#when you’re rich and white and a man and have to make innocent local boys your Staatsfeind Nr 1 to feel something

[justfriendsbestthings]

It’s so funny to me how August refers to Simon as an enemy in s1e1. I know it’s just a saying he uses to justify them being there and so shouldn’t think too much of it, but also you’re like 18 years old and Simon is a 16 year old boy from the local town, August you don’t have any enemies, you just love to create problems out of thin air 😭

[beenbaanbuun]

PLS ELABORATE ON TOO SWEET WITH COUNTRY BOY MINGI 🙏

OKAY SO!!!

country boy mingi is definitely the type to think that his whole life is all doom and gloom. he’s stuck in this tiny town working as a farm hand for some rich guy that hardly pays him enough the amount of work he does on that farm. he has a truck that barely runs and every night he drives it home to his shitty apartment that just so happens to be above the local bar. he spends his hard earned money on a whiskey, neat, before dragging himself upstairs to bed, only for the same exact day to repeat tomorrow.

it’s no wonder the man is a cynic…

but then one day, maybe a month or so into working at the farm, he meets you; the groundskeepers daughter. clad in a beautiful white summer dress and a pair of beat up boots, you might actually be the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. it makes him feel small at the side of you, like he is somehow less than you. he’s never doubted his social standing before, yet something about the way your beauty radiates from you has him feeling insecure.

but then, in a twist of fate, he sees you walk right up to the fence that borders the horse paddock. you climb it, jumping over the top and landing on both feet when you hit the ground on the other side. it looks like you’d had practice doing it, and maybe you have. after all, mingi’s only been working there for a month or so.

“hello,” you call from across the field as you start to walk towards him. there’s a wide grin on your face that has mingi’s heart stuttering in his chest. he can’t quite believe this angel is talking to him, a lowly farmhand covered head to toe in dust, straw and horse muck. he gulps down the anxious lump in his throat as you grow closer to him, trying his hardest to don his usual cocky persona before he shows himself up in front of you. the last thing he wants is for his voice to crack or something…

“hey there, doll,” he calls out, mentally patting himself on the back for keeping his composure. it’s a lot harder than he makes it seem, “what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

“a field?” you tilt your head in confusion. mingi scolds himself for saying something so utterly stupid, “nothing much; just thought i’d finally come and introduce myself to you!”

you stick a hand out, your perfectly manicured nails glistening under the hot southern sun. mingi’s eyes flicker down to his own hands, scuffed and calluses from hours of hard labour. he knows his nails are black with dirt and his fingertips are blistered from shovelling horse manure for hours on end. it’s nothing he’s ever been embarrassed about before but you’re just so ethereal that for some reason he feels bad about even being in your presence.

still, he was raised a gentleman. he takes your hand in his, shaking it once before dropping it again. not quite quick enough for him not to realise just how soft your skin in, or how warm your tiny little hand feels in his own. he shoos away the daydreams that flutter around his mind like butterflies. it’s not like they’ll ever come true, so why waste the time of day thinking about them.

“you’re mingi, right?” you speak up again, your voice sounding like music to his ears. it’s like the sound of a stream on a hot summers day, or the birds that sing when the sun first rises. it reminds him of childhood summers, so carefree and tender. they seemed to last forever; mingi wishes he could hear your voice forever. “my daddy was telling me about you, but he never mentioned how handsome you are.”

mingi’s mind short circuits at that. you say it so innocently but he’s sure you’re flirting with him. you! flirting with him! this is better than christmas. better than all those childhood summers stacked together. his heart soars and his stomach erupts in a flurry of butterflies.

heavens, you’re sweet…

like a little cube of sugar in his coffee that he normally takes black. a little honey in his neat whiskey. he never really liked sweet things, preferring things to match the bitterness of his life. not you, though…

you he doesn’t quite mind being so sweet…

[demwhore]

Maniac (Mark Lee.)

pairing | Mark Lee x Female Reader | greaser! mark | soc! reader  description: After a sudden drink at the West side with your soc friends, alcohol kicked in your senses; showed up at your ex boyfriend’s home, alone, carrying a shovel and a rose. words | 4k genre | young adult fiction, smut warnings | language, drinking, scenes of making-out, violence. this is a problematic fic because it is based on the novel “The Outsiders” a/n | I do not condone the actions depicted in this fic. This is written for fictional purposes only. I dedicate this to @xuxi-rolls [i love u, thank u] to @hyuck-me​ [hi min thank you!] and @bumblebeenct​ [thank you for proofreading the trash ver.] this was rushed. i apologize.  taglist | @renjunlite @mjlkau @xyyydream @jungcity​  ps | my muse for this is maniac by conan grey

🔙 main masterlist

There are always two sides of everything. Two sides to every coin. For example, in a neighborhood; there is an east side and a west side. There is a fine line between the two, and that is exactly the world you live in. You are a Soc (pronounced as Soches, or short for Socials), as fancy as it is, that is what they call it. This meant that you lived on the west side of the neighborhood; together with other wealthy Socs. Mainly the jocks, cheerleaders, or snobs. The Socs despised the Greasers, so much— to the point, after seeing one, they would either end up slashing out each other’s throats with their fancy switchblades or to get into an old-fashioned fist-fight.  

Greasers. One world but it possesses a lot of definitions. Quite notorious. They were known to be problematic, criminals, a bunch of chaotic guys who always flunk their classes just to smoke and drink, hair literally drenched in grease with leather jackets and ripped jeans. A typical James Dean. They are situated on the East side of the neighborhood. Considered poor, not low-class but, poor, poorer than any Socs, poorer than any of the people alive. They merely survive by committing crimes, or when they are lucky enough— jobs at gasoline stations. 

Greasers. People who have trouble chasing after their tails, and adding to the list, they really have a distinct vocabulary. Which always surprises you. “What’ya try’na do Soc?”

Greasers were known for their bad reputation but even so, you ended up falling in love with one. His name was Mark Lee. It all started when you were about to head home from a night out at the drive-in theater, when Jacob, a Soc that also went to your school, ended up harassing you to be his girl. Wanting to butter your ‘muffins’ since they weren’t buttered at all. You didn’t know what he was trying to imply, but it didn’t seem right and appeared insulting on your part. Mark’s gang happened to cross the path you were taking, and heard your distressed yells of ‘stay away from me’ that Jacob did not seem to understand. The first meeting with Mark wasn’t that extravagant like how prince Philip met Aurora in the forest, it was rather dark; full of sweat, blood, and switchblades. You heard the yells of Mark’s gang telling him to stay the hell out of the Soc’s business but he could see that Jacob just wouldn’t stop and you were on the verge of tears. Mark knew what to do. He had Jacob down in a second. Jacob tried to fight to get loose; he even did for a few seconds before Mark tightened his hold. Jacob laid still, swearing at the greasers between gasps. Then, things turned bad, when Jacob stabbed Mark’s shin with his switchblade. In the end however, it was Jacob who went home ruined and blue. 

“Are you all right, uhm, Socs?” Soc. 

You nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

He rubbed your hair, “You’re an okay kid, Soc. Always have someone, some, er--soc join you on yer’ way home.”

Then he left with his greaser friends. Mark was handsome. You hated to admit, but he was. He was the same type of handsome as a young Johnny Depp, if more, he was gorgeous. His hair was jet black, with the signature grease lingering within. He wore his worn-out denim jeans with a leather jacket that complemented his white shirt underneath. You couldn't see his face clearly, but it was full of cuts and bruises. Yes, they were the guys your parents warned you about. Cigarettes and switchblades. 

Yet you couldn’t stop thinking about the greaser. You absentmindedly poured toothpaste on your hand instead of your toothbrush; mind too occupied by the young boy you met. You had mentally slapped yourself for being so timid, you could’ve done something nice to treat him for saving you from Jacob, or at least ask for his name. It made you insane, head empty except for thoughts of the greaser. You felt hopeless but fate had other plans, since you both crossed paths, again. This time in a local diner, specifically by the concession stand. You insisted on paying for his strawberry shake and from that interaction, the greaser boy stole your heart. You exchanged smiles and names. You felt conscious under his gaze, intimidated even, but Mark proved that their tough appearance was just a façade. Behind the rugged persona hides a boy; who is carefree, a greaser boy that loved you more than his switchblade and comb.

The months you had together were paradise. He never forced you to embrace the greaser culture, and he’d let you do your thing. You were still the awkward Soc girl who wears beige cardigans over a fitted dress shirt and plaid skirt. Eloquent. Articulated. But ever since you’d started hanging out more on the east side, the soc in you started to fade and Mark didn’t know if he should be boasting with pride or afraid. You learn to spat at people, (which made your mother mortified as to where the hell did you would’ve learnt that? You just answered her with a meek smile) both literally and figuratively, the latter one because you’d seen Mark spit as a smoker and the aftermath is an itchy throat. You were staying up late and the alibi you’d use was studying at Amber’s house. The truth is, you were with Mark and his friends at the drive-in theater, making out till the guards kicked you out. 

The memory wasn’t vague. But the movie flashed by the theater’s projector was ‘Rebel without a case’ starring James Dean. It was a good movie, indeed, but you are busy with Mark’s lip at the time. He was more entertaining than the movie you had paid to see. Straddling his lap you found your hands detangling his heavily styled hair. You felt his hands cupping your ass as your lips practically crashed into each other. Teeth to teeth, tongue interlacing. You were timid, but with Mark, it suddenly went away. 

Pulling away momentarily you asked “Are you gonna wham, bam, thank you sweetie, me?”

His brows furrowed as his hot breath fanned your face, “What?”

You grinned, “Nothing.”

Mark rolled his eyes, his hands leaving your body as he struggled to remove something from the car’s cabin. He handed you a rose, and you found the ends of your lips twitching. You took the rose from him and shifted your attention to him. His lips were slightly parted, lips red, hickeys all over his neck. Mark was a guy full of troubles yet he was so charming. There was just something in him that made you feel enchanted, maybe it was his candidness. He doesn’t deny that he isn’t the right guy for you but he is willing to change his bullshit, just for you. The gesture made your heart turn somersaults. 

“Where did you get this from?”

“Well, I’m a penny short and I oughta buy you chocolates but I’ll be late for our date. Stolen these when old man Ricky wasn’t looking.” He admitted with a frown. Your brows arched up, you weren’t expecting a blunt answer yet there he is. He looked adorable with his eyes practically apologizing for his wrong-doings. A surprised laugh came out of your lips. The laughter from you urged him to continue on talking. 

“I might not be rich as the socs in your place but you have my heart and dick.”

You chortled at his statement, “Is that the answer to my statement a while ago?”

“What? The wham, bam?”

“Yeah.”

“Yea, It’ll be cool to play here with peewee.” Mark named his car “Peewee’, a 1950s Chevrolet, 4 door bel air. His lips met yours again, but this time he exerted dominance, cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him. His other thumb stroked your thighs lightly. Mark’s kiss was deep and passionate. The world around you seems to crumble as you are too absorbed with his existence. He nibbled onto your lip, before brushing over the spot with his sinful tongue. The kiss grew urgent, his hands gripping your waist tightly carefully grinding your figure onto his lap. It made him hard and you were already soaking in arousal. He groped your ass making you yelp. You wanted this. To drown in Mark’s kisses. Mark repositioned his seat to make more room for you before he connected his lips again with yours. His touch was innocent, feathery, slightly climbing its way to your dress to touch your inner thighs.

You felt goosebumps all over your skin. His intimate touches, turned your whimpers into quiet moans against his lips, which in turn, made Mark bring one of his slim fingers to your mouth, silencing you. 

“You oughta keep your voice down, baby.” He mumbled on your lip. The end of his pink lips tugging a smirk. Despite his warning, you kept going, this time trying to hold into  sanity, as the feeling of Mark’s erection sent chills to your spine. You shivered when Mark’s finger wandered to the inner part of your thigh. You immediately pushed your legs apart, allowing his fingers to cup the apex of your thighs, pressing a digit onto your soaked pussy. He played with the elastic band of your panties, then carefully touched your slit. You clit throbbing and eager for his touch.

“You’re soaking wet, damn, all for me?” He cooed. His voice low, lips tickling your ear, “Does it feel good? You wanted to be touched like this?”

“Y-yes, please k-keep going.” You whined, while frantically searching for something to grasp. You arched your hips to get more access to his torturing touches. 

He gave you a sly smirk, “I will, because you asked so sweetly, baby.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips. Then, he immediately slid in his index finger into your entrance. A sigh left your mouth as you felt your walls stretch; something you’ve never felt before. “Do you feel uncomfortable?”

If a word could explain what you were feeling at the moment, uncomfortable isn’t the correct word to describe it; rather, euphoric. Mark, at this point, had fully inserted his finger to the knuckles. “No, n-no, keep going, p-please.” You whispered as you took a hold of Mark’s shoulders and gripped them for dear life; knuckles turning white. You choked out when you felt his fingers found a spot inside you. Bingo. Mark chuckled quietly, running his tongue over his lips, the sight before him was divine. You, squirming under his touch while he played with your cunt. He prodded the same exact spot again, this time you had to bury your head onto his shoulders to keep yourself quiet.

“Jackpot, baby.”

“A-ah it f-feels good!” 

You squeezed your eyes shut letting the waves of pleasure soak you. You arched your hips to meet his fingers. Letting yourself feel. After one digit, Mark carefully inserted his middle finger, just beside his index. You gasped, it was an unknown feeling; your body twitched momentarily from the sudden sting. Mark met your neglected clit and rubbed it; the sting fading out. You gritted your teeth, ragged breaths leaving your mouth. You felt the arousal building inside you; ready to leave your body. If it wasn’t for Mark’s lips, silencing you, the whole theater would know what you two were doing. He planted a kiss to your cheeks, “You cumming, baby?”

The movie was still rolling, but to you it was just pure noise. You are too engrossed, head clouded, muddled with pleasure. Jim Stark said his great lines, ‘If I had one day when I didn't have to be all confused and I didn't have to feel that I was ashamed of everything’. Mark played with your clit again, his digits busy poking your g-spot, you knew, you were on the edge of coming. Mark pressed your body into his and you trembled against his lap. Your walls tightened against Mark’s fingers. With one last rub, your arousal came, he pulled his fingers away from you. Your panties, now soaking wet. You made a mental note to throw those out to the washer as soon as you go home. Your body collapsed against Mark’s chest. He raised his fingers; wet and glistening with your juice. You felt your cheeks flare when you saw how he popped his fingers onto his mouth, leaving a satisfying groan at the taste of you. You covered your face in embarrassment and felt Mark’s chest vibrate with laughter. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you more.”

 It was fun while it lasted. A typical bad boy and good girl, two teenagers in love. The relationship was almost as perfect for you. You never had arguments with him, because he was so chill about everything you do. Yet then, in the blink of an eye, the relationship turned into a complete fiasco. 

Maybe you were too confident that people wouldn’t stick their noses in other people’s business, but they proved you wrong. You were oblivious to the fact that everyone’s eyes were set upon you. Eventually a rumour circulated around the school you and Mark were attending.

“Did you hear about Y/N, girls?”

It piqued your ears. You stopped your tracks to hear the answer, “Her and Mark, that greaser boy, oh God, he’s crazy and drives her mad!”

You were stunned at the outburst. The only person who knows about your relationship was Amber, other than that, your mouth was completely sealed. You opened your locker and grabbed your books. Just as you slammed the door shut, you came face to face with Avril, the school’s queen bee and apparently, Jacob’s new toy. She gave you a sly smirk. 

“I never knew you’d be the type to date a greaser. That’s just out of your boundaries, eh?”

You raised your brow, completely facing her, “How did you know about that?”

Her smirk widens, showing sets of teeth with a slight smudge of her violet lipstick, “Good ol’ boy Jacob saw you two at the local drive-in. Next day, he had the rumors circulating like shit.”

You folded your arms to your chest, “Listen, what you’ve heard are all just rumours.”

“Oh yeah? Your brother’s gang happened to be with Jacob that time.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. It was now painfully clear; the night you came home, your brother, Jaehyun, wasn’t already home. When he returned, two hours later, he was panting heavily, cuts all over his face, and he was carrying his favorite baseball bat drenched with mud and a liquid colored crimson; blood. You seized her collar and the people around you gasped at your sudden movements. You hissed while she struggled to remove your grip, “Where the hell is Jacob?”

