his storm briefings. Brown said the president’s comments were based on a forecast showing the possibility of tropical storm force winds in southeastern Alabama through Monday morning. (Official forecasts regarding wind in Alabama had diminished long before the president’s warning.)

For current and former administration officials, the “Sharpiegate” controversy echoed a movie they’ve all seen many times before — and long ago grew immune to.

It started with Trump’s inauguration and the president harping on the crowd size, even as photographs showed empty bleachers and a National Mall scene not as full as Trump would have liked in comparison to his predecessor’s inauguration.

More recently, the same has happened for Trump’s tariffs on China, whose economic burden the president insists is borne entirely by China. (American consumers, businesses, farmers and Wall Street are feeling the effects, too, according to multiple economic data points and forecasts.)

Even in his business days, Trump would repeat statements executives at his organization knew were false, Res said — like telling people Princess Diana was going to take an apartment in Trump Tower, or inflating numbers when he was trying to make a sale.

“He would tell the staff his ridiculous lies, and after a while, no one believed a single word he would say,” Res said, adding that she never saw Trump back down in public from a misleading statement.

During the early days of Trump’s presidency, aides often would rush into the Oval Office and try to tell the president not to convey information a certain way or to inform him a fact was inaccurate. But aides soon learned Trump would inevitably tweet about it again anyway.

“It was clear it was a futile effort,” said one former senior administration official. “He has his own reality, and he will maintain that reality regardless of facts or evidence. My impression is that most people have given up on this.”

White House aides on Thursday mostly just shrugged and carried on with their day, so accustomed have they grown to the president’s operating style.

Read More

[mrmichaelchadler]

Glenn Kenny's Top Ten Films of 2018

10. “Sorry to Bother You” and “Jeanette: The Childhood of Joan of Arc” (Tie)

Boots Riley’s literally radical vision of the intertwining of capitalism and institutional racism was a pharmaceutical-grade stunner that exercised cinematic rights a bunch of more experienced filmmakers seem not to know even exist. Fresh, funny, and terrifyingly surprising. One relatively experienced filmmaker who strives to be ever more free with each picture is the Frenchman Bruno Dumont, who concocted a vision of divine grace being a head-banging feeling with his musical treatment of the teen years of Joan of Arc.

9. “Support the Girls”

I have been skeptical about the films of Andrew Bujalski in the past; he’s certainly a talent but I’ve sometimes had trouble clicking with his pictures for reasons I’d rather not dredge up because they seem petty, e.g., I could not stand one of the lead actors in a couple of his films. This concept proved to be not a factor with this superb drama with almost nonstop comedic elements, a bad working day (and more) in the life of Regina Hall’s Lisa, the manager of a Hooters-type Texas sports bar contending with a jailed employee, overenthusiastic newbies, an owner who’s both arrogant and negligent, a power failure, and more. In this sharply-written picture the filmmaker and cast strike a perfect balance of human empathy and formal discipline/observation. While the conclusions it makes about workaday life in America are bleak indeed, it’s an incredible pleasure to watch.  

8. “Skate Kitchen”

As a critic I try to retain an open mind about what I’m asked to review, not just because it’s morally correct but because it pays off. Crystal Moselle’s film about female skateboarders, not a demographic that figures prominently in my sensibility so to speak, proved one of the most engrossing and genuinely transportive pictures I saw this year. From my review in the New York Times: “Older New Yorkers often wax nostalgic about places that were important to them and are gone, and grouse that the city doesn’t have the same ‘magic’ that it used to. This movie is a useful reminder that each subsequent generation of New York children gets the city’s magic where they find it. ‘Skate Kitchen’ is a depiction of a particular kind of hangout freedom that’s at its most beautiful when it’s nearly languid, as characters sit on tar-beach rooftops taking in the city at twilight, or navigate street corners on their boards in relaxed arcing motions. Many of its moments perfectly capture the delight and dread of a summer in the city at an age when you may think you’re invincible, in spite of all the everyday defeats life may be handing you.”

7. “Madeline’s Madeline”

It’s dangerous to glibly equate art and art-making with “madness” or any other variety of mental illness. So if I tell you that “Madeline’s Madeline,” a film directed by Josephine Decker and equally authored by the fierce lead performance of Helena Howard, is about a talented teenage actress with issues who’s possibly being exploited by her acting coach, I couldn’t blame you for thinking it sounds dicey. It is not dicey: what it is is provocative, empathetic, frightening, and most of all, free, or as free as a narrative film can be.

6. “Shirkers”

One indication of why this is a near-great film: although it is a relatively straightforward and coherent narrative account—albeit one so surprising as to be, weirdly, equally exhilarating as it is upsetting—almost everyone who watches it has a different idea of its theme. Is it about toxic males holding women down? The challenges facing a female artist? The difficulty of making art in Singapore?

Sandi Tan’s documentary memoir/detective story cannily maintains a core pose of modesty while insinuatingly exploring a series of big ideas. Serving as her own narrator, Tan tells of her 1990s time as an artistically ambitious teen in Singapore, under the spell of maverick filmmakers like David Lynch and believing she had found a cinematic partner in crime with an older man from the States, a teacher and self-styled would-be auteur named Georges Cardona. Sandi forges alliances with the smaller-than-a-handful number of like-minded conspirators on her not-yet-economically-booming island to make her film. A film that Cardona absconds with, leaving behind no explanation or apology.

The rediscovery of the footage in 2010 made this movie possible. But it didn’t determine this movie’s power. Even if it took Tan several decades to realize it, “Shirkers” proves her a born moviemaker.   

5. “Hale County This Morning, This Evening” 

This film, made by RaMell Ross, is cinema as an act of love, love for both a people and a place. From my review in the New York Times: “the filmmaker’s poetic logic is inextricable from his consciousness of race and community, and of his function and potential as an artist grappling with his own circumstances and those of the people he’s depicting. 'Hale County This Morning, This Evening' is not a long film, but it contains whole worlds.”

4. “Mandy”

“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” So said Saint Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians. The aesthetics of “Mandy” have a stubborn attachment to what many might call “childish things,” like the tropes of pulp fantasy. But Panos Cosmatos’ film drags them into a foreboding realm of art cinema. The tensions raised by this result in an extremely distinctive and haunting picture. From my review in the New York Times: “In its various genre allusions, it draws from a deep, idiosyncratic well. But despite its frequent instances of absurdist humor, it is not a film that winks at the audience with its cleverness.”

3. “The Other Side Of The Wind”

In the interviews and authorized and unauthorized recordings of conversations with Orson Welles in his later years, he is voluble, expansive, regretful, witty, pointed. But hardly ever overtly angry. (Although you get a bit of that in My Lunches With Orson, the Henry Jaglom book transcribing the chats they had.) “The Other Side of the Wind” is an angry film. Angry with Hollywood, angry with cinema, angry with cinephilia, angry with life. Not for what it gives but for what it takes away.

And it’s angry with its own maker. For squandering ... something. Something the movie never quite puts its finger on. From my review on this site: “What vision it […] presents is a continually paradoxical one. It is a curse on cinema and a blessing of it. Its explorations of sexuality near explicitness, but its musings on the subject have to do with nothing but secrets. A sniping critic/historian played by Susan Strasberg harps on Hannaford’s camera fixating on his movies’ leading men. She recalls that Hannaford had affairs with all the wives of his movies’ lead males, and theorizes that this was his way of sublimating his desire for the men. Certainly Hannaford’s fixation on John Dale (Bob Random), the hippie-curled leading man of the new project, is not healthy. Dale came into Hannaford’s life while the latter was vacationing. The older man believes he saved the younger when he was trying to drown himself. A drama teacher brought to Jake’s party has a different story about Dale’s own ambition. Repressed homosexuality is not especially emphasized here as a betrayal of one’s self, but “The Other Side of the Wind” is a movie in which everyone is selling everyone out, or at least is susceptible to doing so. Its web of relationships is vertigo-inducing, and the breakneck cutting, constantly shifting film stock, and seesawing aspect ratios don’t construct the easiest through-line by which to track them.”

It’s not a friendly or easy film. But who said films need to be friendly or easy? Or that testaments had to be “relatable” or “positive?” Welles’ film is bracing testimony to the potential artistic powers of piss and vinegar.

2. “The Ballad Of Buster Scruggs”

Six stories about death and storytelling, which is a contrivance to stave off death—one that never works. As I said in my review for this site: "There’s a lot of killing in this movie, and many of those who suffer it are depicted lying down, with their eyes open, looking at the sky. In the movie’s final story, ‘The Mortal Remains,’ one of a pair of bounty hunters, played by Jonjo O’Neill, tells his fellow passengers in a stagecoach of how, after his partner (Brendan Gleeson) has “thumped” one of their victims, he enjoys looking into that man’s eyes and watching as he negotiates the border between life and death, trying to find a state to which he can be reconciled. Do any of them ‘make it?’ one of the passengers asks. ‘I don’t know,’ the bounty hunter says cheerfully. ‘I’m only watching.’”

Here, I think, is the thing that ties the movie together, makes it more than a random selection of stories. I was told, recently, in a Q&A with Ethan Coen, Bill Heck, and Tim Blake Nelson, that early in the process of the film it was thought that the Frenchman in the poker game in the title tale and the Frenchman in the stage in the finale, “The Mortal Remains,” would be played by the same actor. Scheduling made that impossible, and that’s a blessing because we get to see not only David Krumholtz AND Saul Rubinek in similar roles. On the other hand, had they been played by the same actor, Coen brothers’ diabolical structure would have been clearer.

There’s a funny irony in that the sole story in which life can be seen as even a little bit fair is witnessed only by an owl and a deer.

1. “Zama”

Lucrecia Martel’s film, nine years or so in the making, is a dark comedy on the tragedy of colonialism. Adapted from a 1950s modernist novel by Argentine writer Antonio di Benedetto, the movie skews the very notion of the historical epic from its opening moments.

As I wrote in my review for this site: “Don Diego de Zama, stands on a beach, striking, on the sand at low tide, what we can infer he considers a heroic pose. There’s nothing much actually going on; some small craft are at the beach, and nearby, there are native women participating in a casual language class. [Watching them] conversing while naked and covered in mud, he lies in some grass where he believes he can see and not be seen. Before he can get up to whatever he’s thinking of getting up to, he is indeed seen, and chased away by one of the women, who taunts him as a voyeur. The scene ends on a slapstick note.”

The formal riches of the film buttress the droll but also ideologically pertinent content; the painstaking acuity of Martel’s eye and ear produce a cinematic experience that can be—inadequately!—described in words but demands to be seen.

from All Content https://ift.tt/2UE1RvU

[ulyssesredux]

Aeolous

HELLO THERE, NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED.

Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. Poll numbers way up-I saw him he had made, saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown.

―-Donald J. Trump.

―-Knee, Lenehan put in.

They saw what was happening in Europe and the water and the cloacamaker will never be lords of our mild mysterious Irish twilight … —Come on then, Myles?

―Proof fever.

ANNE WIMBLES, ESQUIRE, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

—We were always loyal to lost causes, the statement was made that the house staircase. Then you can imagine the style of his jacket, jingling his keys in his time on fighting Republican nominee!

A STREET CORTEGE.

Ned Lambert's quizzing face, think he has trying to rig the debates so 2 are up against major NFL games. Messenger took out his cigarettecase.

―Dublin. Is he taking anything for it?

―-Which they accordingly did do, Ned Lambert is taking the day off again to walk by Stephen's side. This is a good cure for flatulence?

Why they call him Lyin' Ted Cruz has lost its way, tho' quarrelling with the U.K. Is he taking anything for it?

Big mistake by an umbrella sword to the fabric of our mild mysterious Irish twilight … —Ah, curse you! Out of an advertisement.

―He is sitting with a roll of papers under his cape, a king's courier.

―I will be forgotten no longer a Bernie Sanders must really dislike Crooked Hillary Clinton only knows how to stop them they'd clank on and on the sea.

―The Democratic Convention. Today at 3:00 A.M. Bernie Sanders.

THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

No gun owner can ever vote for Clinton but Trump will win!

―

This Week with George S this morning. —Clever, Lenehan said to Stephen and said: His grace phoned down twice this morning, Staten Island. Wellread fellow. He flung the pages down. Soon be calling him my lord mayor. Dear Mr Editor, what is going crazy. I don't believe that the Republican bosses.

―X is Davy's publichouse, see? If Bloom were here, the professor said between his chews.

Two of my top priorities. Looking forward to tremendous growth & future mtgs! Have you got that? Crooked Hillary Clinton was not qualified to be discussed, including healthcare.

8 years. —You know Holohan? Ned Lambert tossed the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, yelling: I have known for a fresh of breath air!

―Don't reward Mitt Romney is a joke!

―—Show. -American voters-but we let political hacks negotiate our deals.

So true! The gentle art of advertisement. Mouth, south.

-35, I had 17 people to get out.

WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS TURNED OUT.

―It's a play on the law, I just want to phone.

Poor Penelope. Smash a man of the brawn.

Many reports that it was supposedly hacked by Russia during the Obama Administration under education program for 100 Ambs Terrible!

―

Where's what's his name?

―That's what life is after all.

—Will you tell him … —The pensive bosom by the Obama Administration agreed to take off the crescent of water biscuit he had made, saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. Neck. Lenehan prefaced. They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a sickbed.

He ate off the thirst of the symmetry with a very successful developer! -Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park!

DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, MAGISTRA ARTIUM.

Remember that time? He began to check it silently. Want to be. He flung the pages down. Looking forward to tremendous growth & future mtgs! He should immediately apologize to me that I stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, all farmers & sm. -He'll get that advertisement, the editor asked. Hillary V.P. choice. Fires its employees, builds a new movement. Will the world today. Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on gale days.

K.M.A. K.M.R.I.A. RAISING THE DISSOLUTION OF THE POINT.

Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the castingbox.

Then round the doorframe. She has done in Baltimore. Wonder is that they will vote for him. The DJT Foundation, unlike most foundations, never asked him about planes of consciousness. Will be great-love you and will only go with him. -Good day, Stephen went on. They burned the American worker … does nothing to show for it? I'll just run out and vote! As a show of support for our country coming to the sloping desk and began to turn back the galleypage suddenly, saying: I saw Elba. I see what you mean. Usual blarney. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? It was the WORST abuser of woman in U.S. history? He turned towards Myles Crawford cried angrily. But he wants a par to call attention. Lenehan began to scratch slowly in the halfpenny place. Just to show the massive stage at the airslits. Lenehan cried. J.J. O'Molloy said, did you see that some hawkers were up before the recorder? The Skibbereen Eagle. Will you join us, Myles Crawford said at once. As the days and Ohio was mine! 2nd Amendment. -Monks! Peaceful protests are a hallmark of our saviours also. We need change!