Avril sniggered, “And why should I tell you? So you can save your wimpy little greaser boyfriend? Well news flash he’s a maniac!”

You held her collar more tightly, holding the fabric close to her neck. Avril gasped for air, her arms flailing. She gave in and choked out, “Locker room.” You pushed her away and her body flung against the lockers. The other students jumped away in fear. You glanced over your shoulder, “He isn’t a maniac Avril. He is more of a gentleman than your misogynistic boyfriend will ever be,”. You trailed away, planning on beating Jacob up with one of  your thick algebra books. You could still recall the moves Jaehyun had taught you. Aim at the jaw, because that is the human’s shut off button, and that is what you intend to do. 

It didn’t take you long to find Jacob. After a series of turns, you arrived at the boy’s locker room. As you entered, there were few catcalls heard, but you chose to ignore— hey ya, sexy, as it was pointless— boys with their foul words because they never think with their minds. Jacob stood out among the other lads in the room. He was tall, had blonde hair, icy-blue eyes, a jock, and while it was hard to admit, he was really handsome. But he wasn't the right guy, and you were sure, as he never met your standards. His icy blue eyes widened at the sight of your marching figure, the ends of his lips tugging upward. Feeling triumphant as if he’d won his recent football match.

“Do you wish to continue our little rendezvous?” He gave you a lazy grin. You stopped your tracks and tilted your head a little bit higher to match his gaze. If books could give an exact definition of Jacob, he could be compared with Ares, the god of war; As Homer called him, murderous, bloodstained, the incarnate curse of mortals. But strangely, a coward, too, who bellows with pain and runs away when he is wounded. Jacob only knew how to fight, it's a giveaway, with his nice fit and physique. But he plays dirty and hides underneath a girl’s skirt when he knows he fucked up. He is too much of a coward, never using his brain, rather letting his dick think for him. Him and Mark have a gargantuan difference, and for that, loving Mark, was the biggest choice you have never chosen to regret. 

“What is this all about Jacob?”

He ran a finger through his slightly damp, golden locks. His brows shot upward, his lip jutting out, as if proving to you, what he did was something you should never be mad about. He shrugged, “I just made a psa.” He leaned down to match your height, “Soc girls ain’t for greasers. I was simply just saving you.”

“You aren’t my dad so you don’t go dictating me what to do and what not to do!”

He raised his left brow, “Hell yeah? I cannot accept the fact you chose him over me, Y/N! Are you fucking insane?”

“No. But I am capable of choosing the people who are best for me.” 

“Betcha brother didn’t take the news nicely.” 

You gave him a glare and jammed the algebra book to his face. The reason why Jacob spread those malicious rumors about Mark is because he couldn’t accept the fact that you have chosen grease over money. He had an ego to protect and so, he went lashing out, ruining someone else’s image. You stormed out of the locker room to search for your brother. He must’ve gone mad at this point. The thought gave you chills, Jaehyun beating Mark to death. You could recall how he wore his adorning rings earlier in the morning before you both left the house. Those rings had helped Jaehyun beat someone into pulp, almost killing his foe with it. Bullshit. You had algebra at eight, but you have chosen to flunk it. Worried to death, all you could think of was mark.

Jaehyun seized Mark’s now bloodsoaked white t-shirt. Jaehyun felt extreme frustration, he couldn’t control the shaking of his fists as well as the baring of his teeth. Jaehyun made a beeline for Mark’s jaw, and not content with the results; he made another uppercut, straight into the greaser’s gut. Johnny released his hold on Mark’s shirt. At that moment, Mark couldn’t think straight; it was as if his mind had been a finished puzzle and Jaehyun’s assault had it jumbled to pieces. The greaser clenched his stomach; his head was throbbing like hell. He could almost taste the bitter, salty taste of bile. Fucking hell. Jaehyun surely shook the greaser’s system, like literally. 

Jaehyun held his wrist and twirled it. He ignored the stinging sensation on his cheek. That wasn’t one of his concerns. His cheeks could wait but his fist couldn't. What Jaehyun hated and was concerned about the most was having a greaser fuck with his sister. It was just an overall no for him. Also, the fact that Jacob blurted out the news while he was in the midst of a football game just made him more of a misanthropic jock wanting to choke the hell out the guy who played with his sister. 

Jaehyun breathed. “Stay the hell out of my sister’s life, greaser.”

Mark spat out blood. His voice was hoarse. “Why should I do that?”

“Because I said so.”

“Hell no, soc. I ain’t doing what’cha want, just because y’all want me to.” 

Jaehyun’s patience was paper thin and the fact that his day wasn’t getting any better was wearing him down. “You’re testing my patience, huh greaser?”

Jaehyun nodded towards Johnny and the center gripped both of Mark’s shoulders. Mark gulped hard, trying to wiggle his way out of Johnny’s grip, but the guy was just big, he stood no chance. 

Jaehyun gritted his teeth. Mark’s eyes trailed down the shiny metal Jaehyun was holding, a switchblade. Jaehyun twisted the blade elegantly in his hands. Mark never felt fear in his life, it was the emotion he had long forgotten. But he stood there, defenseless, with the socs dominating him, all he could do was to wait for his fate, or his death. “Stay the fuck out of my sister’s life, greaser.”

A girl's voice shook the three. “Jaehyun! Stop!”

You stood there disheveled, as if you had just run a few kilometers. Your blouse is crumpled, the first buttons were well, unbuttoned. Your chest rises with every exhale you make. Your eyes trailed at Mark then towards your brother. “Jaehyun, stop.”

Jaehyun glared at you. He never looked at you like that, ever. 

His tone was strict. “Go back to your classes.”

“Jaehyun, I-”

“I said. Go. back. To. your. Classes.” 

You stood there dumbfounded, staring back at your fuming brother. Then, he yelled at you, snapping you out from your daze.

You fucked up.

Years. You are not allowed to go out alone anymore. The last contact you had with Mark was the time, he and Jaehyun were ‘talking’. No proper goodbyes, no proper closure. You had blamed Jacob for all of that. You were beyond frustrated, you missed the boy who made you feel like a human, alive, loved. But, now he only exists in your memories. Markie and his goofish car, peewee. 

Present time. 

“Hey Y/N!”

You squinted. Madonna’s songs played loudly in the local diner. Your vision blurred while trying to find the familiar figure of Amber. 

“Hey Y/N!”

“Whaaaaat?!”

You leaned on the diner’s counter. The alcohol had taken a toll on you and all you wanted to do was to dance the night away with Material Girl playing loudly in the background. You pumped your fist in the air, head bobbing up and down, you started to dance carelessly towards the dance floor. Having to drink alcohol had your appendages work on their own. You leaned too far and had your body bumping on someone else’s.

You slurred. “Sorrrry.”

Amber cursed under her breath. “This girl is unbelievable.”

You continued on, singing on the top of your lungs, “I’m a material giiiiirl!”

Amber mustered her strength to grab you out of the dance floor, and to avoid you practically flailing your body towards the other college party-goers. 

I made it through the wilderness. Somehow I made it through..

You shoved your body through the crowd to sluggishly approach your car. Head empty, intoxicated with alcohol and all you can think of was Mark. 

You pulled over the familiar neighborhood. The darkest pits of the society. You eyed the shovel in your trunk and the rose, a random guy handed to you earlier. You approached the door and pounded harshly on the door.

The door opened with a loud hiss. And the guy you’ve been yearning for, stood before you. He eyes the rose and the shovel in your hands. A slow smirk painted his lips. 

“What’ya doin’ here?”

“Mark.”

“I’m done with you. Cause people like you always want back what they can't have. But I'm past that and you know that. So you should turn back to your rat pack, tell 'em trash.”

[thekidultlife]

The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate!AU (3)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 5.3k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to write opinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 |  CHAP 5 |  CHAP 6 |

ON THE NECESSITY OF GRAND ROYAL BALLS by Alex Fireflower

The Porta Persa Edition, September 6

In one's life, what would be considered basic necessities? Food, shelter, clothing, mayhaps a life partner? Indeed, such factors are important. Yet allow me to tell you, dear readers, that there is something far greater and more magnificent than mere daily needs which regularly perish in less than a common laborer's working hours! An element which elevates the typical human experience to the realms of the ancient gods; giving us a glimpse of the most beautiful, the most majestic blinding auras in this Universe! A necessity which is by far the most crucial of all inventions created by man, known to man! 

That, my friends, is the Grand Royal Ball. 

To be held a week from now at the Crystal Palace, the Grand Royal Ball only admits through invites, usually reserved for the rich and the powerful. Yet what is most anticipated is the glamorous First Waltz where they can showcase their magnificent beauty and impressive wardrobe for the public to see! 

Yet this is simply a mere gathering for the upper class, you say? What, in heaven's name, is the reason why this event is of great importance, you ask?

Look closely, my dear readers! Look at the Grand Royal Ball! Look at it with eyes of impunity! Gaze at its splendor and radiance, and see what these people have robbed from you, from the common people! They who have been brought into this world with silver spoons in their mouths, feed us with scraps from their abundant golden banquets! Banquets such as the Grand Royal Ball, where crimes of extravagance and greed go unpunished in the eyes of god.

Do not forget who mines the diamonds in their earrings, who weaves the silk on their lapels, who farms the fruit in their white marble tables! They who afforded nay a drop of sweat in order to survive, yet admonishes the poor for 'indolence' and 'degradation of moral values'--remember them and do not dare forget in the face of their magnificence! 

If these sheer words do not convey a clearer message to you, then allow me to reiterate. The Grand Royal Ball is an important reminder to you common folk who gaze at them in your grease-stained hands, growling stomachs and exhausted eyes. This is a wake up call to you who still believe that you can be like them, wearing your own beautiful gowns and respectable suits to your own grand royal balls. This is a reminder to look past illusions established by this society dictated by such people. 

You are being exploited. You are being paid by less than what you are worth. If that does not constitute slavery, then there is no worth in reading this article. If you are yet to be angered by such realities through this piece, then I, as an editor have failed my mission. Realize that your fellow laborer is not your adversary. The true cold-blooded monsters are up there in their hectares-wide plantations, sitting on leather chairs and pretending to be your friend, as they casually strategize how to pay you less and less of your appropriate wage, as they search for loopholes in our civil code to perpetuate their evils in the world.

They may look like gods next week, dancing to a waltz in the Crystal Palace with the innocence of a daisy, yet do not be in awe. Do not be complacent.

Do not forget the true enemy. 

◇

"You're going to the ball."

Both Wonwoo and Soonyoung declared, under the purple shade of the wisteria tree in the courtyard, their seriousness catching you off-guard.

"What?!" You shouted, almost choking on a shrimp. "What do you mean I'm going to the ball?! I just slandered it in our newspaper yesterday, if you hadn't forgotten!"

The two boys gazed at you, eyes pitiful. 

"Don't look at me like that!" 

Wonwoo, the bespectacled one, sighed and sat up straight. 

"Look, this isn't a prank. We had to bargain you for um…"

In the middle of his words he gradually lost steam, and began to feel your furious, scrutinizing gaze. For better or worse, he suddenly found the garlic shrimp on his plate quite interesting. 

"Alright, let me handle this!" Soonyoung proudly declared, yet nonetheless deflated after you gave him a similar glare. "Wonwoo...you should handle this after all…"

With a face that may seem calm, Wonwoo conveniently concealed his discomfort. 

"So, um...alright, allow me to explain. I got a bit of a lead on the investigation we're doing and thus, following that trail led me to the ball," he continued, "Apparently, there will be a gathering of the people involved during the evening, and I needed to get in with Soonyoung. So I asked some help, and in exchange, they wanted you."

After listening to his story, you closed your eyes and sighed heavily. There was no way you could stop him even if you wanted to. The deal was done and he had the invitation. 

"So, who's they?" 

You asked, a bit annoyed but you understood the need.

"That would be me."

A familiar voice startled you from behind, as you finally caught a glimpse of the devil Wonwoo had to make a pact with. 

"Jihoon, didn't know you were there," Wonwoo remarked, as the new arrival bent down and passed a heavy binder to him. 

"I just arrived really. Thank you for the reading notes though," he replied, paying you and Soonyoung no heed. "Anyway, Y/N, please return to our room as soon as you finish class. We have to talk about what you're going to wear for the ball."

Jihoon ordered, then stalked away without waiting for a reply, leaving you taken aback. 

After a few moments, you turned to Wonwoo wearing a rather frightening expression on your face.

"Jeon Wonwoo! How dare you bargain me to Lee Jihoon!!" 

◇

'Do you despise Lee Jihoon that much?' 

The voice inside your head asked, completely eclipsing the words of your professor. 

'Do you really have to talk to me during class? ' You snarled, spinning your pen around as you watched one of your classmates getting scolded for sleeping. 

'You don't even like this class. So I'm actually doing you a favor by entertaining you.’

'Touché.'

A few moments of silence passed before your soulmate replied. You thought he bailed out, yet that was definitely not the case.

'Lee Jihoon is the reason why you seem troubled today, isn't it?'

You sighed. 'How obstinate...'

'As obstinate as you, in fact. Have you forgotten that we're soulmates?' 

Clicking your tongue, you knew he was going to bother you if you didn't answer, and well, the words from a month ago rang deep inside your heart: Accept them and learn.

'Fine, he does upset me. I mean, I was not supposed to go to that pretentious ball, now I have to wear those heavy dresses and fake laugh with people I despise a lot! I could be doing something else, you know! Something I enjoy more!'

It took him some time to reply. It's not your fault you had no one to talk about it. Wonwoo and Soonyoung literally sacrificed you. 

'Is it not because you dislike him?'

'I am irritated now because of what he did, yet I surely do not harbor stronger hatred towards him. I live with him after all.' 

'I see. So you simply have a dislike towards parties in general?'

'Not entirely. I don't mind going to parties, yet this one particular ball does not sit well with me.' 

'Why so?'

You propped your chin on your hand as you leafed through the pages of your textbook. 

'It goes against everything I believe in. Why do people have to organize such expensive balls? Wearing expensive clothes? Eating expensive food? They could just donate that money. Don't you think so?' 

He hummed, thinking of a reply. 'You do have a point. Furthermore, it is not only this country's problem yet of entire humanity. Isn't it human nature to be greedy? Isn't it the nature of material objects to be scarce?' 

'Thus, it is an unavoidable, inevitable problem, you mean to say? Well, that would definitely be the case if no effort is afforded to find a solution to this problem. No matter how minute my actions are, I'm sure they would still have a rippling effect.' 

The person on the other side scoffed. 'If only that is how simple things are.' 

'What do you mean by that? Are you calling me naive?' 

He laughed. 'Whatever you think it is shall be its meaning.' 

You were about to interject with your own retort yet was unable to catch up. 

'Well, looks like I still have things to do. It was a pleasure talking to you today. Until then, my soulmate.'

And with that, the connection halted. 

You sighed and slumped on your seat with lips pursed. It was difficult talking to him while keeping your own pride in check. He was definitely talented in wounding it. 

They would magnify your insecurities, your fears, your greatest flaws as a person, and force you to face them.

Sighing, you glanced at the bell that had begun to signal the end of class. 

◇

Bathed in golden sunlight, you entered your dorm room as instructed by Lee Jihoon. 

It has been a month since you began living here yet the days seemed to have gone in a flash. To be honest, other than that time you saw him practicing with his cello, there was little to no interaction between you and Lee Jihoon. He really made sure to avoid me…

Yet right now, so suddenly…what has changed?

Opening the french doors like you did when you first met him, you were greeted by several female attendants and rows of clothes racks, each having a massive collection of gowns.

"Took you long enough to return."

Someone suddenly spoke behind you, making you jump in surprise. Taking a step back, you only bumped into Lee Jihoon's chest. 

"I had to go to the library on the way here," you replied, making some distance between the two of you as the black-haired male marched his way to a vacant armchair. 

"I see. Well then, shall we begin our business here?" He asked as soon as he was settled on his seat, glancing at the gowns at the side. 

"Exactly what I had in mind. Do you wish to explain what these are for?"

With an expression that reeked irritation, Jihoon gave no response to a question he assumed you knew the answer to. 