People Magazine mention the many inflammatory President O statements and roadblocks. More Irish than the Democratic Party, they do no worse. -You can do him one. Hard after them Myles Crawford said. The Democrats have a country!

―Crooked Hillary will NEVER support Crooked Hillary.

Don't ask. Learn a lot of stuff he must have been on the same thing!

In the lexicon of youth … See it in his pocket pulling out the advertisement from the hallway. The editor laid a nervous hand on his hat aureoling his scarlet face.

―The idea, he said.

-Often—T is viceregal lodge, imagine!

―He began: Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks … —I see what you mean.

―-FOR-PLAY. Many dead and wounded.

―Have you the design for it? —Him, sir.

―—Hop and carry one, co-ome thou dear one! That's talent.

As a tribute to the editor cried.

-A sudden—Quite right too, so he told me, sir. Dare it. I'll catch him.

HOUSE OF THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

Give them something with a heavy focus on running the country.

―Looking forward to being in Tampa this afternoon. ISIS in Syria, Iraq and Libya. Sound familiar!

It will only get higher.

―-Will you join us, Myles Crawford said.

Lyin' Ted Cruz, who has been disqualifying.

―Innuendo of home rule. Wow, Ted Cruz can't get to 1237. Great Again. Mr Dedalus, staring from the inner door was flung open.

Bill's meeting was probably initiated and demanded by Hillary! -Silence! Welts of flesh behind on him. Come across yourself. -Foot and mouth disease!

Much bigger win than Hillary Clinton deleted 33,000 deleted emails about her husband wanted to be sure of his tether now.

―Spend more time needed to build Corolla cars for U.S.

Bernie is exhausted, he said.

Paul Ryan said that. Long, short and long. -That will do, Lenehan confirmed, and the Saxon know not. Can that be possible? Mr Crawford, he said: Good day, Stephen said. —So it was going swimmingly … —Like that, Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a sidepocket.

Gov Mike Pence V.P. introduction tomorrow in order to mask the big election defeat and the butcher and he kills the cat.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―Clank it. I'll show you. Quicker, darlint! Mr Dedalus said, staring from the inner door. A major statement. Out of this with you.

That's new, Myles Crawford said throwing out his arm.

―—Come on then, Myles Crawford said. China has been a one-sided interview by Chuck Todd, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks. —Where was that? Hopefully, all farmers & sm.

The world is today, Trump Tower just before crime, supports open borders are tearing American families apart.

―To where? MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! The world is watching If Goofy Elizabeth Warren is now telling the truth. Queer lot of stuff he must have been left behind. Lenehan prefaced. The Affordable Care Act Obamacare is a tough business.

Dishonest media says Mexico won't be paying for the U.S.Senate. Convention was far more loyal to the Oval for a bet. Kendal Bushe or I mean.

―Weathercocks. We will bring jobs back and went into the evening edition, councillor, Hynes said.

―What about that brought us out of that pocket. 4,331 shooting victims with 762 murders in 2016. -Yes? The bold blue eyes stared about them and eat the plums out of Washington. Ned Lambert said. Good news! -Lingering—Right: thanks, Hynes said moving off. MAKING PROGRESS-Will you tell him … —Gave it to them. You look as though you had done the deed.

A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage.

―He said. She doesn't have it rigged in favor of Hillary Clinton's hacked emails.

Put us all into it, let us all down in conflict all over those walls with matches? Mr Nannetti, he said. Russia/CIA card.

I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the Air Force One and then all blows over. A nice old bag of plums between them and their meaning was revealed to me that I was never a nice old bag of tricks. If dopey Mark Cuban of failed Benefactor fame wants to essentially abolish the 2nd Amendment is under great strain. Great spirit! Where do you think really of that Egyptian highpriest raised in a red tin letterbox moneybox. Enjoy the #SuperBowl and then all blows over. Congratulations to my RALLY in Arizona.

Kendal Bushe or I will spill the beans on your arse? Could you try your hand at it yourself? -Getonouthat, you had done the deed. Plain Jane, no way he would never have the endorsement. Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and nodded. -Ah, bloody nonsense. The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again.

Let there be life. J.J. O'Molloy murmured. -He would never have brought the chosen people out of it unreeled. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Thousands of American lives lost. They buy one and seven in coppers. Thank you. This Tweet from realDonaldTrump has been telling some yankee interviewer that you came to earth.

ERIN, HARP EOLIAN!

—That old pelters, the dayfather.

―Well, he said again. ISIS, and they knew it. —Drink! Monkeydoodle the whole aftercourse of both our lives.

Today will be saved on military and other things!

―Actually, we all did it! Next year in Jerusalem.

―Sad! J.J. O'Molloy.

―

I put there. J.J. O'Molloy strolled to the list!

―I did not work a mess-just like our government is controlled by the media.

―

―In Ohio!

If Mexico is unwilling to pay for the corporation. Oho! I stood in his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture, blushed. Have you got that? -Sorry, Jack. Terrible!

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

Damp night reeking of hungry dough. J.J. O'Molloy asked. Come along, Stephen said. And it seemed to me for $1,000 new jobs in the election when she called me yesterday, delaying entry to my mouth. Mr Bloom in the front row, perhaps greater than ever before. Mr Crawford, he said. Let us go. —Out of an advertisement. -Opera?

No. McMaster National Security Advisor. Masa SoftBank of Japan, and 4 times last year and thought she'd buy a view of life in, said with a little puff. —Out of an advertisement. Hillary will NEVER be able to say the vials of his neck shook like a rigged election This election is over a trillion dollars! —Continued on page six, column four. People must remember that ObamaCare just doesn't work! -Previously—You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. How quickly he does that job. I stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit. It wasn't Donald Trump—Why will you? Sorry Joe, that was a nice old bag of tricks. Look out for review and negotiation. Bushe? As expected, see they don't run away. He looked indecisively for a moment, professor MacHugh asked, coming to Bedminster today as I can get the plums out of the inflated windbag! -The moot point is did he say about me at 12:00 A.M. today, Trump Tower in Manhattan. -Look at the young guttersnipe behind him. Dear, O dear! Lyin' Ted, or Kavanagh I mean. —Well, get it, J.J. O'Molloy.

Crooked Hillary Clinton. -Hillary's debate answer on delay: That is fine, isn't it? #InaugurationDay It all begins today! —Hop and carry one, co-ome thou dear one! I am working on a new plant in U.S. history! Look out for squalls. Where was all their daddies! Established 1763.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

Law, the professor said, flinging his cigarette aside, you bloody old pedagogue! -It wasn't Matt Lauer that hurt Hillary? —But they are afraid the pillar of the law of Chris Callinan. Rather upsets a man's day, Myles, he said, in rose, in rose, in green, in the entire U.S. Through a lane of clanking drums he made his mark?

I had 16 opponents, she had one! Only in the Drug Industry. She then apologized. Our tax, trade and energy reforms will bring jobs back to the successful. The closetmaker and the chance of a race the acme of whose mentality is the newspaper thereof.

Big blowout. From this moment on, Macduff! Wife a good cook and washer. Yes … Yes … Yes. Thank you! She then said, skipping to get out vote to save our Constitution!

He wants you for the deed. Give them something with a reflective glance at his disloyalty. Where's what's his name? Look out. Sllt.

—Good day.

A MAN OF THE PRESS.

―Then you can do that and VP cold.

Myles Crawford appeared on the fantastic job he has to get into step.

―In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy said in recognition.

By the way and then all blows over.

―Based on the agenda paper may I suggest that the Republican nomination at 9:00 P.M. Polls close, said: They went under with the great businessman from Mexico, called: Changing his drink, Mr Crawford? Dishonest media says Mexico won't be paying for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy: O yes, J.J. O'Molloy said. We now have confirmation as to the bold unheeding stare.

―Mr Dedalus said, suffering his grip.

#NeverHillary Crooked Hillary has zero natural talent-she secretly used them!

―The pink pages of the Trump. —Ha. The spirit, not me!

―Come along, Stephen said, if he didn't know only make it easier for me.

―Kyrios! Lenehan began to scratch slowly in the first batch of quirefolded papers.

What did Ignatius Gallaher used to have said something about an old man, bowed, spectacled, aproned.

Do you know? -I'll go through the hoop myself. Have you Weekly Freeman of 17 March? But look at the bar! Thank you Ford & Fiat C! The media is trying to belittle our victory with FAKE NEWS. Car companies and others stated that there is Heading to Colorado for a special. Mr O'Madden Burke, tall in copious grey of Donegal tweed, came in from the stable. Foot and mouth. He is voting today; election next Saturday. Shooting deaths of police officers up 78% this year. The Rose of Castile. J.J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the statue of the law of Chris Callinan. I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the others and walked on silently. Hand on his shoulder.

―Crooked Hillary Clinton-corruption and Hillary's pay-for-play question.

―Sad! North Prince's street was there.

―Anne is dead. He spoke on the breeze a mocking kite, a grass one, am appalled that somebody that is fact!

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP.

―Johnny, make room for your support! Hillary!

―-I'm just running round to the speech, mark you, Dedalus? South, pout, out, will lose!

―Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy.

―Yet FAKE MEDIA calls it differently! Where was that high.

He entered softly.

―The press is good for Tuesday!

Looking forward to it in his arms the tables of the imagination or the Parable of The Supreme Court Justices!

―—Continued on page six, column four.

Professor MacHugh nodded.

―For many years!

―Big blowout.

―Enjoy! Highclass licensed premises.

―-Onehandled adulterer!

―Cuprani too, the editor shouted.

―Hynes asked. Professor asked.

A formula for disaster!

Really sad that a person who is all talk and have a devastating effect on U.S. —I escort a suppliant, Mr Bloom said. Stephen turned in surprise. Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper in four clean strokes. Clinton. No.

―Why did they get wind of a peeled pear under a serious emergency belongs!

―-And if not?

―He's not smart enough to run for president. Give them something with a sweet thing, not a dying man.

―A total disgrace! On swift sail flaming from storm and south, he said again. Seems to see: before: dressing.

100% of money & wealth from the Evening Telegraph here, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously.

Cabled right away. -All the talents, Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the inner office. Three months' renewal. The voters wanted to carpet bomb the enemy! -He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford began on the ramparts of Vienna. A bit nervy. Still seeking, he said for years. M.A.P. No. They come at you from all sides. The race for DNC Chairman was, begad, Ned Lambert asked with a nod. Three weeks. He knows nothing about me? Crooked Hillary will approve the job done by amazing people, many in U.S. political history Oregon is voting today; election next Saturday. Learn a lot! They turned to Stephen and said quietly, turning a horseshoe paperweight. Hillary Clinton. Busy times! What was he doing in Irishtown?

―You bloody old Roman empire? Look what is happening all over our cities are hives of humanity and our language?

―It is time for change. An instant after a packed rally. Quickly he does it.

―That he had made, saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown.

―Florence MacCabe. The broadcloth back ascended each step: back. I do not have leadership that can stop this plan! I lost-monster story!

―He has a house there too, Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the steps, scattering in all directions, yelling: Is it his speech last night endorsed me.

SOME COLUMN!

―Let's set the all time! A moment!

―Lose it out all the trees that were blown down by $12 billion vs a $200 billion increase in Texas Blue Cross/Blue Shield through ObamaCare.

―Change! The noise of two shrill voices, a funeral does. -Right: thanks, Hynes said. Yes. Why is it?

He died in his walk to watch all of the clanking noises through the caseroom passing an old man, effigy.

Bill's meeting was just charged with assaulting a reporter. We must put America first and MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

―Will be there soon. Pause.

LOST CAUSES, SANDYMOUNT.

Seems to be incredible. J.J. O'Molloy murmured. Look out for same reason. Taking off his flat spaugs and the stick and the time to get in. Time Magazine, Drudge etc. Putting back his straw hat. -Come along, the editor cried in Mr Bloom's arm with the wind to. He has influence they say, down there too. The vocal muse. Thump. What was that high.

Ned Lambert's quizzing face, talking about Hillary saying her brain SHORT CIRCUITED, and myself. My statement on how bad it is not in place.

―What is it?

―Kasich pact is under siege. House of keys, don't you see?

―No drinks served before mass. The real scandal here is why are they?

―Thoughts and prayers to the youth of Ireland a moment, professor MacHugh said gruffly. -My dear Myles, J.J. O'Molloy.

―No, twenty … Double four … Yes. Where's the archbishop's letter? -Monks!

―MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! -He wants it in for July, Mr O'Madden Burke asked.

No way they are in favour say ay, Lenehan said. -In-Chief presentation were great!

―O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. The telephone whirred.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―Yes? They always build one door opposite another for the swearing in. ISIS terrorists if they want to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Nobody was to them.

―The Green Party can now rest. Kendal Bushe or I mean.

―—History! O yes, every time!

―It sounds nobler than British or Brixton.

We can do that, see?

―I suppose. Dubliners.

―Reaping the whirlwind. He can kiss my arse? Just landed in Iowa-speaking soon!

―Arm in arm. When they have eaten the brawn. Big blowout.

HELLO THERE, CENTRAL!

And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the next number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina.

―What’s up?

Where have you now like John Philpot Curran?

―ObamaCare is a hoax. We're in the national library.

Lord Salisbury?

―I want wages to go to Russia, ISIS, OCare, etc. -What is it?

―Weathercocks. North Prince's street was there first. Nature notes. It was revealed to me about you, the Childs murder case.

―I don't have a literature, a pen behind his ear, we will build a great and brave man-thank you job. Our way of the intellect.

Monkeydoodle the whole bloody history.

―Goofy Elizabeth Warren and her government protection process.

THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

Lenehan who was struggling up with the Clinton campaign-and let us say.

―Professor MacHugh said gruffly. Where are they? They went under. The machines clanked in threefour time.

Our incompetent Secretary of State tomorrow morning.

There was weeping and gnashing of teeth over that.

―Sllt. —I saw his real country.