You sighed. "What I mean is, I thought you had already chosen something for me, so I was quite surprised to see all of these." 

The both of you simply gazed at one another without uttering a single word. Only the sound of the clock ticking and the afternoon bells outside could be heard as you allowed yourselves to be absorbed in your own little trance. Until Jihoon finally relented and stood up. 

"I just thought you would rather choose something akin to your own preference," he told you, scratching his nape, "additionally, these ones here are all about to be thrown out, so maybe you--"

"These ones are about to be thrown out?! But they still look so pretty!" You interrupted, wholly surprised as you inspected the exquisite bead work of the nearest dress to you. 

"It's common for people in the upper class to throw away gowns after wearing it once. So I thought you'd appreciate wearing something like this rather than having something new ordered. We could give away the other ones here as well," Jihoon explained, now a bit conscious of your reaction. 

Chuckling at how he was slowly becoming bashful, you threw a wide grin at him which Jihoon was sure had definitely caught his breath. 

"That was so thoughtful of you! Thank you!" You exclaimed, now more than interested to browse at the racks. 

Unable to respond, Jihoon silently allowed you to check out the dresses while he tried to conceal the fact that his ears had turned red. 

"What about you though? Have you already chosen something for yourself?" You asked in the midst of trying out one blue sequined gown. 

"Since I’m a member of the Parliament, we have to wear a standard ceremonial uniform," he replied, now seated back on the armchair.

"Is that so?" You hummed then continued, "I think I've decided on one so allow me to finish."

After some time, you returned to the common room, showing Jihoon the gown you had picked for the occasion. 

In a beige off-shoulder gown filled with lace trims and appliques, peacock feather patterns of sequins and gemstones, and dangling diamonds, you twirled around the room as the late afternoon sunlight created surreal reflections of light as it reflected on your dress. 

In Jihoon's eyes, you were dazzling, sparkling. He could feel his heart almost explode by how hard it was beating against his chest. What's missing though was a bouquet of roses and a lace veil. This is vexing...

"So what do you think?" You asked, now incredibly self-conscious because of how he was staring at you.

Again, Jihoon was quiet as he glanced at you, yet allowed a sigh to escape before he stood up from where he was sitting. Approaching the coffee table, he picked up a lacquered box and went back to where you were standing.

As he opened the box, you caught a glimpse of a necklace adorned with diamonds, garnets and rubies, sparkling earnestly. Handing the box to one of the attendants, Jihoon held out the necklace to you and wrapped it around your neck.

The close proximity made your heart race for a bit as you unintentionally took a whiff of his cologne. Aware of your reaction, you averted your gaze elsewhere in embarrassment. You were brought back to the present when Jihoon finally took a step back and you felt the weight of the necklace on your skin. 

"Oh...wow, this…" you began yet cannot finish.

"It's a family heirloom so take care of it." Then in a rather unexpected turn, Jihoon smiled at you warmly, making your heart race even further. "It suits you quite well."

Unable to contain it any longer, your lips broke out a wide grin. "I suppose this is a loan then." 

In a rather good mood, Jihoon took your hand in his. "How about we practice our dance? Surely, we wouldn't want to embarrass ourselves during the First Waltz."

You scoffed. "Despite how I may appear, I am capable of a simple waltz."

"That's reassuring then," he remarked, twirling you around so suddenly that had you gasping.

Back in his arms, the both of you moved back and forth as your feet danced to an imaginary melody. 

You never shied away from his intense gaze, rather, you accepted the challenge and smirked at him. 

"So, my dear sir, please answer this burning question I have in my heart," you mocked him playfully. 

"Why are you talking to me like that?" He furrowed his brows which you found adorable.

"I thought since we are to attend such a high profile event, utter politeness is necessary, even in speech."

Jihoon frowned, unimpressed. "Please stop teasing me. What was your question, by the way?" 

Chuckling, you replied, "What are you planning, Lee Jihoon?"

Even though you were still smiling, the atmosphere suddenly turned tense. Lee Jihoon can flatter you with pretty dresses and beautiful diamond necklaces yet you never cared much for them in the first place. To you, his actions were suspicious and it didn't help that he was a rather mysterious person. 

"Planning? Pardon me yet I do not know what you are pertaining to," he replied, as calm as you were. 

"What are you planning by choosing me as your partner? You could have made Wonwoo bargain a million other things, yet you chose me."

This time, it was Jihoon's turn to smirk. 

"I was simply confirming a few hunches, though that does not mean I will divulge them to you." 

This bastard…

You felt a sweatdrop trickle down your cheek as you grit your teeth. "I am not your toy." 

"I wouldn't dream of treating you as such," he grinned at you, "More than anything, you are quite important to me."

"I'd rather wish not to be involved in your political ploys," you seethed. 

He arched a brow at you. "Why would I? You are a mere alchemist's daughter whose political power is the same as the next person." 

You knew where this was going. You spoke no word as you tried to control your expression; not allowing him to see it in your face.

Jihoon smirked, his words hanging on the air.

"Unless, you have more than you let on?" 

*

One week later

The Grand Royal Ball, The Crystal Palace

You kept a tight smile.

The tip of your nose was itching, your skin unused to the makeup covering your face. Superficiality lingered and clung to every corner of the palace from its golden ornaments and marble balustrades to the couples ahead of you, marching their way towards the ballroom for the much awaited First Waltz.Yet you have to smile on. 

Welcome to the Grand Royal Ball!

Beside you was Lee Jihoon, dressed in an attire reserved for high-ranking officials and a sash which proudly broadcasts that he was someone you wouldn't want to mess with. You, on the other hand, wore the gown and the necklace you had tried on a week before, with hair coiffed to perfection and silk gloves which hid the markings on your wrist.

Only the most prominent, the highest  of the high were invited to dance during  the First Waltz.  From billionaire philanthropists and award-winning researchers to  powerful politicians like Lee Jihoon, they all  provide a sense of  prestige to the whole event. This is when the ball catches so much attention after all. 

Lining up uniformly, everyone participating curtsied before the reigning monarch as was the custom, and the music began playing. Facing Jihoon, you gave him a rather mocking smile as you placed your hand on his shoulder and the other on his hand. 

Without a word, everyone began dancing. 

As you stepped across the ballroom, you allowed your mind to slip away from reality; the face of Lee Jihoon reminding you why you were putting up with this sort of pompous absurdity in the first place.

A few days ago… 

You groaned in frustration. 

"I swear, Lee Jihoon is the most irritating man I've ever met in my entire life!" 

"Let's wait for him to fall asleep and beat him up, Y/N!" Soonyoung, who was happily lazing on the grass exclaimed.

"Come on, then! He's already asleep at this hour!" You responded, quite eagerly.

Simply sighing at your shenanigans, Wonwoo closed the book he was reading. 

"Don't listen to him, Y/N. He's drunk," he remarked. 

"But I haven't been drinking!!" 

The other man simply looked at him with a jaded look on his face. 

"You're always drunk even without drinking anything," Wonwoo quietly retorted. "Anyway, Y/N…"

Sitting back down on the grass, you turned to him. It was already past midnight yet the three of you decided to hold a meeting at a long forgotten grove behind the dormitories, usually used by overly-zealous couples for their own pleasure.

"It's true that Jihoon can be cunning if he wants to, yet it's not like we can't do the same as well," he continued, "There's a reason why I had no reservations in bargaining you."

"That doesn't sound too comforting, you know?" 

"As I was saying, Lee Jihoon can be cunning. He can't be trusted to stay at the venue while we are in that meeting. That is precisely why we have to get him out of the venue as soon as possible." 

You nodded. It was the same reason why it wasn't you who was leading this investigation. 

"So my job is to have him stay away from the palace while you and Soonyoung are in the meeting. Alright, I understand."

Wonwoo sighed. "Y/N, I'm not doing this because I think your skills are inadequate, but because we need to play by the rules. If things fail and our cover is blown, Soonyoung and I already have tainted names that another case wouldn't matter much. I can't have you dirty your own name." 

Looking down, you understood where he was coming from. It really wasn't an issue of who's weaker or who's stronger. It was an issue of who's richer and more influential. Wonwoo and Soonyoung, because of their wealth and power, were able to establish their own newspaper company with relative ease. And with that same wealth and power, if anything does happen, the repercussions they have to face and its lasting effects wouldn't be as heavy as an ordinary person would experience. Such is the gift of privilege. 

"I know. I understand." 

◇

You knew, as soon as the dance ended, people would flock around Lee Jihoon, all wanting a piece of that power and influence. 

That is why, when you had the chance, you slipped away from his side and went straight to the buffet tables. If you were going to attend a grand ball, might as well stuff yourself with food. 

That veal over there looks scrumptious!! 

Filling your plate to the brim, you scoured all over the buffet, finding food you have never dreamed of tasting. 

"Y/N! We finally found you, for god's sake! We thought something happened to you!" A familiar voice exclaimed, making you look up from the plate you were feasting on, as you sat on a bench at the side. 

"Ah, Soonyoung, Wonwoo! I didn't see you guys at the dance!" You replied, piercing a turkey leg with your fork. 

"Well, that's because we weren't invited to the dance. Our parents are though, since they are the VIPs," Wonwoo explained.

You hummed. "I see. Well, so far this ball has delicious food. Other than that, it's quite boring. I don't know half these people, and they've been looking at me since a while ago."

Like he always is, Soonyoung embraced you from behind, wrapping his arms around your neck with a cheeky green. 

"Your date is quite popular, you know? It's only natural for people to be curious as to the identity of his chosen date," he remarked, taking a bite of meat from your fork. 

"You're making it sound so romantic," you spat with disdain.

Soonyoung grinned. "Come on, don't you feel anything for our resident politician? You two were dancing so nicely earlier, you know."  

You clicked your tongue. "He's suspicious of me. I think he has a hunch that I'm Alex Fireflower." 

"This is why the Soulmate Bond hasn't visited you yet! You're always so serious! You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life! You can't be young forever!"

"I think Soonyoung has a point here though," Wonwoo suddenly interjected, now with a mischievous smile. "Dating Lee Jihoon could open various opportunities of information gathering. Moreover, you can monitor him more closely than ever before." 

"Oh god, not you too. Isn't it enough that we're roommates?" You complained, sighing.

"No, no! That's not going to cut it, Y/N!" Soonyoung exclaimed, "You have to get inside his room!" 

Glaring at him, you hissed harshly. "I will not enter his room! And I will never date him!"

"Has no one ever told you to avoid using 'never', especially when there is a chance that you will be eating your own words in the near future?" 

A new voice suddenly interrupted your banter as the three of you glanced at the newcomer with a variety of expressions.

In his calm yet intimidating aura, Lee Jihoon stood before you three, waiting for a response. Of course, with a glass of wine in his hands. 

"Has no one ever told you that it's not good manners to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" You retorted back. 

With arched brows, Jihoon approached you and glanced at Soonyoung who eventually retreated away from you and back to Wonwoo's side with a nervous look on his face.

"It's hardly eavesdropping when I can hear you three screaming from the other side of the room."

At this comment, the three of you looked away in shame, unable to say anything to refute Jihoon.

"If there is nothing else, may I borrow my date for a while?" He then spoke, reaching for your hand while looking at Wonwoo and Soonyoung. 

Grinning, the two easily offered you. 

"Please do, Jihoon (before we turn into mincemeat)."

"Oh of course, please enjoy the rest of the night!"

You grit your teeth and glared at them, annoyed that you weren't able to finish your meal, much less bring anything with you back home. 

Traitors! I'll come back for you two after this!

As Jihoon swept you away from the buffet tables and towards the deserted balcony, you suddenly began to worry about what he was up to.

While dark and cool, the balcony was a pleasant place to escape to especially from a crowd of prying eyes. The crawling rose vines and the tall hedges concealed the area enough so that it was difficult to discern who was who in the balcony. 

"What is it that you want from me?" You finally asked, standing face to face. 

For a moment, Jihoon simply gazed at you before shrugging. "I just thought that since we are already here, we might as well enjoy a dance together. I am not one unkind enough to refuse dancing with my own date."

Arching a brow, you blinked several times, totally suspicious of his intentions. You sighed.

"And here I thought the thirty minute waltz from earlier would suffice," tartly, that was how you replied. 

Jihoon snorted, the first one you have seen. 

"That was simply a mere performance, one that is born out of tradition and formality. This time, I wish to dance with you at our own pace."

Still suspicious, yet nonetheless resigned, you hummed in agreement and took a step forward, towards him. 

Without warning, you snatched the wine glass from his grasps and drank everything in one gulp before discarding it on the balustrade's edge, earning a confused look on Jihoon's face.

"Now then, shall we begin?" you replied, reaching for his shoulder and his own hand on yours.

It seemed like for a moment, Jihoon was stunned by how fast your actions were. However, it didn't take him long to come back to his senses and place a hand on your waist.

Gradually, the both of you swung back and forth a millisecond late from the music's beat, simply too absorbed in each other to correct it.

As you gazed into Jihoon's eyes, you knew you needed that swig of alcohol to survive the whole night. He was as intense as ever; his sharp eyes unreadable, his lips curving into a ghost of a smirk. The grip he had on your waist was firm, sending shivers to your spine. 

You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life!

Dating Lee Jihoon could open various opportunities...

You mentally shook those thoughts away. This wasn't the right time to think about those things.

"I've changed my mind, you know?" Jihoon finally spoke, his voice pulling you away from your reverie. 

"About what?" You asked, your hand warm on his. 

"I want to know you better. I know when we first met, I didn't want anything to do with you, but for some reason, my sentiments have changed over time."

Flustered at the sudden confession, you were only able to say one thing, "Why?" 

"Why…? Why indeed," he made a soft smile at this, as if he knew something that was totally lost to you. "Maybe if I get to know you more, I might arrive at an answer." 

You looked away, unable to face his earnest eyes. There was a feeling in you that knows he was being honest, yet you still couldn't help but feel suspicious. Why is he suddenly springing this up on me? Why does he want to know me? What is he planning? Who exactly is Lee Jihoon? 

You also didn't know the answer to those questions. But maybe, just maybe, you would understand if you just let him in. 

You need to loosen up and have a bit of romance in your life!

God damn it, Soonyoung!

"If that is the case, then feel free to explore, yet that does not mean, the seas are not treacherous," you finally said, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. 

"I wouldn't want anything else."

Grinning back at you, Jihoon leaned forward and placed a small chaste kiss on your forehead, making you look at him with the most stunned expression on your face. 

"I-I...I think I might want to have another drink! J-just stay there! I'll be back!"

As you shouted, you stormed away from the balcony and went straight back to the buffet tables, seeking anything that is liquid, alcoholic or cold to ease the burning on your cheeks. 

"Yes, it seems like I made the right decision with choosing her as my date," he remarked as he watched your retreating figure, smirking to himself.  

By the time you went back, you had already downed a few glasses, and another one on your hand to drink for later. You were tipsy then, as obvious as your flushed cheeks were, and Jihoon had to catch you before you stumbled onto the ground.

"You seemed to have drunk a lot," he remarked as he steadied you on your step.

"...Need it," you muttered, unable to look at him.

"What?"

"Jihoon…" purring, you clung to his lapel with a giggle, your face simply inches away from his. "You...you look quite handsome…have I told you that?" 

With a smirk, you inched closer to him; lips almost brushing against each other. That is, until he turned his head and pushed you away.

"It's late...we should head home."

 His ears were red though.

◇

The school was silent during the dead hours of the night. Students were either prohibited by their curfews or too busy studying to bother with fooling around. Only the soft rustling of wisteria and cherry blossom flowers and the loud ramblings of a drunkard could be heard across the courtyard. 

"Jihoonie~ come on now…don't touch me there," you teased between giggles as he carried you behind his back. 

"Please don't be too loud…"

"I'm not loud! In fact, I'm quite soft spoken~"

"What did I get myself into…?"

You were definitely heavy; and with the weight of the whole dress, Jihoon was already wheezing when he opened the door to your shared dormitory and carried you to your own bed. 

Gently laying you down, Jihoon spent a few moments gazing at you who was smiling at him carelessly. 

"Oh my…" a giggle, "are you going to confess your undying love to me now…?" You asked, making him grin at you. 

"Would you believe me if I did?" Jihoon responded, slowly reaching for your wrist wrapped in a silk and lace glove. 

"Of course not," you smirked. "You're Lee Jihoon." 

Upon your words, he made a small smile, yet it had hinted some sort of deeper sadness. Lifting your hand up, Jihoon kissed the inside of your wrist. 

"Of course."

CHAP 1 | CHAP 2 | CHAP 3 | CHAP 4 |  CHAP 5 | CHAP 6 |

*

A/N: Hii!! This is Hyeri again!! No new chapters for next week (instead some Jihoon smut, if you like those sksksk) Hopefully, after that week, regular updates on this fic will continue! (maybe punctuated by some Wonwoo smut;;; Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter!!! Thank you so much!!

-Hyeri

[lovelylogans]

Personally, I would LOVE to know your gilmore girls opinions

i’m gonna talk about my opinions on rory’s love interests bc they have Developed given my rewatch, bls blacklist the tag “annalise talks gilmore girls” if u don’t want any of this gilmore girls Contente

okay SO when i first watched the show, i watched s1/part of s2 with my mom, like. oh god. oh god like six years ago. oh god i’m old

anYWAY i watched s3 in bits and pieces, and most of my other knowledge was gleaned from, like, internet, until i started writing wyliwf and i started delving deep back into gilmore girls content. i focused primarily on s1, w a bit of emphasis on s5 bc the writing of drama/fights in s5 is Chef’s Kiss, and i wanted to steal incorporate those lines into the later chapters of wyliwf. so far, i have seen s1-s5 of gg, and read scripts of some key episodes of s6/s7. SO.

on my first watch, i really liked rory’s character and related to her a lot, bc early season rory felt a lot like high school me—quiet, bookish, focusing on journalism at school, in a school that Prized academic achievement and was Very Competitive in that sense, but that’s a whole other rant—so i liked her a lot. and then you start looking at later seasons, and hoo boy, my opinion of rory nosedives.

like, she’s pretty naive and innocent in s1-s3, that’s part of her whole character charm, right? she’s a sweet kid and she works to contrast lorelai, esp in scenes w richard and emily. however. HOW. EV. ER.

in s4 she gets to college, right? and her character just. PHEW. P H E W. her and dean and her sleeping with him in the s4 finale when she knows FULL WELL that he is M A R R I E D to someone else and attempts to dignify it with “he’s my dean!” like WHAT. WHAT!!!!!!!! lorelai is correct! he is LINDSEY’S dean!!! lindsey was a perfectly sweet girl who did NOTHING to rory other than help her buy something on a field trip! like yeah she was concerned about money and sure if she was that concerned she should have gotten a job, but dean hardly even WANTED to go to college in the first place, but this is a whole other rant!!!

so like dean, i think, was a decent first love for rory, though i dislike that when jess was introduced they worked to dumb him down when he was shown in s1 to attempt to read the books that rory wanted him to read, but i digress. dean was good in those early seasons, he did not deserve to be dragged on by rory when she was crushing on jess, HOWEVER he is a dick for dumping her in front of the whole town and then later on in front of her yale friends (dumping her in public TWICE like BRO????)

and then we get to jess.

i think jess’ character arc is a good one; bad boy eventually caring for others and taking responsibility and growing up a bit. however.

i think he has a good character arc; i am not team jess when it comes to rory. jess DESERVES BETTER, especially later seasons jess!!!! jess deserves to, like, get someone who is equally into his new york hipster scene, and to get a cool little apartment, and just! someone who fits him better! rory and jess Do Not Fit! you’re telling me that s6 rory, yale girl rory, preppy, frankly spoiled rory, deserves JESS, who has actually put in work to develop himself for the better?? no ma’am!!! no MA’AM!!!!! jess deserves good things!

like his and rory’s relationship worked well for developing them in s2/s3, but like, after that? no! have you SEEN revival rory?????? oh my god revival rory is a whole OTHER RANT, esp from the perspective of a journalist, but like! BRO. BRO. jess deserves better!

which is why, when it comes to rory, though i’m not like “ride-or-die” when it comes to “team x!!!” like some other gilmore girl stans are, like i could probably be persuaded to something else if someone posed a good enough argument, i’m team logan.

i also dislike logan. STICK WITH ME HERE. WALK WITH ME.

as i previously mentioned!!! rory’s character NOSEDIVES!! she sleeps with a married man at the start of s4! who does she meet in s5? LOGAN. 

why was logan not at yale in s4? BUSY SAILING AROUND THE WORLD IN HIS DAD’S YACHT, WHICH HE EVENTUALLY SUNK. logan’s entire character just REEKS of “privileged white male” to me and i find myself VERY unsympathetic to a lot of his character. like oh boo hoo your dad wants you to inherit his MULTI-MILLION-DOLLAR NEWS EMPIRE that is probably GUTTING local journalist teams and putting them all out of work! that must be so HARD for you! oh you got yourself in jail AGAIN but you never enter the system because you are a rich white boy with a powerful family! oh no! your life is so hard! fuck off!!! are you KIDDING ME?!

(....okay maybe some of my hatred of logan is a misdirection considering the companies much like huntzberger’s that exist in real life that do gut local journalism. gatehouse media, gannett, tribune publishing, this slightly outdated but still good john oliver bit on journalism. check it out. support your local paper, if you have the financial means.)

logan embodies a lot of the yale privilege that also is a strong part of the society that produces the classism of emily and richard; their families are good friends, and yet, his family says that rory’s family isn’t good enough. let me repeat that. the gilmores. are not good enough. for the huntzbergers. someone estimated the gilmore net worth to be approximately upward of fifty million dollars.

think about that privilege.

and now look at rory; rory, who in the later seasons begins the transition that was originally started at chilton. she joins the dar. in s6 during her dropout period, she basically becomes a miniature emily. in the revival, she walks into a job interview and has no ideas prepared. she complains about being broke and not having a job, despite living alone in an apartment in new york and being offered a job by chilton as long as she got her masters that she turns down, along with the trust fund set up by lorelai the first and, doubtless, the money richard left her when he died. 

during the revival, rory and logan are still together. despite the fact that logan and rory are both cheating on serious partners; logan, with his fiancée, and rory, with her “forgettable” boyfriend of two years (paul, though boring, also deserves better, like holy shit, could you imagine your girlfriend of TWO YEARS consistently forgetting about you and keep meaning to break up with you but she keeps forgetting????????)

they have a similar flippant attitude toward their work, they have similar attitudes toward their romantic partners, they both tend to think of themselves highly due to their family (”my ancestors came over on the mayflower!” rory says hotly as she’s complaining to logan about his family not seeing her as good enough.) logan makes strident romantic gestures that are, frankly, easy to do when he has that much money to toss around. 

rory’s character, as it stood in the revival (which granted i have not watched in full, but i have read reviews and scripts), and logan’s character deserve each other. not dean (who made mistakes, but who is apparently happy now with three daughters and another child on the way) not jess (who is a novelist and cares about his family and DESERVES BETTER) or marty (marty is kind of “boo hoo friendzone :( guy” for me anyway but he does have his merits) but logan. logan and rory deserve each other.

[everydayanth]

Oh man, speed machines done pissed me off.

Okay, here’s the thing, and it will continue to be a thing until we all collectively understand and come to an agreement of the concept. 

Ready? Here goes:

LAW ENFORCEMENT IS NOT CRIME PREVENTION!

Crime prevention is problematic in every way. It requires profiling and assumptions based on no deductive logical evidence (because if there IS evidence, then it’s law enforcement). Law enforcement can rely on the proving of a wrong that has happened to make it right through inductive and deductive reasoning (to enforce the law once it has been broken), but to prevent a crime, some humans have to have more rights than others in order to assume where and when crime will happen.

The ONLY way to prevent crime is through deterrence and discretion. This means making crime more difficult to accomplish, like not leaving valuables in your car, lighting up high-risk areas, or carrying pepper spray. IT DOES NOT MEAN SPRAYING EVERY SHADOW UNDER THE ASSUMPTION THAT IT WILL HURT YOU!

So, how does this get around to speed machines? 

Well, having lived in 6 states over the past 6 years (moving for work), I have seen what feels like every possible social response to them from passivity to aggression. Speed machines lack the ability to differentiate discretion. They set a dangerous precedent for blurring the line between law enforcement and crime prevention. 

Cops driving on the highway are a form of deterrence. People see them and slow down. It would be a woeful day were we to assume all law is black and white. Sure, structuralism is easy, but so is anarchy, and a rounded society needs to understand the balance of those two extremes to find a functional middle, especially a globalized society with people from hundreds of different cultures or backgrounds that fall on different sides of that spectrum.

Speed machines cannot tell the difference between speed of traffic or surrounding orders. They do not know when an ambulance is beeping for you to speed up and get out of the way or when the rigid rules of the road are “broken” for the safety and wellbeing of others to follow the flow of traffic or avoid an accident. It only knows three numbers: the set limit, the exception limit, and the ticketed limit. 

Sure, you can fight it. But here’s the trick. Here’s why they are unlawful and illogical and a dangerous precedent. You can fight the ticket, explain the circumstance if you have any evidence. Maybe you get rid of it and win. But to do that, you have to be in court at 8am (courts which are currently closed, BTW), you probably have no solid evidence, and in the end, it’s a citation, not a ticket, and your violation fee is $50. You’re going to pay to be done with the whole circumstance and move on with your life without a second thought. The state or city make the money and the cycle continues.

Data gathering is nice. Having electronics that can enforce speed limits seems like it should be innocently a good idea: well, don’t break the speed limit laws, easy peasy. But to live in a society that rigid and structural, you lose functionality. Fine, I won’t break the speed limit laws, and you might die in the ambulance I can’t get out of the way for. We have to understand exceptions, we have to be aware of discretion and the importance of community awareness and understanding, and that comes from people, local trusted people.

 California collected something like 1 billion dollars in speed traps (which we fell for a while ago, speed limit of the HIGHWAY suddenly went from 60 to 25 within less than an eighth mile and down a large hill with no posted reduce speed signs, cop was waiting at the bottom right at the 25mph sign, both hidden by an overgrown bush, said it was a tourist area, ticketed us $350, I was so pissed. Googling it later, I found that the DA was charging that city for its ridiculously high fines, and citizens were fighting back because tourism dropped so drastically in the area, hard not to feel vindicated). 

It always reminds me of a thing I read about how some downtown area made parking downtown illegal, maybe it was NYC or Boston, I don’t remember, but the rich people kept parking there and a girl pointed it out to her friend as he parked and he just said “it’s only illegal if you can’t afford the fines.” 

Maybe I’m just a control freak. I’m not a speeder, I’ve never gotten a ticket in my life and I prefer when people follow the rules. But I don’t like undercover civil police (I get investigative), I don’t like speed traps, I don’t like speed machines, and I think it’s because they all fall in that dangerous grey area between law enforcement and crime prevention. The speed machines that blink red and blue if you speed past them but don’t ticket you? That’s deterrence, people see the colors and slow down, but the flash-citation routine is sneaky, and I think it’s wrong. To me it says we civilians recognize law enforcement’s right to monitor us unsupervised and without reason. It says we give them the right to assume crime prevention (THAT’S HOW YOUNG BLACK BOYS GET KILLED!), and it says we are okay with being passive about the discussion among our peers when it comes to the civil questions of freedom, law enforcement, and what we expect of each other in society. 

I know it was kind of a discussion around stop-light cameras, and perhaps this is hypocritical, but we as a society have determined that red lights mean stop, no exceptions. NOT stopping is a risk to others. Therefore, stop-light cameras that are programmed with discretion (as in not ticketing at late-yellow or early red), are different because they are enforcing a broken law? But the more I think about it, the more I think those are wrong too. They don’t know discretion, they don’t know when other problems are happening, and they are surveying tools. So yeah, actually, thinking about it, I don’t like them either. 

Crime prevention may seem good, but when we look at what it actually costs us and the assumptions we must make to achieve it, the dirty tricks, and who pays for it or makes money off it, suddenly it’s a lot more dirty looking. I worked in loss prevention at a big department store for a minute and it was one of the worst experiences. There’s a reason that it’s private store personnel who deal with it, because most of the assumptions are based on nothing, the tactics of accusation and confrontation are not lawful, and any self-respecting law-enforcement officer would be appalled at the circumstantial evidence.

If we want more law-enforcement, we have to rebuild that part of our society as a trusted and desirable profession, not replace it with tools that could be used for other things. Like, I understand how CCTV can be really good, and how it could compromise individuals. I’m not scared of being observed, I mean, privacy and identity, sure, but that’s a whole ‘nother conversation probably. I’m still learning about that one. 

They removed the speed machines in several cities we’ve lived in because of that exact problem - questioning the limit of law enforcement’s power to monitor or field assumptions without proper evidence, or accuse of a crime without proper public identification. Statistically, they didn’t actually slow traffic, they simply made the city/state more money. But we live in a changing world, people are scared or entitled, and the citation is only $50. If that feels like an only $50 bucks to you, then you’re not going to fight it, that’s ridiculous. You’re going to rant about it on Tumblr and wonder how this question isn’t a red flag to many others, but then return to your self-quarantine and remember that we have bigger problems. 

There’s my rant. What are your thoughts on speed machines and speed traps and speed cameras and crime prevention vs. deterrence vs. discretion and how technology should or should not play a role in it? Does it do what it’s supposed to in your area? Or is it questionably placed in lower-income areas? Where does the community come in and what are its responsibilities in maintaining social order? How do we utilize technology responsibly as we integrate it into society? Anything, really. I’m exhausted thinking about it, and maybe I’m just angry because of that thing about feeling unfairly provoked, like the psychology of road rage and why we get so mad when people cut us off, because we feel unseen or unnoticed and that is humiliating? I think it was a Malcolm Gladwell podcast. It’s not even my citation, I just jog along the road and see people’s faces as they pass....... Anyway....... I’m going to calm down..... bye.

[erikahenningsen]

My 15 favorite theater experiences of 2019

In no particular order:

1. Choir Boy (Samuel Friedman Theatre, New York, NY): I say in no particular order, but if you know anything about me, you know that Choir Boy is my number-one show of the year. I saw it four times on Broadway and twice in Boston. Tarell Alvin McCraney’s writing is so beautiful, human, and fearless. He puts works of art on stages, television, and film that nobody else does. Jeremy Pope’s performance as Pharus is easily in the top three greatest performances I’ve seen on a Broadway stage. If your local regional theater is doing this show, I cannot encourage you enough to go and see it.

2. What the Constitution Means to Me (Helen Hayes Theater, New York, NY): This show was unlike any other play I’ve seen before. Heidi Schreck, who wrote and starred in WTCMTM, wrote a deeply human, poignant, and timely play about a document written by a bunch of rich, white men a few centuries ago and made it gripping, engaging, and relevant. It’s a show I believe every American should see. As an added bonus, Heidi is genuinely one of the kindest people I’ve met.

3. The Wrong Man (MCC Theater, New York, NY): I saw The Wrong Man for the first time three weeks before it closed, and I immediately fell in love with it and went back several more times in those three weeks. The Wrong Man is only ninety minutes long and has only three main characters, but it presents an engaging story about forgiveness, mercy, justice, guilt, and innocence. Ross Golan, the composer/lyricist, began performing The Wrong Man as a concept album thirteen years ago and turned it into a full musical. The score is beautiful and has some really great bops, and the choreography is probably the best I’ve ever seen.

4. Waitress with Sara Bareilles and Gavin Creel (Brooks Atkinson Theatre, New York, NY): I’m personally not the biggest fan of Waitress, but this was one of the most fun nights I had in a theater this year. Sara and Gavin had amazing chemistry, and I have never laughed so much at Waitress before. 

5. A Strange Loop (Playwrights Horizons, New York, NY): A Strange Loop is unlike any show I’ve ever seen before. It’s unlike anything anyone has seen before. How many shows center around a fat, black, queer character? I can’t think of any. Michael R. Jackson, the book writer/composer/lyricist, has an incredible ability to write satire that has you laughing at the same time you’re being punched in the face emotionally. A Strange Loop grapples with the intersections of racism, homophobia, and fatphobia. It’s meta at the same time it’s grounded, and gets more and more intense as the show progresses. I walked out of the theater in a daze after I saw it. My fingers are crossed it comes to Broadway.