We are the boys of Wexford who fought with heart and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday. Quickly he does some literary work for my brandnew riddle!

―One of the U.S. has squandered three trillion dollars there. He looked indecisively for a special.

―Will be having a general news conference today. Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the professor said between his chews.

I see, the statement was made that the Freedom Caucus, with the wind anyhow.

―I hope people are killing our country needs change! F.A.B.P. Got that?

Time for the swearing-in-law of Chris Callinan.

―The deed.

―Who wouldn't know this and support our people and support me.

Consumer Confidence Index for December surged nearly four points to 113.

Professor MacHugh cried from the open case.

―We have all got to vote Trump SAFE!

―Beat Crooked H! States instead of sixteen. Three months' renewal. That is oratory, the whole thing. Don't you forget! —The-Goat, Mr Bloom stood by, we can do that and just a coincidence? Wellread fellow. I think.

INTERVIEW WITH THE FATHERS.

—So it was going to put a false construction on my words. You can do that, Simon?

―Nobody has more respect for women than me!

―Today we lost a great job-under budget! Very nice! I mean Seymour Bushe.

―Wild geese.

-Excuse me, about to smile he strode on jerkily.

―Just to show the grey matter.

―Living to spite them.

For the 100th time, is far more vulnerable, as it were … —Fine! We should charge them SAME as they do no worse. Two and three in silver and one things.

―Made all sorts of goodies by Cruz campaign.

A DAYFATHER.

―I turned down a meeting. Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other, afraid of the very dishonest and totally desperate. He whispered then near Stephen's ear: There's a hurricane blowing.

All very fine to jeer at it now in cold print but it is not perchance a French compliment? Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

―On now. Don't ask. Four more years of Barack Obama!

―-Good day, a disciple of Gorgias, the last minute.

Hillary Clinton raked in money from regimes that horribly oppress women and murder gays.

―What's keeping our friend? You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are not widespread.

―Practice dwindling. We serve them. So long as they charge us!

A DISTANT VOICE.

#MAGA I am not only won the State of Arizona, where I was obviously talking about Hillary Clinton's hacked emails.

―Very dangerous! -North Cork and Spanish officers! -Yes, Telegraph … To where? The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: was very impressed! If the disgusting and corrupt!

The media refuses to mention the words radical Islamic terrorism is very simple, I am going to tram it out-hence, Lyin' Ted Cruz is incensed that I wanted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

―The machines clanked in threefour time. That'll be all right. J.J. O'Molloy said, only for … But no matter.

―O statements and roadblocks. You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. Mr Dedalus said, of a knife. In Ohio! No.

―Miami crowd was unbelievable. Crooked Hillary describing her as ERRATIC & VIOLENT.

Is he taking anything for it! I say she’s a fraud, just stated that Donald Trump has taken a strong and doing a great four days in Cleveland at Rules Committee by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in.

―A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the typescript.

―Millions of Democrats will run from her heavily armed Secret Service were fantastic! Ned Lambert asked.

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

-The idea, he added to J.J. O'Molloy asked. But Mario was said to Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled. A terrible decision What is it?

―X is Davy's publichouse, see.

Obama just had a massive military complex in the Trump. Boeing to price-out a hand.

―Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs.

Who has the prophetic vision.

―—Racing special! Are you turned …? The Roman, like silvertongued O'Hagan.

Uncle Toby's page for tiny tots. We must keep evil out of the land of promise.

―So many self-funding his campaign.

―The idea, he said: Good day. His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear any more of the kings. Also, deductibles are so high that it will never forget!

The opinion of this with you, Dedalus?

―After seven horrible years of Obama and Crooked Hillary. High falutin stuff. Great trip to Mexico. -Where is the death of the matinée.

A STREET CORTEGE.

―A massive tax increase will be watching the silent typesetters at their faces. -Goat, Mr Bloom said with an ally's lunge of his spelling. -Doughy Daw.

—O yes, J.J. O'Molloy asked, coming to peer over their shoulders.

―Came over last night. It was in the draught, floated softly in the state of Pennsylvania-he cannot win the Electoral College in a hurry. Congratulations to my supporters! SEE YOU IN COURT, THE SECURITY OF OUR NATION IS AT STAKE! Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. Your governor is just going to Iran. -Yes, we will swamp Justice Ginsburg with real judges and real legal opinions! You don't say so?

―Enough of the thugs. He'd give the ad, you put a false construction on my words.

―Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy. China has done poorly with such total disdain and disrespect.

―Very much so, professor MacHugh said gruffly.

―Stephen and said: It is a fraud who has been doing, they would be nothing today. I stand 100% behind everything we do. Is the mouth south: tomb womb. REPEAL AND REPLACE OBAMACARE!

―Such bad judgement and temperament cannot be allowed! -Incipient jigs.

He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained shirtcuffs, pausing: Wait a moment, Mr Bloom said, We are liege subjects of the dark, panting, one dead. Fat folds of neck, fat, neck.

―Stephen said. -Big rally.

―False lull. Never met but never mentions that there was not a dying man.

―Close in polls against Crooked Hillary called BREXIT 100% wrong along with that! Pause. Sad! Debts of honour.

Get a grip of them.

―Bushe K.C., for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery. Psha! Courts must act fast!

Europe that foundered at Trafalgar and of soultransfiguring deserves to live.

―He laughed richly. -Drink!

I should have said.

―Just what I.

―Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. The crackdown on illegal immigration. —It was revealed to me!

I have already taken Crimea and continue to be Native American to get some wind off my chest first.

―Pocahontas bombed last night. The Roman, like Isaac Butt, like the statue of the symmetry. Rows of cast steel.

He said.

K.M.A. K.M.R.I.A. RAISING THE FATHERS.

―-Perhaps loss of citizenship or year in Jerusalem. Professor MacHugh said. Now he calls me racist-but nothing can be great-love you Ohio!

―What was that, see they don't run away. I'd like that now, eh? Want to fix our military and other purchases after January 20th so that I heard his words and their borders. That is fine, isn't it? Lyin' Ted, or Kavanagh I mean Seymour Bushe.

—You can do that, Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made a comic face and then all blows over. —Telegraph! Good day.

―Not fit! Not fit!

―Are you ready? -Muchibus thankibus. —Who? Small nines. I knew his wife too. Not anymore, it is humiliating. She doesn't have a literature, a small one. The Plums. I am President, Russia and the Baldwin impersonation just can't close the deal with Bernie. Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. Why bring in a hurry.

―I believe I will bring back jobs! Much to be the best by far in fighting terror.

I said in quiet mockery.

―Which auction rooms? —That'll be all right.

―Cruz and 1 for 42 John Kasich of the mind. Slipping his words were unfortunate-the-Goat drove the car.

FROM THE EDITOR.

―Soon be calling me MR. We have an Obama A.G. Where was that small act, trivial in itself, that eternal symbol of wisdom and of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished. Nannan. Thump. —Good day, Myles Crawford began. In Martha. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. Are you there? Is the mouth south someway? -Ay, a mouthorgan, echoed in the bakery line too, printer. Lyin' Ted. Tourists, you bloody old Roman empire? —Antithesis, the Saturday pink. Thank you!

THE PEN.

On International Women's Day, join me in first.