5. Mean Girls, Taylor Louderman’s last show (August Wilson Theatre, New York, NY): Going to Mean Girls is a routine thing for me, and I’ve seen the show dozens of times, but every once in awhile something special happens that reignites my love for this show. Taylor’s last show was obviously incredibly sad for me, the cast, and everyone who loves this show, but I also laughed more and harder on this evening than I have in a very long time at Mean Girls. Everyone, especially Taylor, was giving this performance their all, and I’ll never forget it.

6. The Secret Life of Bees (Atlantic Theater Company, New York, NY): I had suspicions I was really going to love this show before I saw it, but I absolutely fell in love with it. The music is gorgeous (thank you, Duncan Sheik), the performances are stellar, and the story, though set decades ago, is as timely and relevant as ever. I do cry at shows pretty often, but rarely do I tear up because of how overwhelmingly beautiful a show is—but I did that at Secret Life of Bees. I’m still impatiently waiting on that Broadway transfer announcement.

7. Beetlejuice (Winter Garden Theatre, New York, NY): Despite all its flaws, I love this crazy, loud, obnoxious, wild show so much. I had seen it in DC and counted down the days until first preview on Broadway. I rushed first preview and ended up with front-row tickets, and I had one of the most fun nights in a theater I’ve ever had. The performances really make the show, and I’ve been very vocal about how I strongly believe Leslie Kritzer was snubbed by the Tonys. Beetlejuice also has my favorite scenic design for any show. I also have a uniquely personal connection to this showL Beetlejuice used to have a joke in the show I felt was offensive, so I reached out to Eddie Perfect and Alex Timbers and explained to them why I was hurt by it, and they actually listened to my feedback and removed the joke. I’m hoping Beetlejuice can find another home after June, because I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.

8. Next to Normal (Ground Floor Theatre/Deaf Austin Theatre, Austin, TX): For years I had been wanting an ASL production of Next to Normal with Sandra Mae Frank as Natalie, so when it actually happened I knew I had to fly to Texas to see it. I don’t think I’ve ever cried more at a show. Sandy made me look at Natalie in a whole new way, and the ASL interpretations of the lyrics added so many new layers to the show. Megg Rose, the Deaf actor who played Diana, gave one of the best performances I’ve seen, and I want her to be on Broadway immediately. This production really was a dream come true for me. 

9. Six (Chicago Shakespeare Theater, Chicago, IL): We drove to Chicago from NYC to see Six, and it was definitely worth it. I was in the front row for the first time I saw it, which was a terrifying but incredibly fun experience. This cast is so incredibly talented, and the show is so much fun, and being there with almost all of my closest friends was such a memorable experience. I’m so excited to see it again when it comes to Broadway.

10. Little Shop of Horrors (Westside Theatre, New York, NY): This was my first experience seeing LSOH, and I had an absolute blast. The performances were incredible, with Christian Borle being just off-the-wall crazy. I haven’t laughed that much at a show in awhile. The Audrey II puppets are fantastic, and what they’ve done with the scenic design in such a small space is amazing. I’m excited to see it again with Gideon Glick.

11. Indecent (Huntington Theatre Company, Boston, MA): Indecent is and always will be my favorite play, and I’m so incredibly grateful I got to see it again in Boston. Huntington recreated the Broadway production with many of the original cast members, and it was such a special show. I never thought I’d see that production again live, and Huntington gave me such an incredible gift with this play. 

12. Freestyle Love Supreme (Booth Theatre, New York, NY): FLS is just fun from start to finish. It’s completely improvised with special unannounced guests every night, so it’s different every time you see it. I loved seeing how they made the show more inclusive between Off-Broadway and Broadway (by asking people their pronouns, for example), and I have a blast every time. 

13. Ain’t Too Proud - The Life and Times of the Temptations (Imperial Theatre, New York, NY): I saw Ain’t Too Proud mostly for Jeremy Pope, and I was so pleasantly surprised by how much I genuinely loved the show. Derrick Baskin is one of the most hardworking performers on Broadway—he literally does not leave the stage. The choreography is so much fun, and each person in the cast is so incredibly talented. It’s also one of the most pleasant stage doors I’ve ever experienced; everyone at the stage door just really genuinely wants to congratulate and thank the performers, and the actors are so kind. 

14. Teeth (National Alliance for Musical Theatre Festival, New York, NY): It’s wild even to me that I’m putting a staged partial reading on this list, but that’s how good Teeth was. I spent the entire time laughing, and the songs are constantly stuck in my head. Everyone at the festival was talking about how much they loved the show, so I’m hopeful there will be a full production of it sometime soon.

15. Slave Play (John Golden Theatre, New York, NY): It’s hard to talk about Slave Play because it transcends descriptors like “good” or “bad.” Slave Play is important. It’s complex. It’s necessarily provocative. And it’s shaken up Broadway like no show has in recent memory. It’s a show I think every American adult should see. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw it. It only runs for a couple more weeks, and if you haven’t seen it, you need to. 

[clevernewdimension]

Not Alone (M)

It’s illegal for hospitals to help those during the Purge. All emergency services shut down. No ambulances will come. No one will answer if you dial 911. No one will save you.

No one except Junmyeon.

He, along with his step brother and his girlfriend, run a pretty well oiled machine by now. They save people in a hospital they run. It’s not an official one, there is only so much they can do, but he will try his damnedest to save everyone. It takes a lot to run, which is where the Triade is involved. If Junmyeon fixes up their wounds, even on days when it’s not the Purge, they’ll keep his Hospital running.

So when he gets a call that one of the higher ups in the Triad’s sister is hurt, he does everything he can to save her.

Genre: Action, Gore, and smut.

Word count: 11K

A/N: Trigger warnings for gore, blood, death, attempted rape, animal abuse, animal death. But over all it’s actually kinda cute. The second half, at least.

Junmyeon smiled, feeling arms wrap around his waist. He glanced back, seeing just a firm chest. Sehun, his half brother, always gives Junmyeon hugs, but especially around now. He knows that now is especially stressful for Junmyeon. The doctor smiles, “About time you showed up. Can you help me check and see if I have enough supplies? Rubbing alcohol, wire, needles and such?”

“She’s already on it,” Sehun says, holding him as he watches Junmyeon cut open a box with packs of sterile scalpels and other surgical supplies should he need it. Years ago Sehun and Kyungsoo helped him turn the basement into an emergency operating room. A lot of aprons and, if those run out, a pack of trash bags to rip hole into an wear. A lot of the supplies gotten here though illegal means, thanks to a friend of Kyungsoo’s, Yixing.

He doesn’t really care for Yixing, but at least he’s some Mafia Don who only hurts people who deserves it. Pedophiles, murderers, abusers, and those who steal from the poor to give to the rich are his gang’s targets. What Junmyeon doesn’t like is the drug and weapon smuggling, but he supposes he can ignore those since Yixing actually helps people who need it in this town, especially with blackmailing political powerhouses. However, the NFFA still seems untouchable, even for someone as powerful as Yixing.

Junmyeon is a friend of the gang. Because of that, he had to get a tattoo of their symbol, the phoenix. Under it is a barcode, which is pretty weird, but those in his gang can just scan it and see that he’s not only a certified friend of the gang, but a personal one to Yixing. In return he has to patch up a few of his men from time to time. Easy enough if it mean he can help people on Purge night.

He looks at Sehun, remembering what his younger brother said. Junmyeon smiled, hearing him say that. Last year after that asshole came back to Sehun, he was worried. Sehun likes to keep people at a distance after something bad happens. It took him ages to break though his shell the first time. Thankfully he’s not that hard now if you know him. He’s extremely happy that he and his best friend have finally gotten together. They’re adorable, even when they’re trying not to be. Both of them too cool and super edgy, Junmyeon likes to joke they’re still not over their middle school emo phases.

Junmyeon sighs, feeling his back hurt. All the stress makes him so tense this time of year. Thankfully he has a vacation planned after, some time away from everything and everyone to just be on a beach and do nothing. Granted he still has the week here to check up on patients, attend the funerals for people he unfortunately can’t save, things of that nature. Took Sehun ages to convince him to take it, but now the more he thinks about it the more he realizes he needed it.

He looks over, seeing the news on. People from other countries coming to try and kill others for fun makes him angry. It’s funny, he thinks, that people like to pretend that humans are not animals when there are so many of them who act like it by letting go of their rational mind and return to a primal sense of existing.

Seeing the people smile and laugh on the tv talking about killing people made Junmyeon extremely angry.

I feel the dread in my gut as I lock the metal door of my store. I look, seeing the inside of my small ice cream shop. Four tables, a small bar with three seats and 18 different handmade flavors to choose from, three seasonal that rotate through the year. I reach up, jumping to grab onto the metal barrier. My sister and her… friends, installed it. She and I are not alike in the slightest. Twins, but we look nothing alike. She has tattoos and piercings and works for the local Triade. She flunked out of high school and joined a gang immediately. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll are three of her favorite things and she’d rather burn out than fade away.

Meanwhile, I own an ice cream shop, have a culinary degree with a minor in business and the only piercings I have are my ears and the only tattoo I actually wanted is a small crown in the shape of my best friends necklace that she would wear growing up. Got it when she died a few years ago. She was the co-owner. I made the ice cream and she kept track of finances and things.

We couldn’t be any different, my sister and I. She made me get the dumb phoenix tattoo with the stupid bar code, saying it was just in case things happen. It was fairly small on my side, thankfully easily hidden. She’s protective. Strong and abrasive. I’m timid, soft spoken and quiet. She’d break the rules and I’d follow them.

I turn, looking at the clock. Purge night begins soon, and my sister told me she’d have a few of her friend make sure no one goes after my shop. It’s the least she could do for me, really. Years of stealing from me to get money for who knows what. But I still love her, and she appears to be a lot calmer now.

When the siren blared, I was hiding in my house. I never slept this night, taking the day after off in order to do so. All lights and everything off, making it look like I’m not home. Every year it’s like this. Waiting for the blood to stop flowing through the streets and the screams of terror to be silenced. Every gun shot, I flinch, every thump, I want to whimper. I’m scared. Fear is the enemy of me. I’m not brave. I’m a coward. It’s just something I’ve come to accept.

A few hours in, the hell outside was getting worse and worse. One glance outside showed me all the things I would have nightmares about. Inside it was different. Everything was still, I even turned the heat off as I was wrapped into a blanket in bed. All was still in my apartment. It was quiet. The terror outside but here nothing made a noise. It was unnerving. I was use to a little noise almost constantly, from Stela… the bell on her collar.

I feel my blood run cold. I move from my blanket, my feet touching the cold ground as I peak my head out my bedroom door. It was dark, but the light from the fires lit up the view of my front door.

I put my hand over my mouth, seeing the body of my cat there on the ground in two pieces. I look at the white door, seeing written there in dripping blood just a few words.

YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID YES

The bathroom across from me was opened as I look, seeing him. The man who, for the past ten months has come in and out of my shop asking me to date. When I refused, he then asked for ‘just sex’. I see him in my nightmares and seeing him here, today of all days made me want to scream. I turn towards my room, my hand on the door before he places his foot there, stopping it from closing.

“All you had to do was say yes,” He says, shoving the door open. I fall from the force, before he grabs me, a knife in his hand, blood cleaned. Be puts it to my throat. “Hold your hands out for me, for I swear I will kill you,” He says in my ear, his breath making my skin crawl.

I do as he says, his other hand moving and I see him slap a cuff on one hand, before doing the same to the other. It was tight, as he then shoves me so that I was on the bed.

I look, seeing him just stand there, grinning wildly. “You know, I’m a nice guy. I have a great job. I’ve never been anything but polite to you. I even volunteer at the homeless shelter because I’m just such a nice person. But you’re just like them, huh?” He says, pointing the knife at me. It catches the end of my tank top, as he slowly moves it up. The sound of the cloth cutting making me freeze.

“You’re just like all those sluts who wants guys who are asshole,” He yells, ripping the knife away as the shirt fall open in two pieces. I bit my lip, remembering that I hid the gun my sister bought for me. Every Purge night I put it under my pillow instead of in the closet in a secure safe.

I feel the knife at my mouth, the tip cutting ever so lightly on my cheek. “A whore who says no to men who could be husbands and instead go to clueless boy toys,” He says in my face. Be pulls the knife away, before I feel it at my chest again, slicing my bra in two. He glares up, shaking his head, “Lace?” He scoffs, “Closet slut. It’s a shame, I always dreamed about this. You and me laying down, making love,” He mutters sadly, before pushing my arms up. “Keep them up there,” He growls, “I always imagine it. You and I making love the first time. You being shy, embarrassed that it’s your first time.” He smiles, like thinking of a memory rather than a fantasy.

His hand goes to my throat, tightening. I start to feel light headed, suffocating as I try to breathe. “But you’re really not, right? Innocent. You’re probably like all the rest of them huh? Some bitch whose cunt is so loose from being used up all these years.”

He lets go and I take a deep breath, wanting to say something, but not being able to. I was scared. A rabbit in a world of wolves.

He pushes my shirt and bra to the side, my chest bare to him as his eyes just look at me. He smiles, “But I’m willing to forgive you. For a price.”

He leans down, the blade biting into the skin near my ribs as his teeth bite into the side of one of my breasts. I whine, tears flowing freely as I feel his other hand holding my hips tightly.

I reach, my fingers grabbing the gun. I move, knocking it against his head He falls from the bed as I move, pointing the gun at him quickly. He moved fast, starting to lunge at me before the bang. My hands feeling weird, tingly.

I see him fall, and with it, the view of my stomach. The blade of the knife stabbing, right above my hip. I was shocked, staring at it before I reach, grabbing the phone on my nightstand. I quickly dial my sister, laying back as I try not to pain. I start to feel the hint of the pain now.

“Hey lil sis,” She says, “Listen, I’d love to chat but Yixing has us-”

“I’ve been stabbed,” I mutter, from shock, tears coming to my eyes as the pain before more and more intense. “I-i’m gonna die, please, help me!”

“Where are you,” She says, her voice going from joking to serious in a flash. She’s older. Suppose to be more mature. I guess seven minutes doesn’t make a difference, really.

“Home,” I say, starting to cry as I try to hold back screaming. Bad people would come looking for me if they heard.

“Wait there,” She says. “I have a friend in that part of town, he’ll get you and take you to his brother, the one I told you about? Who runs that makeshift hospital.” She mutters, “But stay with me, ok, Sweet Pea? What happened? Talk to me.”

“That crazy guy,” I muttered, I-I thought he was innocent, but he’s not. He attacked me. He t-tried to rape me! So I… oh god… I shot him.”

“He deserved it,” She says.

He voice started to fade, as I could see the light from the street dancing on my wall, A quick glance and I see the red splatter. My eyes start to drift closed, as I hear someone come into the room.

“I told you, Cunt,” Sehun says, speeding in a car, “This is a favor asked by a member of the Triad. You know they are the ones pretty much keeping Junmyeon’s hospital afloat.”

“They’re just super shady is all,” She says over their radio. This time they have one with a bigger radius. “Besides, forgive me for being worried about you, Bitch.”

“You know the woman who stops by a few days before the Purge and make sure all of the weapons we have are good to go,” He says, as he darts through the people in the streets, not paying attention to them.

“Yeah,” She says, “Tattoos, nose piercing, cusses more than us somehow.”

“Her sister isn’t like her. She’s normal. Innocent. I’ve heard her talk about her sister’s ice cream shop. She’s about as innocent as innocent can get. And she was attacked by a stalker, apparently,” Sehun says, parking as he gets to the building.

“Fuck,” She says, as Sehun hears the radio cut out, but the sound of her shooting something goes off first. “It’s fine,” She muttered quietly. “I’ll try to make sure the path is clear for you. Should be good for now. Come back quick, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m going in.”

Sehun moves, quickly getting to the elevator. He reviews the text. Fifth floor. Second door on the right. The doors open and he sees two people, smiling outside a door at the end of the hall. A body at their feet as they are taking knives and cutting off pieces. Putting them in their mouth. Sehun pulls out a handgun, “If you come near me, I will end you.”

They go back to what they are doing, as he tried the door he needed. Locked. Of course. He kicks the door in, almost sliding to fall on his face. He looks, seeing a body of some animal. He closes the door, looking. The message there makes him feel gross.

He moves, quickly, going to the first door on the left and sees the scene. A man in a crumpled mess, one eye wide and the other gone, probably in the mess along with the brain on the wall. He looks seeing the woman. Her top half bare, shirt and bra hanging from her still as the voice on the phone was screaming.

He sees the knife, cursing. “I’ve got her,” He yells, hoping her sister heard him as he quickly picks her up and takes her with him.

Times like this Sehun feels the most fear. When someone is literally dying and he’s not sure if he can get him to Jun in time. He could hear in his ear that he was being told that Junmyeon was ready, waiting for him with a clean O.R. and her blood type ready to go. If she died now it was all on him. Not to mention he’d have one of Yixing’s three most trusted members of the Triad on his ass.

The ride was fairly smooth. He ran over something that was a lump on the ground, making her yell out a yell of pain. He got there, taking her in his arms as he pushed bast people. “Move,” He yelled, making people get out of his way as he went to the stairs, going to the basement.

Junmyeon glanced over, apron, plastic eye shield and gloves. “Start the morphine drip,” He instructs his O.R. tech. He looks at his brother, “Get the blood. We’ll have to start that soon.”

Sehun nods, moving towards the small mini fridge of blood. “What type,” He asks.

“AB positive,” He says, as he gets a scalpel. He pulls out the knife, the blood coming out faster as he just squirts water in order to look and see what he’s dealing with. “Looks like the large intestine was cut,” He says, moving the magnifier over his face. “I’ll have to stitch it up and then the wound.”

Junmyeon didn’t care of the woman before him was bare. He didn’t ask patient stories before he treats. Just what the wound is. He needs to focus all of his attention on the care he gives. With steady precision he starts. Sehun, in her other arm, starts the blood bag. He was taught this by Junmyeon when it was just a few of them working. He needed someone to do this while he focused on the problem.

It always amazed him seeing his brother work. He made himself busy by picking the lock on the handcuffs, freeing her wrists. Junmyeon focused, looking angry as he always does when he sees people hurt today. It felt like it didn’t take long, and as soon as Junmyeon told him that she was in the clear, he was back out, doing his job.

Junmyeon helped carry her to a cot, placing her there. He places a hand on her forehead, nodding. He take the radio out of his pocket. “Sehun, what’s her story.”

“She’s the sister of that bull looking girl,” He says. “From the Triad.”

“Just because she has a septum doesn’t make her a bull,” A voice chimes in.

“Shut it, Cunt,” Sehun says, “She was… I got there and immediately slipped in blood. Her cat. A message on the door. ‘You should have said yes’. Her sister told me that she’s been having this creep at her shop show up.” He sighs, “They didn’t think it was this crazy, though. Got into her bed room and I see her on her bed, shirt and bra cut open, hands cuffed together, knife in her side and a gun next to her. Her sister on the phone by her ear screaming. The guy… well, he was splattered on the wall.”

Junmyeon shakes his head. He recognized her. The owner of Sweet Pea Ice Creamery. She’d been in from time to time when he allowed himself a little treat. He loved the Earl Grey tea flavor they have, and the Gingerbread one during the winter. She was sweet and nice. Also very beautiful, which is why Junmyeon finds himself going in the shop looking for her from time to time. He can see the resemblance to her sister. She was fairly quiet, and soft spoken.

He frowns, thinking that it’s a disgrace that someone like her was hurt. Someone who does nothing but try to make this place better with a smile and some sweets. A few moments of thought was all he was given before he hears the yell of another emergency. He stands, turning without looking back. It’s his duty.

I winced, waking up. I see to my side my sister, holding one of my hands. Behind her is Yixing, whom I know vaguely. He’s come in for ice cream from time to time. Something about his ‘Baby’s favorite’, raspberry white chocolate. Next to him is a man I don’t know by name, but I remember his face. Earl grey tea, is his go to order. Sometimes he’ll get a small iced coffee too, but not often. They were speaking as I look, seeing my sister look at me as I start to sit up.

“You need to rest,” She says, as I look at her face. All facial piercings are off, but her mascara was running down her face in rivets. It was weird, seeing her so… vulnerable. She hates getting emotional and ‘showing weakness’ as she’d call it. She wipes her face, putting a hand on my cheek. “Sweet Pea, I saw what you did,” She says, looking at me with worry, “It’s ok, you know that, right? He was going to hurt you. I know that your against violence, and I know this will be hard for you, but please don’t feel guilty.” She says, as I see her lip quiver. The hand holding mine tightens, in order to comfort me, “I don’t know how to live without you.”

“I…” I say, my throat feeling dry, “I… my apartment-”

“Someone is cleaning it-” She starts.

I shake my head, feeling tears, “No, I can’t go back there. Don’t make me, please!”

She nods, moving and pressing her lips to my forehead, “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to get a new place. I’ll pull some favors and get you moved out so you don’t have to go back. I’ll bury Stela in the botanical gardens so she can be close to the butterflies she loves to chase at the windows,” She says, looking at me. “I swear.”

I nod, looking past her to the two men in the room. They were quiet, seeing us with one another. Yixing nods his head as a greeting. “I’m glad you’re ok,” He says, “I promise you, no matter what, we will make sure to keep you safe every Purge from now on.”

“Thank you,” I say, wiping away my tears. I see another man, a wearing a black shirt and jeans. His hair pushed out of his face and messy. “I know you. You come to my shop. Earl grey tea in a waffle cone,” I say quietly.

He looked shocked, black hair back away from his forehead. His eyes look into mine, before a small smile appears. He nods, “Yeah. It’s my cheat treat. I’m Junmyeon. This is… a safe haven. A little hospital I run for the people who are hurt today.” He says, looking at me. “You seem fine, given the blood loss. Glad you didn’t panic and pull the knife out or else…” He shakes his head. “I’m going to come and see you every day for about a week after, just to make sure you’re healing properly. That being said, not heavy lifting, no crouching, and it would probably be best if you didn’t work, honestly.”

I nod, “I understand. Thank you, Dr. Junmyeon. For saving me.”

He nods, opening his mouth to say something else because I would hear a door slam open.

“Jun! We have a burn victim,” A voice yells.

I see Junmyeon face, for a moment, break. The look of anguish, before it was back to calm and collected. “O.R., Make sure the burn room is free and get someone to completely disinfect it!”

I see someone run past, holding a stretcher. The skin was red, melted and looked like it was liquid. The person passed out, probably from the pain and another person holding the other end.

My sister bring my attention back to her, “Listen to me, I have to go, but I trust Junmyeon. He’s a good man, and that’s damn near impossible to find anymore. I’d trust him with my life… I trust him with you. If you can help, try too. He’s running himself into the ground. Even if it’s just going around and giving other hurt people water, ok? I know you hate feeling useless.” She smiles, looking at me, “We have that in common at least.”

I smile, nodding. “I love you,” I say, holding her hand tightly back.

“I love you too,” She says, nodding.

Once she left, I did what I could to help out. Giving people some small cups of water, talking with people, and comforting those who needed it. I could see the tall man who carried the stretcher look at me, along with Dr. Junmyeon from time to time. It was painful, and I had to take it rather slow, but I liked helping.

I’ve always been a curious person. Sneaking into our fathers study, spying on the neighbors. It’s gotten better as I’ve gotten older, but I still find myself listening in on strangers conversations from time to time. Now, even as I have been stabbed and the guilt of killing someone was weighing on me, I find myself snooping in.

The door open, and I see Dr. Junmyeon kneeling. He was looking at a man, his mouth covered with a mask as he was speaking. I open the door a little bit more, seeing the burned person from earlier.

“Please,” The person cries, “You said it yourself, I will not live past tonight with these burns. This little hospital not having things to treat burns like mine.” I see Dr. Junmyeon’s eyes are tearing up as he was looking at the person. “You’re trying to make me comfortable to pass on, but it’s not helping. It’s so painful… you’ve given me the best pain killer you have and I still feel like I’m being boiled alive.”

“You want me to kill you,” He says, the tears flowing from his eyes.

“I want you to end my suffering,” The man says. “I have no one. All of my family died today. Let me join them, Doctor.”

I see the Dr. Junmyeon pause, wiping his eyes. He nods, “I’m going to put you to sleep first. Then it’ll be peaceful.”

“Thank you,” He says, as I see Junmyeon stand, moving to a small dresser.

“What is your name,” I hear Junmyeon ask, “I… I’m going to make sure you get back and can be buried beside your family.”

“Rodger Felts,” The man says, the voice coming out as a pained whine now.

“I promise, you will not just be forgotten,” He says as he opens the top one, and I see him getting a small tank of gas and a face mask. He places it over the man’s face, turning it.

“I’m sorry,” The Doctor says, “That I couldn’t save you.”

“Son,” The man says, “If you did, I probably would have ended it anyways after seeing what those men did to my little girls.”

I wait, seeing the man slowly fall asleep. I hear a few sniffles, my eyes tearing up as I see him go back to the dresser, getting a shot and a small vial. Soon the needle is in pressed into the vein, the plunger pushed all the way down. The doctor nods, “Rodger, I don’t know if you can hear me, but that will put you into a medically induced coma. It will be peaceful, I swear.”

I watch as he waits, looking at his watch. Probably waiting for the drug to go into effect. I see him carefully take the pillow from under the man’s head. Junmyeon’s face nothing but tears as he presses it down, smothering the man. He held it there, in place, for a minute. Then two. Tears falling from my face. I watch him move the pillow, his hand moving to the man’s neck. From what I could tell, the pulse was gone, and he had moved on. I see Junmyeon shake his head, before turning and throwing the vial that was still in his hand against the wall, letting out a yell of anguish.

A few moments of stillness. He didn’t move before I see him reach for his pocket. “Sehun,” the doctor says, “The man who was burned. He’s gone.”

I wipe my eyes, turning and walking down the hall. Away from it. I hate killing. I can’t do it. Seeing how much it affected him makes me think Junmyeon is the same. But he still did it out of mercy. He, above all, probably hates to see people suffer.

Rodger Felts stayed on my mind all night. More people brought in, more people to help. To comfort. Soon, I could hear the siren. Purge is over. My sister came back for me, hugging me tightly as she moves to help escort me. I see Junmyeon, and the man I learned later on was Sehun. I smiled, “Thank you,” I say, “For saving my life.”

Sehun nods, silent as he looked over at Junmyeon. The doctor smiled, though it didn’t seem real. His eyes held immense sadness. He just nodded, walking away. Sehun went to follow as Junmyeon left the room, but I act this hand.

“I… I saw Junmyeon, with the burned man,” I mutter quietly. “I was going around, helping people the best I could, and I didn’t exactly know where I was. I saw… that man begged him to end his suffering. He did and he was… distraught.” I look to the ground, “I didn’t mean to spy, but I just thought someone close to him should know how upset he was.”

Sehun sighed, shaking his head. “I’m happy you saw, because he would have just held it in for ages if I didn’t know about it.” He looks over to the door he left out of, “He worries me.”

I nod, “Um… well, how about both of you come by my shop. I feel like you both deserve free ice cream for life for what you did for me.”

Sehun laughs, “Sure thing. Not for at least three days, though. When you leave, you rest. Let your employees take the reigns for a bit.”

I nod, seeing my sister turn into the room. She rushes over, hugging me close around my shoulders. “I have you a hotel room for a few days. We got you a new place, better security, and we’re going to start moving your things over tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, holding her as the tears came to my eyes. All the crying I held in for hours came out, shaking and crying as I cling to my sister, the rock in my life and the only person I have.

Junmyeon was exhausted, looking at the completely clean and disinfected O.R. His back resting against the wall, sitting down. Blood didn’t phase him at all. It was part of the job, after all. Death did, however. Anytime someone dies in his care, it hurts. Tonight he lost two. One who died on the table and the one he…

He understands it. The amount of pain, knowing that you’ll die either way, it’s merciful. His last few hours were going to be agonizing. Nothing to dull the pain. The feeling of your skin melting would have never stopped. Even the air hurts it.

He hears the door open, looking and seeing Sehun. The man just walks over, sitting down by Junmyeon. Dirt and blood on him, as he just sighs.

“I hear you had to,” Sehun starts, letting the statement drift off. He places a hand on Junmyeon’s shoulder. “It’s ok, Junmyeon. I know what you’re life after killing someone, be it in self defense or out of mercy. Please don’t let it control you.”

Junmyeon lowered his head, feeling the pent up emotions finally come to light. The sobs start before he could even attempt to stop them, and Sehun has him in a hug quicker than ever. Sehun doesn’t know how much longer Junmyeon can keep this place running. It wears on him for so long after. A deep sadness in his older brother that he hates to see. He’s a good person. He has a good heart. That heart is also very tender, as it turns out.

He just wished that Junmyeon realized he can’t save everyone, no matter how hard he tries.

I sigh, sitting at my shop thinking about my new apartment. It was a little larger than before. The kitchen roomier and the living room that had enough space I could do something like yoga in it if I move the coffee table. All of my pictures and keepsakes are here. My sister took the liberty of picking how new furniture, leaving me a post it on the kitchen counter about owing her some of her favorite chocolate hazelnut ice cream. It’s funny, a new place, better security and with Purge insurance, but cheaper than my old place. Which I didn’t mind at all, honestly.

My sister came by with Doctor Junmyeon the first two days. He looked like he wanted to rip is hair out, but he was still polite and kind. Today he was going to meet me here at the shop. I was still, just monitoring as kids safely come in and get ice cream after school. I would smile at them, watching them count out the change they saved to get their favorite flavor.

The bell dings and I look over, seeing Junmyeon there. He smiles, looking a lot healthier now, but still… worried. “My office,” I ask, looking at him with a smile.

“I don’t think you’d want me to check your wound out here, after all,” He says, nodding.

“I could just, you know… meet you at the hospital,” I say, looking as I take my keys and unlock my office. It was small, a bit cramped to be honest.

“I’m off work,” He says, “Vacation time. Besides, this way it saves you from having to pay more than a hundred dollars each visit, too.”

I nod, lifting my shirt, letting him see the bandage. He has a bag in his hand that he sets on the desk over some of my papers. He takes out a pair of gloves, putting them on. He peels the bandage off, looking at the stitches. “It’s healing nicely. You’ve seem to listen to me about taking things easily. Which is nice, since many people want to ignore a doctor’s advice.”

“Well, you did save my life, so I feel like I owe it to you to at least listen to you,” I say quietly. I watch him as he carefully places another small square of gause, and tapes the sides to my skin, trying not to hurt me. He was concentrating on being extremely gentle.

“Thank you,” I say, as he moves away.

He smiles, looking stressed and tired, “It’s really no problem.”

He goes to turn, as I reach out, “Dr. Junmyeon, wait please,” I say, blushing at my sudden outburst. I wince from the sudden movement, a bit sore as I reached out for him.

“You shouldn’t move too quickly,” He says, looking at me with worry, his eyes scanning to see if I’m alright. Junmyeon turns, looking over at me. He looked curious, but waited.

“I… just wait here a moment please,” I say, moving past him and out my office, our chests brushing awkwardly as I pass by. I really didn’t think that through, as I go into the kitchen and quickly into the freezer. I see a large styrofoam box, a post it note on it in my handwriting saying ‘Do not sell’. I grab it, before moving back towards my office. He had his bag in his hand as he looks back at me. I feel my face flush as I hold the box out. “Earl Grey tea. Three quarts. Please enjoy it!”

He looks surprised, looking back at me. I see him smile, and this time it seemed to actually reach his eyes. He takes it, “I’m… shocked. You didn’t have to do this.” He looks at me, grinning.

“I just… thought that you could use a pick me up after everything. If anyone deserves ice cream, it’s you. What you do for people,” I say, feeling my throat getting tighter from sadness. “People would be just… hopeless without you and what you do every year, apparently. So, you deserve it.” I look away, “Um… if you want some waffle cones for that ice cream, I can make those too. It’ll take a while since we make them fresh to order, but I mean, you know that al-”

“I could always come back again,” He says, “To get some. If that’s ok. I’ll pay for the cones too. I don’t want you going out of business giving me things for free, after all.”

“I order too much anyways,” I say, smiling, “So that employees can gives some free to their loved ones from time to time. I think you deserve a few cones.”

“I’ll be back later today, then,” He says, nodding.