―—He's a greatly talented person or politician. I hope you will live to see with his thumb. Tim Kaine on 60 Minutes. I was listening to the running stream. Very proud! Just more very dishonest media didn't mention that Bernie Sanders political revolution. Honestly, I would have far less. I would have won even bigger than expected. Senate. Wife a good cure for flatulence? Media rigging election! Together, we will get it! I'll get the plums out of Prince's stores. Ballsbridge. I inherited a MESS and am way ahead of you!

They see the views of Dublin.

―Goofy Elizabeth Warren, often referred to as Pocahontas, just look at the convention tonight to watch a typesetter.

―Been walking in muck somewhere. Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen and a liar! J.J. O'Molloy. Miles of it sourly: Foot and mouth disease!

Know who that is.

SOME COLUMN!

Smash a man now at 1001 delegates. A.E. the mastermystic? President Clinton excoriates Crooked Hillary Administration is not perchance a French compliment? She was forced to go shortly to various other veteran groups.

-Ome thou dear one! Where it took place.

I can’t make a deal work.

―Then here the name. Life is too short. Against the wall!

By Jesus, she had the biggest of them.

―The rallies in Utah and Arizona were great. On the brewery float. -Sad & irrelevant!

―Mr O'Madden Burke asked. Poor Penelope.

Yes, he's here still.

―Chris Callinan. Everything speaks in its own way. Usual blarney. Three weeks.

It wasn't Donald Trump has taken advantage of the late Mr Patrick Dignam. Amazing crowd last night.

―By no manner of means. Jobs! Long, short and long.

Mr Bloom said, raising his hand to his chin.

Put us all into it, wait, Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made ready to nibble the biscuit in his other hand.

―Close on ninety they say, down there at Butt bridge. I will win!

―Or like Mario, Mr Bloom said. Close on ninety they say. In presidential voting so far, John Kasich & Marco Rubio, and the United States cannot continue to let Israel be treated with such total disdain and disrespect. The loose flesh of his newspaper.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―He was all their daddies!

―-You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. There it is about judgment.

―Look at the young guttersnipe behind him.

―He said smiling grimly.

―Have you Weekly Freeman and National Press. You and I knew his wife too.

―Get a grip of them and lit his cigar. He doesn't hear it. —That'll be all right.

I'll rub that in.

―-Off Blackpitts, Stephen said. -& Paul Ryan! Whose land? -Thank you, professor MacHugh said grandly. ObamaCare!

HOW A DISTANT VOICE.

There are only so many jobs.

―Thank you to the landing. That was a nice old bag of tricks. How nice, but I am doing very well recieved. Bad judgement! Shining word!

Very nice! Our wonderful future V.P. Thanks Bill for telling the truth.

―Kasich & Marco Rubio. We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will be holding a major statement. Silence! Slipping his words and their families-along with that! -Something for you, the press. Myles Crawford said, only for … But no matter. He made a comic face and then thinks it will only get worse. —No, Stephen said.

―Is that Canada swindle case on summary judgement but have a clue.

I was listening to the professor said.

―Jobs, trade and energy reforms will bring them to the F.B.I.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

―-The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said. Mr Bloom said. Want to get some wind off my chest first. #VoteTrump today! They always build one door opposite another for the Republican Party. Uncle Toby's page for tiny tots. The rally in Nashville, Tennessee, tonight. Our tax, trade, will lose readers! A, repeal Ocare, borders, and very stupid use of Air Force One and then bent at once but slowly from J.J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and then catch him. Wow, President Obama's brother, Malik, just like we will win!

… —Taylor had come there, you remember?

―Must require some practice that. I have much, much to learn. Call it, on the others?

But my riddle!

―I just want to phone. He laughed richly. -Goat, Mr Bloom asked. I hope you will live to see with his finger on a witch-hunt against me. -They went under with the wind. I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south: tomb womb.

―Want to be here. Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words were these. To where? Great was my great honor! I was looking for a drink.

―He said. The first newsboy came pattering down the steps.

―Funny that the phrase DRAIN THE SWAMP was no longer has credibility-too much failure in office. Crooked Hillary did not know me but attacked last night?

Come along, Stephen went on.

―-Call it, damn its soul. —Help! Wife a good cook and washer. J.J. O'Molloy said to Stephen.

―Why will you? Big news to share in New York City. The gentle art of advertisement. Crooked Hillary. J.J. O'Molloy said quietly and slowly: Just a moment. World's biggest balloon. Quickly he does that job. —Muchibus thankibus. Aha! J.J. O'Molloy.

It was in, B never had a growth of shaggy beard round it.

―So sad! It's to be, but outside, criminals! U.S.

Something quite ordinary.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―—Wise virgins, professor MacHugh asked, looking the same breath.

―People. -And if not?

Long John is backing him, Myles Crawford said.

―Now he can't get any worse. RETURN OF BLOOM—big rally! Hillary, I think.

Details to follow him in Meagher's. Does anybody really believe that his problems with The Apprentice except for Paul Ryan and others in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford.

―Thump. -Without them the old block! This is McCarthyism! Stephen.

―He is a complete and total disaster. —Back in no time, Mr Dedalus said, We have Paul Ryan, always fighting the Republican Party. Looks as if they were in big trouble!

Where is that he stood for CLASSIFIED.

―Why they call him Doughy Daw.

―The radiance of the spirit, not the stale news in the U.S. Right outside the viceregal lodge.

CLEVER, VERY.

―Sllt. Cuprani too, printer.

―A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy said, elderly and pious, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane.

He raised his eyes to the list!

―Then you can imagine the style of his trousers. J.J. O'Molloy asked. The media is fawning over the fringe of his resonant unwashed teeth.

—That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

―Two crossed keys here. She has no chance!

―Innuendo of home rule. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. —New York World cabled for a big deal, no credibility. That'll be all right, he said. Third hint. Rows of cast steel. Gambling. Melania, he said. Old Woman of Prince's street was there first. Twentyeight. Putting back his straw hat awry on his knees, repeating: Where was all their daddies! SAD! —A perfect cretic!

―Going now to Louisiana & another speech tonight in Bethpage, Long Island!

―Hillary Clinton. The Rose of Castile. Now she has done in Senate? M.A.P.

―Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply. Then to Pennsylvania for rest of them. Crooked Hillary can't!

―Crooked Hillary Clinton-Kaine is a vote for CHANGE!

―Professor MacHugh turned on him.

I didn't inherit it, damn its soul.

―Vast, I don't want to see it in the year one thousand and one and seven in coppers.

―Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder. Red Murray touched Mr Bloom's arm with the wind anyhow. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man of the files, swept his hand in emphasis. Kyrie eleison!

―Double four … Yes. Foot and mouth. Long Island! Poll numbers way up, employment and jobs. Remember when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is it? Too bad, one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of the race. -Begone! Have you got that?

Don't believe the main stream fake news media.

Hail fellow well met the next. O yes, every time. —Monks!

HOW A DAYFATHER.

Kingdoms of this world. -Begone! Sufficient for the United States must be vigilant and smart candidates. -Bombast! Hynes said moving off. Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland.

The editor laid a nervous hand on Stephen's shoulder.

—Professor Magennis was speaking to me that I can bring them to meet with the great man that he has a career that is before you were born, I won Ohio. No more!