“See you,” I say, nodding as he leaves the office. I feel my face heat up as I cover it. “He’s so handsome,” I mutter to myself, before sitting down and going over payroll for these two weeks.

Junmyeon opens the door to his apartment, smiling a little as the cold box in his hands. He looks, seeing Sehun on his couch, flipping through channels. The younger man looks over, seeing the box. He smirks, “Ice cream, hm? Did you buy it to try to get on her good side.”

“She gave it to me,” He says, putting the bag down and moving to the kitchen. “Earl Grey.”

Sehun smiles, getting up and following his older brother to the kitchen. “I knew I recognized that box. I end up getting some of her rocky road from time to time when the supposed love of my life wants it. Never from her, though. She takes the weekends off usually.” He smirks, watching his brother put the container in his freezer. “Funny, since it’s Saturday. She doesn’t work today, and yet, she was there. Making you ice cream.”

“Just say what you want to say, Sehunnie,” Junmyeon says, looking in his refrigerator for some leftovers to have for lunch.

“You haven’t dated in a while-”

“Oh no,” Junmyeon says, shaking his head. “You know why, I’m too-”

“Too busy, whatever, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” He says. “We’ve heard a lot about her from her sister. She’s kind, smart, and a homebody. Much like you. It wouldn’t hurt to just try.”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes, taking the leftover half of a sub out and peeling the paper away. He bites into it, before moving and sitting down next to Sehun. He cares, and he knows his brother is doing this out of a good place, but it’s still annoying. Sure, he thinks she’s attractive. He has since he stepped into the ice cream shop the first time. He can’t drag yet another person into running this hospital, though. It takes a damn toll for sure.

Sehun just smiles, “Fine. Change of topic. Have you met your new neighbor yet?”

“No,” He says, mouth full of food. “Mrs. Alessi did. Says that she’s very kind and quiet, which is already improved from the last person who lived there. She also said she gave her a small gift. Needless to say Mrs. Alessi is already in love with her.”

Mrs. Alessi, Junmyeon thinks with a smile. An older woman, probably in her seventies. She likes to dote on people, since she’s a widow and her children all live a few cities over, she turns her attention to the people who live on their hall. She makes him a lot of pasta dishes, which is amazing since she immigrated from Italy when she was a small girl. “She apparently tried knocking on my door, but I was gone.”

Sehun had a knowing smirk on his face, but said nothing. A very Sehun like thing to do. He just looks away, “Well, she also talked with the newbie for a bit too. Turns out, single. Maybe you could-”

“Sehun, my love life is nonexistent and will probably be that way forever. Please, leave that subject be,” Junmyeon says, frowning. “You know what will happen.”

Sehun rolls his eyes, “Whatever. Just call me later and tell me how meeting with ‘Sweet Pea’ goes, yeah? Or tell me if your neighbor is hot. The grumpiest tech support manager and I are looking into maybe wanting a threesome with someone.”

“You two are wild,” Junmyeon says, shaking his head.

“She’ll take that as a compliment,” He says with a smile as he heads for the door.

I smile, waving at my employees walking out of the storefront and going home. I stand in front of the machine that looks sort of like a waffle maker, but for very thing ones as I press the stop down, hearing the batter cooking. I hear the door ring and I look up, seeing Junmyeon. “Hey,” I say, “Would you mind flipping the sign to closed?”

“No problem,” He says with a smile, turning it easily. He turns back, “That smells good.”

“Well,” I say, “I know you usually try a few flavor of cones. This one is actually new. Toasted coconut.”

“That sounds amazing,” He says, sitting at the bar in front of the waffle maker.

I nod, “So, Dr. Junmyeon-”

“Just Junmyeon, please,” He says, watching as I lift the top of the cone press. I take it, quickly twisting it while it’s still very hot into the shape. I hold it there nodding.

“Junmyeon, what kind of doctor are you? If you don’t mind me asking, that is,” I mutter, looking away for a moment.

“It’s ok,” He says, resting against his hand, watching me work. “I use to be a brain surgeon, but I see enough awful things in one night a year that I moved to doing plastic surgery.”

“My sister would love that,” I say smiling.

“She wants work done?”

I shrug, starting a new cone as I set the coconut one to cool more, knowing it would completely hold it’s shape. This one was light purple. Lavender. He gets a lavender one quite a bit. “Plastic surgery mean… well I assume you do a fair amount of… well, boob jobs.”

He laughs, nodding, “Well, yeah.”

“My sister would want it just to ever so subtly look at them all day,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“After the first few times, you learn to just shut that part of your brain down,” Junmyeon explains, smiling when I pour the purple batter onto the maker. “Besides, your sister wanted a nose job for a while.”

I nod, “Someone talked her out of it.”

“I did,” He says, with a shake of his head. “She was convinced that she needed it to make it look thinner but if she did that it would make her nose look practically non existent.” He sighs, “She’s a lot like other people I’ve seen. Think something is wrong when it isn’t… but if they insist…”

“I’m shocked,” I say with a laugh, “She’s a stubborn one. The fact you convinced her not to do it is astounding.”

“She’s stunning without any work done,” He say with a shrug. “I told her if something went wrong and she broke her nose or anything like that, then we’ll talk.”

“I’ll take that as a complement,” I say with a smile, “Since we’re twins and all.”

He looks at me, eyes a bit wide. “Oh… well, good. Because you are too.”

I take the lavender cone, twisting and holding it in shape, making sure the bottom of it won’t let any ice cream drip. “Almost done,” I say, nodding, “Just one more vanilla one.”

“Take you time,” He says, “Your sister mentioned about you moving. How did it go?”

“Very well,” I smile, pouring the batter and pressing it closed. “It’s got a gate at the front and everything. I didn’t expect it to be so high, though. But the sights are great. It’s a bit farther away, so I have to take the subway for a bit longer than I use to.”

“You’re riding the subway? While recovering?”

“Am I not suppose to?”

He sighs, “It’ll agitate the area. You should really drive.”

I shrug,” I don’t own a car.”

“Would you like me to drive you home,” He says, looking out and seeing it getting dark.

I nod, “That would be wonderful. Are you sure? I don’t want to invade too much of your day.”

“I’d worry, honestly,” He says, nodding.

“Alright,” I say quietly, “But promise me I’m not taking you away from people that need you or anything, right?”

“You’re not.”

I pack up the cones, handing him the box before I take the money from the register and place it in the safe after counting it. After, I make sure the back door and unloading bay is locked, twisting door knobs and trying to lift the large sheet of metal. After I lock my office, turning out all the lights. Once I get to the front, I just go and lock it up. Tomorrow is the cleaning morning, so I’ll have to remember to look and see if we’re still good on cleaning supplies.

Junmyeon opens the door for me. “Thank you,” I say, locking the front door. With his help I pull down the security cage like door, locking that in place. Thankfully my manager is coming back in town and starting work tomorrow, giving me the day off it I’d want it.

I turn, looking at Junmyeon. His hair starting to fall in his face as he checks his watch. A small breeze blows by, making me smile. The kitchen can get pretty warm, even for an ice cream parlor. He stands beside me, offering me his arm. “I parked a little bit away,” He says, “I like to try to get at least a little bit of walking done.”

I slip my arm into his. “I have a treadmill that I try to get on at least four days a week usually.” I look over, seeing him smiling and looking back at me. I feel a blush creep to my face, having him looking at me so closely. I mentally curse myself for not thinking to put on makeup. Not that it would matter, since he’s seen me at literally the worst I’ve ever looked. “I’ll walk while I watch some t.v. usually. Before dinner. To work up an appetite, you know?”

The walk was quite conversation. Junmyeon told me about liking to sing, read and keep himself healthy. I talked about culinary school, growing up with my sister and how I was on my high school academic decathlon. We were both nerds, apparently, as he was the valedictorian of his class, both high school and college. Makes sense.

We got to a silver BMW, as he take out his keys and unlocks his car. He was kind, making sure I got in without hurting myself before moving to the drivers side.

“So,” He says, turning the music down as he started his car. “Where to?”

“You know that apartment building that’s right next to the financial district,” I mutter, feeling a bit awkward that I live at such a nice play now. “The one with the gate?”

He pauses, before looking at me. Junmyeon just smiles, “Do you happen to life in 712? At Windsor apartments?”

I frown, looking at him. “Yes…”

He just lets out a laughs, resting his forehead on his steering wheel. With a shake of his head, he glances over. Holding out his right hand, he smiles. “Hello 712. I’m Kim Junmyeon, I live in 713.”

I was so stunned I just said the first thing that came to my mind. “Well I suppose the worry of making you go to the opposite side of the city are gone now.”

The laugh that came from him was one of the most stunning things I’ve ever heard. I just smiled, before laughing along with him.

For the last few months, my neighbor and I have become really close friends. When he could take a break from his hectic schedule, we’d go to museums and have dinner together. I’d often run my new ice cream flavors by him and see how he likes them while I wait nervous every time. The ones he didn’t like he would always let me down gently.

We’ve become such good friends that we even have keys to each other’s places. He even gave me a spare key to his car. Sehun is now a permanent fixture in my life too now, as is his lovely girlfriend. She reminds me of my sister with less piercings and gang affiliations. Hell, just last week I went out to a nice dinner with them and Junmyeon only to see, as they walked along the beach behind us after dinner, Sehun propose to her. It was so heartwarming, hearing how happy and excited they were. Junmyeon even teared up at the sight before I suggest we give them some privacy.

I never expected the worst thing to ever happen to me to lead to this. People in my life other than my sister. Something to look forward too other than my business and spending time with my sister. It was a breath of fresh air.

My sister just smiles at me, a spoon in the ice cream I bought her. I was sitting on my couch, facing her as she just wiggles her eyebrows at me. “You and the doc are quite close,” She says, her voice just teasing me as I hold my burrito to my face, taking a bite from it.

“We’re friends,” I say, my mouth full. I swallow the food, before rolling my eyes at the look she was giving me. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he isn’t interested. He’s a doctor, Sis, too good for an ice cream maker.”

“Bitch there is no one better than you,” She says, pointing at me with her spoon for emphasis. “He probably just don’t know you’re into him because you NEVER show any signs of anything like that. Wouldn’t surprise me if you liked him too, you’re just too emotionally stunted to show it. Or just a huge prude.”

I feel my face heat up as I sputtered out, “I’m not!”

“You’re so into him it’s clear to see. You get shyer, and you only do that when you’re either into someone or terrified of them. I know it’s not you scared because then you wouldn’t seek his company,” She says, getting a spoonful of her chocolate raspberry ice cream. “And I only know this because I’ve known you since the womb. Sehun says the feeling is mutual, by the way, so get over your fear and take a chance to try to split on that dick.”

“Sometimes the way you say things is just honestly shocking to me,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

“Is it because you haven’t had any in a while,” She asks, “Worried your game got weak?”

“I’m ignoring you,” I mutter, biting into my food again as I press the power for the tv.

“I’m just saying you’re not even denying it anymore.”

“I mean, I have eyes. He’s handsome,” I say with my mouth full this time. “Who wouldn’t want to?”

She smirks, “Now we’re talking! You know sis, doctors are very skilled with their hands,” She says, voice teasing me. “I had a friend who dated him when they were in college before she joined the Triad.” She looked over at me and winked, “All I’m saying is she talked up his skills a lot. Enough to make me wet from the descriptions, and she’s not one to settle for anything less than the best.” She pointed out, spooning ice cream into her mouth. Some drips down the side of her chin as she just speaks, “You deserve someone to fuck your brains out so hard it makes you dumb for the first time in your life.”

I ignored her, and thankfully the movie playing got her attention. She was always easy to deal with in this respect. Ignore long enough and her attention will be elsewhere. I just smirked to myself, a scary movie playing as I watch and laugh as my sister scream at the main girl. It was fun, and nice to just be with her. The two of us, some wine and dumb movies was or go to since we were seventeen. She’d steal the wine back then but now I just buy it. A sweet rose for me and a dry white for her.

She can hold her alcohol better than I could, though. So when I start to feel it I save the rest of the bottle for tomorrow. She’d take a taxi or a friend would get her to either hang out or hit the town.  She turns to me at the door, pulling me into a hug. I hug her tightly back. We’re opposites in a lot of ways, but the core of us are the same. She is my other half, after all.

Then, it was just myself, credits playing on the tv and two empty wine glasses. I look at the clock, seeing it was only three in the afternoon as I just sigh. She can never do these at night, could she?

I glance at my kitchen, deciding to waste the time I have until dinner just making something sweet. I love ice cream, but sometimes you just want something else. Brownies are my go to other than ice cream, so I quickly manage to throw the things together from memory. I clean everything as it was baking and hear my door open just as I pull them out the oven.

I roll my eyes, knowing it was probably my sister. She loved to come in before she leaves to start her partying often. “If you’re here to ask for a place to crash tonight, take the couch! Last time you threw up on my bed. I don’t care if you’re my twin, I’m NOT dealing with your puke again,” I say, turning my oven off.

“I wouldn’t want to deal with anyone’s puke either,” a voice says.

I turn, seeing Junmyeon there, smiling with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. I smile, seeing him in a suit, hair pushed back. “You look nice. Any reason you’re all dolled up? A date?” I glance down at my appearance, cursing that I looked like a slob right now. My hair up in a messy nest of a bun, a large old tee that has stains from wine. The sweatpants I wore were so threadbare there were holes in places and could probably fall apart any minte. If anything, it just highlights how different we are.

He flushes, “It was just a work thing. Fundraising dinner. Very boring, really, but as someone who’s worked on most of the people who are donating, the hospital thought it was best for me to go.” He shakes his head, looking at me, “These are for you. In celebration.”

I smile, looking at the colorful purple red and pink collection of flowers. I smile, taking a sniff of them with a grin before setting them on my coffee table. “They’re lovely, but I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Your ice cream shop has just been named best in the city,” He says, grinning. “The husband of a woman I did some work on said the list comes out officially tomorrow. They talked about restaurants and when it came to the subject of dessert, he said that your shop was the overall winner.” He holds the flowers out to me. His smiles almost blinding as I just stare dumbly, my mouth hanging open in shock.

“Really,” I ask, before moving and hugging him tightly. The cologne was subtle, not overpowering as I held him tightly. “That’s amazing!”

“I thought you’d want to know,” He laughs, hugging me back. “Got to prepare for the influx of new customers!”

Before I could even realise what I was doing, I move back and press my lips to his excitedly. When I pull away and see his shocked expression, m eyes widen and all I could feel was horror.

That’s it. I fucked up the best friendship I’ve ever had by not thinking. I put my hands over my face, feeling the heat from my embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” I muttered, though it came out really muffled from behind my hands. “I’m such an idiot. Please forgive me, I won’t do it again I swear.”

I look up to see him looking stunned for a moment, before smiling. For some reason that made me feel getter, as I let my hands down from my race, thought they were now holding onto the end of my shirt and playing with it. My nerves still sky high as I see his eyes met mine.

“If I forgive you, you won’t do it again,” He says, “But what if I want you to.”

I pause, my mind freezing as I had to think about what it is he just said. He grins, one hand moving to my face as he just leans down, softly pressing his lips to mine again. It was quick, just like before. He smiles, looking me in my eyes. “This ok,” He asks quietly, almost as if he’s scared to run me off.

I nod, feeling his hand on my face move to my neck. I place mine on his chest, my heart beating super fast as he leans down again. I feel his other hand on my hip, resting there as my brain just stops thinking for a moment. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against mine, grinning widely.

“Please tell me you feel this too,” He mutters quietly. As if my saying no would break him. “This attraction I have for you is so strong. But it’s not just physical,” He says, explaining. “It’s deeper than that.”

My heart felt like it stopped for a moment. My eyes wide at I looked at him, almost unable to believe that a man as accomplished as him was admitting feelings for me. I smile, unable to conceal how I feel from becoming clear on my face. I nod, “Yeah. I do.”

The smile on his face was beautiful. As he looked so joyed that I felt it too. It was infectious, as I grinned back. This time, when we kissed, it wasn’t as soft. There was a bite to it, a deep need that was always simmering for us. He pulled me so I was as close as possible, letting me wrap my arms around his neck.