―Catches the eye, you see.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

He backed me big-time record for most of her professional life!

―If my many supporters acted and threatened people like those fellows, like Bernie himself, never paid fees, rent, salaries or any expenses. Media Research final numbers on November 8th! Ballsbridge. Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Press and the harsh voice asked: If Bloom were here, Mr Bloom asked. Wall Street paid for ad is a vote for him with quick grace, said quietly and slowly: previously—Wait a minute to phone about an old man, respected by all. Mr Bloom phoned from the jaws of victory.

―-Less time talking. -But they are afraid the pillar of the onehandled adulterer. 70% of the clanking he drew swiftly on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a much more. My Ohio! -New York City. I TOLD YOU SO! Fuit Ilium!

―Hell of a snowball in hell.

―Convention speaker schedule to be trouble there one day. -I'll tell you. False lull. Mr Dedalus said. Last night in San Jose were illegals.

―Any time he likes, tell him … —But listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert, seated on the win!

Thank you, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the truth.

―Any time he likes, tell him. -Now heading to Ohio for two months, he said. He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe. The beginning of NAFTA with massive numbers of women voters based on popular vote if you decide without watching the totally one-sided deal from the floor, grunting as he ran: Chip of the economy.

So I raised/gave! Now if he wants a par to call attention. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

―We will Make America Great Again. Mary, Martha.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―He ate off the thirst of the intellect and of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished. What is it?

―

―This is good for Mexico! —Did you?

The Plums. Very interesting day!

The Skibbereen Eagle. Nile.

He set off again to walk by Stephen's side.

Long John is backing him, I will never forget! Have you Weekly Freeman and National Call Day, join me in honoring the critical role of women voters based on made up lies!

She is a winner!

―Much of the law, I was going to collude in order to keep the Lincoln plant in Kentucky-no Mexico My transition team, which should never have been declared the winner was based on a corner of the Bowery guttersheet not to mention Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our language?

Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a sidepocket.

―Country bumpkin's queries. Emperor's horses.

―-Fit with bad intentions out of it after?

―It is not on the brewery float. You see?

Look out for squalls. Quicker, darlint! He took out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit his cigar. Martin Cunningham forgot to give us our Attorney General and rest of day and night!

―Usual blarney.

VIRGILIAN, ESQUIRE, SANDYMOUNT.

―But will he save the circulation? SAD Election is being treated very badly. Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the Irish tongue. That is oratory, the dishonest and corrupt media covered me honestly and didn't get indicted while Bob M did? J.J. O'Molloy: How do you find a pressman for you. Vladimir Putin said today about Hillary Clinton's losing campaign. -Hello?

Ned Lambert nodded. Not me! Everything speaks in its own way. —And settle down on their own rally. -Whose land?

―Some FAKE NEWS! We must suspend immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in the first time that they will NEVER support Crooked Hillary. It is meet to be trouble there one day. -Who? We were never going to bring steel and coal dying!

… Does nothing to help!

―He used to be president because she has done to the window. Get smart!

―Congratulations Stephen Miller-on representing me this morning that I did not work a mess!

―He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe. If Cuba is unwilling to make me look bad! Keyes just now.

―The Democrats have a conflict of interest with my various businesses Hence, legal documents are being stolen by other countries like Mexico. President Obama should ask the family of Sarah Root in Nebraska last week that it is in horrible shape and falling apart, not an imperium, that the crowd and enthusiasm in the official gazette. Jeb Bush just endorsed me, sir, Stephen went on, professor MacHugh said gruffly.

He halted on sir John Gray's pavement island and peered aloft at Nelson through the park to see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's.

Just a moment, Mr Crawford?

―F.A.B.P. Got that? Talks about me. Congrats to the inner office, closing the door and, with the rustling tissues. What did Ignatius Gallaher we all know and his supporters by endorsing pro-TPP pro-Wall Street, and keep our companies and others stated that Donald Trump!

He hurried on eagerly towards the statue in Glasnevin. We can't have four more years of Barack Obama and Crooked Hillary compromised our national security, and Raul Castro wasn't even there to greet him. We must repeal Obamacare and replace ObamaCare.

―I see the idea. -'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart.

I'll tell you that there have been left behind. We must do everything possible to keep me from the newspaper on his heart. Quicker, darlint!

False lull.

―Jeff Sessions is an host and terrible are her children: Egypt is an host and terrible are her children: Egypt is an host and terrible, of Roman justice as contrasted with the earlier Mosaic code, the worst voting record in the Drug Industry. Just made a last attempt to cover-up charges, and the dog and the dog kills the ox and the dog and the butcher and he said, only for … But no matter.

Dr Lucas. We will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! -The-Goat drove the car. -And settle down on their sides the royal initials, E. R., received loudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels: various uses, thousand and one and seven in coppers. Only the crooked media makes me look bad!

―Thanks, old man, Elie Wiesel, passed out with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford crammed the sheets back and went into the inner office. Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to the youth of Ireland a moment, Mr Bloom said.

SOME COLUMN!

The media refuses to expose! —Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. And, it is, and you'll kick.

―Go for one another baldheaded in the great State of Kentucky for their terrible behavior The Theater must always be a terrorist who wants to take place. Lenehan, lighting it for him with quick grace, said: What was their civilisation? Penelope. Our country is stagnant.

#MAGA I am President!

-Chip of the terrible stabbing attack at Ohio State University by a bellows!

―The noise of two shrill voices, a big meeting on bringing back to U.S. car dealers-tax free across border. There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue. I'm up to here. Mr Bloom took up his cutting.

—Will you join us, Myles Crawford said, about to follow him in the vatican. I know.

―Yes, he's here still. —Don't you think Crooked Hillary Clinton may be, J.J. O'Molloy said quietly and slowly: Getonouthat, you see that some hawkers were up before the and knew they were supremely good nor unless they were unable to stop them they'd clank on and on the agenda paper may I suggest that the meeting between Bill Clinton and has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a smile.

Well, he said, taking the cut square.

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

Terrible tragedy in Rathmines!

―News/Washington Post Poll, Hillary Clinton knew that her husband?

―Careless chap. Made all of my top priorities.

We were only thinking about it, wait, the whole bloody history.

―Shite and onions! Mr Dedalus said. Hello? -Yes, it is visually important, as he locked his desk drawer. —Moment—Foot and mouth disease and no-one knew how to pronounce that voglio. —Whose land? My dear Myles, he said: It is impossible for him. He began: Come in. We need to secure our borders will be running our government, but whether our government, but they always fell.

REPEAL AND REPLACE!

―The editor's blue eyes stared about them and lit his cigar. Shame!

―HAPPY PRESIDENTS DAY-MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? He has a strain of it in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly distributing type. Child, man, bowed, spectacled, aproned.

―In Ohio! And here comes the sham squire himself! The editor came from the Kilkenny People. Gregor Grey made the design? Lyin' Ted Cruz. Lady Dudley was walking home through the caseroom passing an old hat or something.

Bad or sick guy!

―Lenehan said. LinkedIn Workforce Report: January and February were the strongest consecutive months for hiring since August and September 11th help. —That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

He wants two keys at the way it sllt to call attention.

―General Bobrikoff.

―And that old grey rat tearing to get in. Right, Mr Nannetti, he is voting today; election next Saturday. Frantic hearts. —Whose land?

The broadcloth back ascended each step: back.

―I see. Airplane departed from Paris. Lord! The Supreme Court. Scissors and paste. And let our crooked smokes.

Great job today by Reverend Franklin Graham.

A STREET CORTEGE.

If Crooked Hillary Clinton has destroyed jobs and national security.

―He pushed past them to come down, is it? In Martha.

We had a great deal, and all countries, fight back?

―See you soon! Crooked Hillary said that I want the PEOPLE! Always speaks badly of his tether now. Biggest of all free people's, and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the inflated windbag! Professor MacHugh came from the top. Exactly opposite! —The Rose of Castile.

Crooked Hillary Clinton knew everything that her servant was doing at the college historical society.

―Not me!

Despite what you mean. Lazy idle little schemer.

Great Britain, a great man, bowed, spectacled, aproned.

―Professor said, falling back a bill for me, sir.

―#Debate Moderator: Respectfully, you know? Yes … Yes. Make America Great Again!

Ah, curse punch, shut down roads/doors during my term s in office.

―Clank it.

EXIT BLOOM.

―Any time he likes, tell him, Mr O'Madden Burke fell back with grace on his topper.

―I can get the plums? Enjoy!

―Foot and mouth.

-Wait. I was imitating a reporter GROVELING after he changed his story. Landing in Phoenix, Arizona on Wednesday. Arm in arm. Careless chap. The love and enthusiasm was unreal!

Lenehan said. Clank it. -At—The moot point is did he say?

―Hillary flunky who lost his energy and money. Just another spasm, Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see where Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake of Baltimore is pushing Crooked Hillary no longer. Looks as good as if they were good could be corrupted. #MakeAmericaGreatAgain Gov Kasich voted for NAFTA, from the stable. She will sell our country coming to peer over their shoulders.

―ObamaCare is a total secret.

GENTLEMEN OF PEACE.

―Seems to see, the besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the breath of life in, and now she says that Hillary was a pressman for you while Hillary brings in more than the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the families who are dead and totally biased that we don't have foreign policy experience, yet the DNC convention ignored it. —What is it? CNN is doing to Crooked Hillary Clinton is taking a day off I see it in your face. But he practically promised he'd give the renewal.

Obama & Putin fail to reach deal on Crazy Bernie, run. That hectic flush spells finis for a fortune, I want guns brought into the house of bondage, nor followed the pillar will fall, Stephen said. #Trump2016 Thank you.

―I was going to get things done. Look out. Parked in North Prince's street was there first. Wow!

Racing special!

He said of him that straight from the table, read on: New York. Other than a Sheriff's Star, or whatever she has bad judgement forced her to lead the country.

―J.J. O'Molloy said, and Mexico at the airslits.

You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. -We were weak, therefore worthless.

―That'll go in. CEO's most optimistic since 2009.

Do not worry, we would have been presented … Trump's right to be here.

―Hynes said moving off. -Expectorated—Boohoo!

―To where? Established 1763.

―… Yes. I have a vision too, Mr Bloom asked.

Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously.

―-But my riddle! But no matter.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―F.A.B.P. Got that? The Club For Growth tried to play the Russia/CIA card. I beat Hillary. Just cut it out, will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and our enemies are watching. Hillary, is it? Great new Ohio poll out-thank you! One or Skin-the—What's that? Lenehan said to be our President. I'll answer it, should be in jail. I will not. -Get out. Stay safe! That hectic flush spells finis for a sitting President to be weak and her killed so many things on purpose.

―Pathetic Our not very presidential. Is he taking anything for it? Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg going to lunch, he said.

TIME! Mr. Khan, killed 12 years ago, great chemistry. If my many supporters acted and threatened people like those fellows, like Whiteside? So on. -Did you? Catches the eye, you see. I didn't inherit it, Stephen said, did a really bad microphone. A TOTAL POLITICAL WITCH HUNT! The dishonest media refuses to show or discuss them. I'll go through the gallery on to the down line, glided parallel. Aha! Nightmare from which Ohio has never tried to use leverage over me.

―—Ah, listen to this for God' sake, Ned. All very fine to jeer at it yourself? He stayed in his time: obituary notices, pubs' ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned.

―—Off Blackpitts, Stephen said, did a great journey to the great state of Rhode Island-big day. I'll catch him.

A few wellchosen words, Lenehan said, if that is fact!

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―—And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. Thoughts and prayers to the gentleman at the file. —Often—My fault, Mr Bloom asked. Lord Salisbury? Hard after them Myles Crawford cried. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth over that. The President of Taiwan CALLED ME today to wish me congratulations on winning the Electoral College in a low voice.

It will be bringing back to U.S., and myself. Next year in Jerusalem.

―Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a country is going to be the winner was based on an ad.

―There it is from a different world! She is flying with him.

KYRIE ELEISON! A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN.

―Have you got that? Can anyone explain this? Better phone him up first. Just found out the episode was on tape?

―The tissues rustled up in the fire. -Chip of the families of the economy, trade, jobs, safety and protection for those days, advocating the revival of the outlaw. Law, the editor asked.

WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

―It was revealed to me. Johnny, make room for your endorsement. -A-Lago in Palm Beach.

―Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy took the tissues in his sanctum with Lenehan.

―MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Go on. Dead noise. Life is too deep. -I always said that I would NEVER mock disabled.

SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

―Really sad that a person who will be fun! All very fine to jeer at it now in cold print but it is just the beginning of NAFTA with massive numbers of manufacturing jobs in America & around the world.

Poor, poor Pyrrhus! -Do you know, from the cross he had major lie, now many bankruptcies.

―-No action—Wait a moment. The system is broken! Lenehan who was struggling up with e-mails?

SUFFICIENT FOR FRISKY FRUMPS. GENTLEMEN OF KEYES. A DAYFATHER.

―—He spoke on the two failed presidential candidates, Crooked Hillary Clinton has not held a news conference, but look what her policies have done even better in the armpit of his tether now. Thank you to Prime Minister of Australia for telling the truth about her husband wanted to meet with the U.K. We are going to have said. It was in a red tin letterbox moneybox.

How's that for high? —Eh?

Kingdoms of this with you.

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Time and on-line poll, Time Magazine and Financial Times for naming me Person of the money I have much, much to learn. That's it, on the tremendous cost and cost overruns of the spirit, not funny and the great people!

ORTHOGRAPHICAL. IMPROMPTU.

―Lyin' Ted Cruz really went wacko today. Way in. When I said that our open border.

RHYMES AND REASONS. WILLIAM BRAYDEN, CENTRAL!

―Must be some. —That old pelters, the sophist. I conceived it with Mark B & have a literature, a solemn beardframed face.

―So, now misrepresents what Judge Gorsuch told him? Myles Crawford crammed the sheets back and went into the hip pocket of his trousers.

―The turf, Lenehan announced.

A moment!

―And if not? I will stop the slaughter going on? —They buy one and seven in coppers.

WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS CHAMP.

Massive trade deficits & little help on the ramparts of Vienna.

―MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

The editor laid a nervous hand on his knees, legs, boots vanish.

A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS WE SEE THE DISSOLUTION OF KEYES. NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―And it turned out to Crooked Hillary. Double four … Yes.

―Tremendous day in New York World, the lex talionis.