I was literally breathless when he pulled away again. Taking deep breaths as I couldn’t contain my grin. I move, resting my forehead on his shoulder, feeling my face warm up again. He wraps his arms around me, hugging me close. When I finally got the courage to look him in the eyes, he was just smiling down at me like I was the joy of his life.

I stand on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his again, pulling our bodies together where there is no space between us. My forward action was a surprise, apparently, as he was just still for a moment before holding me as close as he could. Hands on my hips, gripping a bit tighter than before. I moaned a bit, feeling his teeth bite my bottom lip. “Junmyeon,” I muttered quietly, feeling his lips go to my neck. My fingers in his hair, tightening a bit when he bites down on my skin. “Please,” I say, shivering as I press my hips into his.

His hands slide over my butt to my thighs, moving so he could pick me up. I wrap my legs around him to keep me steady. We didn’t move very long, as I felt my back rest against my couch.

I push the jacket off his shoulders, looking him in the eyes as he just smiles before tossing it to the side. I quickly reached for my shirt, throwing it away as I see his eyes go wide. I didn’t wear a bra, since it was getting late I took it off after baking.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he moves and kisses me feverishly, fingers lightly ghosting over my breasts, getting to my sweatpants. “Can I,” He asks in between kisses.

“Yes,” I say, “Please, Junmyeon.”

“If you keep whining my name like that I won’t last long,” He says, lips brushing over mine as he speaks. His fingers pull my clothes, taking off the last of them at the same time. “I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” He says, lips traveling south. “How you’d sound whining my name,” He says, fingertips tracing over my nipples, tongue and teeth decorating my skin. “How you’d taste,” He says, teeth biting into the flesh of one of my breasts. Not too hard, but enough to excite. I felt myself getting wetter hearing him talk to me like this, just like I fantasied. “How would’d feel wrapped around me,” He says, fingers playing with my nipples as he kept move further down. “Every fantasy was you,” He says, pushing my legs apart now. “Please,” He says, “Let me make my fantasies a reality.”

“You’d be making mine real too,” I say, smiling at him. Somehow, I didn’t feel shy. I trusted him.

The smile he gave me was stunning. He leaned down, “Then let’s get started, hm?”

It was slow. Small licks, avoiding the place I wanted his tongue the most in order to build my anticipation. One finger slipping into me, making me moan. Seeing him on his knees in front of me like this made me feel weirdly powerful. His eyes directly on mine, watching me and every reaction I make to his ministrations.

It was all too slow and not enough after what felt like ages. I whine, “Please.”

The finger in me curled right as his tongue went over my clit for the first time. All the built up felt like it paid off. Closing my eyes, I grab onto his arm that was holding one of my legs open. One finger became two, small soft licks became quicker, with more pressure. My body was shaking as I opened my mouth, going to ward Junmyeon. “I’m gonna-”

He sucks on my clit, taking my eyes roll and let the wave of ecstasy crash down on me. My body felt like it was on fire, but instead of pain all it did was feel good. Tears fell from my eyes and before I knew it, he was pulled away. I gasped, taking in deep breaths of air before glazing, seeing him taking his tie off. I move, wanting even more of him. Wanting to feel him as I get on my hands and knees, just waiting for him.

“Fuck,” He says, as I see him unbutton his shirt as he kicks off his shoes and socks too.

“Please,” I moan, still a bit breathless from my orgasm. “Hurry, I want you.”

He smirks, taking his wallet and getting a condom out of me. It was nice to know that he was being safe with me. I look, seeing his tie on the ground. I pick it up, smiling, before looking at him. I put my wrists into the look, looking at him as he just stares at me in shock.

“Who knew the innocent ice cream maker was kinky,” He mutters, looking delighted. He tightens it around my wrists, tieing them so I couldn’t just slip out.

“It’s my greatest secret,” I say, watching him quickly unbuckle his belt and push his slacks and underwear down, stepping out of them. He was hard, leaking already. I lick my lips, looking at him.

“Next time,” He says, “I don’t want to cum and not get to finally fuck you, after all.”

The condom was on, and I feel the couch shift as he moves behind me. I was excited, feeling his hand move to my hip, gripping and holding me still. “Ready,” He asks.

“Yes,” I say, looking over my shoulder and seeing him smile. I left him slowly slide in. I bite my lip, closing my eyes. It’s been a while since I’ve done this. The feeling of being full again was wonderful, the slide making every hair on my neck stand up. It just felt so right, hearing him groan from behind me, fingers digging in my skin slightly.

The first thrusts made me wonder why I haven’t been having sex for so long. I almost forgot how great it could feel, my fingers holding each other tightly. His other hand moves to my hip too, pulling back as he pushed forward, making me whine as I still bit my lip.

“Come on, I want to hear you,” He says, letting out a low groan. Letting my lip go, a loud moan left me immediately. “That’s it,” He says, “more of that. I want everyone around us to hear.”

The thought was embarrassing but also… exciting. Knowing that people were absolutely going to know what we’re doing is a thrill. The walls are not paper thin, but if you get loud enough, you’ll hear no matter what. I was typically loud, too, so there was no way people were not going to hear. Gossip spreads here like a wildfire too.

Junmyeon’s thrusts started getting harder, making moans flow from my mouth more and more. “Yes,” I yell. I loved this, hard and fast. No one expected it from me, that’s for sure.

I feel him slip out as I look at him. He was sweating, taking my arm and pulling me. He sat down, pulling me over his lap. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his in a searing kiss. I move, sliding myself along his cock. He groans, moving and holding it to my opening. I sink down, wanting the feeling again as I put my tied wrists over his shoulders, fingers gripping his hair.

“Fuck,” He moans,” Letting his head fall back a bit. The slap of our slick skin was almost as loud as I was, as I feel his hands go to my hips. I controlled how fast we went, but anytime I moved down, he’d pull and make the thrust that much better. One hand moved, giving me a quick slap to my ass.

“Junmyeon,” I yelled, leaning back a little, changing the angle. I yelled, “I’m-”

“Go ahead,” He says, one hand moving. I feel his fingers brushing over my clit, making my eyes water.

It felt amazing, the intense wave of pleasure overcame me as he keeps pulling and pushing me up and down, making me ride it out as long as possible. It was amazing, and made my skin almost feel tingling. When I looked back to him, he pulls me up, and I see he’s still hard. I move as quick as I could on my jello legs. Kneeling in front of him, I pull the condom off, wrapping one hand around him, my mouth wrapping around the tip.

“Just like that,” He groans, his body tensing.

I took him as deep as I could, choking before pulling off to catch my breath. My hand working still while I took a breath.

“Can I cum on your face, Babe,” He asks, looking desperate to let go.

“Yes,” I say, “Please, give it to me.”

Those words must have done something to him because the second I was done talking, I felt ropes of hot cum hit my face. I closed my eyes, feeling some on my lips, my nose, even going to my forehead. He yelled a grown, before finally falling limp against the couch.

I open my eyes, looking at him with a smile. I see him look at me, I lick my lips, swallowing some of him release. He smirks, “That’s so hot.”

I smile, “I’d like to clean my face before it dries, though,” I say, guestering to my wrists.

“Sorry,” He says, moving quickly, “I’ll get a rag for you. Just rest and make sure your wrists are fine.”

“Ever the gentleman,” I say with a smile, making him laugh. He quickly moved to my kitchen, knowing where I keep clean rags after spending so much time over. He hands it to me after wetting it slightly. I smile, quickly wiping my face.

“I’d love to do the cuddling, but I’m not sure the couch is the best place,” He says, looking at me.

“I have a perfectly fine bed,” I say, “Which would be much more comfortable. And a perfect place for another round if we want.”

“I had no idea you were like this,” He says, amazed with his eyes wide.

I just laugh, cleaning up the living room before we both move to the bedroom. We make a little stop in my shower first, just to clean up. I took a bit longer, washing the little bit of cum that managed to get into my hair. When I got out, I dry and get as much water from my hair ass possible before going into my room. I see him sitting there, eyes on my t.v as it talks about the mews. I glance, seeing it talk about the Purge happening in a week and a half. I move over, resting my head on him and lacing my fingers with his. “It’ll be ok,” I mutter. “You have me. You’re not alone.”

“I never was alone, but it always felt like I was,” He says, looking over. He smiles, “But this time… it’s different.”

I smile, leaning in a pressing my lips to his in a soft kiss. I understand that. Even with my sister I felt alone. Terrified in the dark for what felt like an eternity. Now, there’s somewhere I can go to be useful. There’s someone who I can help. A difference I can make.

And it’s all thanks to Junmyeon.

[fantasyandromancelover]

The Tale of Tales Chapter 44

The last thing Gray remembered was going to the local tavern to drink a couple rounds of rum the next thing he knew something hit him hard on the back of his head and everything went black. When he woke up he found himself in a dudgeon cell and his wrists were in shakles. It was so dark where he was, there were no windows and no sunlight coming in, the only light in this area was the light that came from the torches on the walls. He stood up on his feet and tried to break free from his chains.

"Don't waist your strength those chains are enchanted to hold you until I say otherwise." A scratchy voice said.

Suddenly a bony hand with fingers long and sharp enough to be talons lunged through the cell bars and sized Gray by his throat bringing him to where he was face to face with a hideous old hag.

"Ugh! Who the hell are you?!" He asked startled by her awful appearance.

"I guess you wouldn't recognize me now huntsman but I used to be quite a looker!"

"Minerva?"

"Yes it's me you idiot! Look at what you've done to me!"

"If you ask me it's an improvement. Now you look as ugly on the outside as you do on the inside."

Despite looking as old as dirt, she was strong enough to slam him back into the dudgeon wall.

"Oh man! That's going to leave a bruise!"

"How could you do this to me?!" She screeched.

"You wanted to eat an innocent girl's heart! That's sick and inhumane! No one in their right mind would do that!"

"You've stolen my beauty from me! Now I have nothing!"

"Well you could always pride yourself on something less fleeting than physical beauty."

That earned him a slap across the face.

"What I don't understand is why? I offered you gold, enough riches to set you for life and if that wasn't enough, now you're going to be forced to relive the same torture you went through as a child all because you refused to kill that little brat! You knew the penalty for if you failed and yet you still wouldn't do it! So why? Why would you give up gold and suffer through never ending torture for just one insignificant girl?"

"Torture me all you want you hag! But I'll die before I ever do anything to hurt Juvia!"

Minerva nashed her crooked teeth in anger and frustration. Then a thought entered her mind. After about five minutes of silent thinking she sized Gray by his face and started examining it carefully. Then she realeased him with a smug look forming on her face.

"How did I not see it sooner? I should've pick it up the minute I saw all the signs. The softness in your eyes whenever you saw her, the blush that rises to your cheeks whenever her name is mentioned, it was so obvious that I can't believe it took me this long to notice it."

"Notice what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Your expression says it all. You're in love with her."

Gray went silent as a shocked expression crossed his face. Was it true? Had he actually fallen in love with Juvia? No. No it wasn't possible. He had never fallen in love with anyone before. After he lost his parents he swore to himself that he would never love again.

"Well, well we are in a quandary are we not?" She said. "I need her dead to remove this curse that you have placed upon me and you need her alive to keep your precious heart happy! Well now I know how I can punish you properly! I'll see to it that you feel pain worse that you have ever felt in your entire life!"

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I'm going to force you to watch the woman you love die."

"You stay away from her you witch! If you harm so much as one hair on her head I'll kill you! You hear me?! I'll kill you!"

Minerva just grinned at him with her blackened teeth then walked off into her spell room.

"And now a special sort of death for one so fair."

She opened her spell book and once again began flipping through the pages. At last she stopped at one page containing a very evil and dark spell. After reading it she began to concoct a deadly poison made from black magic. Then she took an apple, dipped half of it into the poison, and used another spell to dye it. Once she was done she went back to the dudgeon holding a very peculiar looking apple in her hand. One side of the apple was blood red while the other side was snow white.

"What is that?" Gray asked her.

"An apple and it's a very interesting looking one isn't it? It's as white as snow and as red as blood, kind of like the two women in your life. Look one cheek is as white as snow like my wretched stepdaughter and the other cheek is as red as blood just like that scarlet haired woman you know. White as snow, red as blood, white as snow, red as blood. Isn't that funny?"

"Hilarious." He said sarcastically. "What's the point of this?"

"Well you see the snow white side of the apple is perfectly safe and harmless but the blood red side is covered in a deadly poison."

"You're going to force me to eat that aren't you?"

"Oh no this isn't for you hunter boy it's for Juvia. Just one bite with those delicate lips and she'll fall down dead."

"She won't eat that!"

"Oh won't she? Did you forget how much she loves apples? And thanks to your little trick with the pig's heart she won't recognize me when I offer it to her. She'll think I'm just a harmless old peddler woman." Then she scratched his wrist with her talon finger nail.

"Ow!" He hissed in pain.

"The minute she tastes my forbidden fruit, her breath will stop, her blood will run cold, to the world she'll be dead and her body will become her tomb and you'll be able to watch the only thing."

"No...No! No! You can't do this!" He cried grabbing the bars of his cell and trying desperately to pry them open.

"But I can and I will."

She placed the apple in a basket then pulled a tattered cloak over herself before leaving the castle through another one of her secret passage ways. This time she would kill Juvia even if it cost her, her life and it would. She didn't know it but if she successfully killed Juvia then she would pay a terrible price.

"Come on! Break you stupid chain!" Gray demanded as he tried to break the shackles holding him with a rock.

"Don't bother I already tried that."

It wasn't until now that Gray realized that he wasn't alone. Across from him just three cells down was where Natsu was being held.

"Hey I know you. You're the guy who was dragged off by a chimera." Gray said. "I thought you were dead."

"No but if I don't get out of here I'll face a fate worse than death."

"Really? What?"

"Getting married to Minerva."

"Eeeeesh..."

"I know but don't worry, once I chew off my arm I'll be free as a bird."

"Really? Chew your own arm off? That's what you're going with?"

"You got a better idea? I've tried everything! Smashing them with a rock! Burning them with fire! I even spit on my hand hoping that it would make it slippery enough to slide out."

"Eww! And you're supposed to be a prince?"

"Hey I'm desperate! What would you do if you were being forced to marry this crazy woman?"

"Good point."

"She said the chains were magic and that they would only break with a key or when she says so."

"Hmmmm...I've got it!"

"Got what?"

"An idea. She says that she wants to marry you right?"

"Regrettably yes."

"So she's gotta let you out sometime right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay so here's the plan."

[graaaaceeliz]

BruceBat and Clark-man

I put up (finally) a second chapter of my fic where Bruce and Clark have made a Thing out of their resemblances to Batman and Superman. I'm linking chapter one, but it isn't entirely necessary to read it to understand the principle behind chapter two.

Chapter Two: Where have all the good men gone? (<1500 words)

Days like this were the best, thought Bruce. He’d never admit to that aloud, nobody wants to tempt the fates, but it was true. His children filled the home with noise and joy (and arguments and temper, but who was he to complain?) and Alfred’s eyes glimmered with theirs, whilst Bruce laughed more than he had since he was a troubled teenager with an adrenaline issue and the absolute chaos of Tony and Lex as his brothers. The rift between Lex and Clark saddened him, because they should have all been together, united against threats to Earth. They had plenty of those. But he was a united front with LexCorp most of the time, and people knew that Batman and Superman had as close a shield-bond as had existed. The Bats themselves were a clan, a colony, symbols of the end for evil and of hope for good. He couldn’t have ever dreamed this.

Clark nudged his shoulder into his. “Good day, huh? And I am coming with you to the dance tonight. I don’t want to go home just yet,” he trailed off slightly as his eyes glazed over. “B, I will be right back.” Bruce sighed. He truly sympathised with families linked to the emergency services. Alfred’s friend had called from England last night, and they’d sat around the kitchen table with the phone on loudspeaker as she talked about the mountains and the sea and the surprisingly good winter, which had led onto the topic of emergency responses and various light tales of their exploits. Bruce had missed her, actually, because she’d been around a lot when he was a kid (hardly any older than Tony, she’d introduced him as her baby brother in New York a few times in clubs) but he had only seen her three times since he became Batman. Jason’s funeral, when he came back to life, and seven months ago when she finally got out of MI-whatever. He didn’t know. Wasn’t sure he wanted to – she was quite possibly an assassin.

A sudden swish of the air to his left indicated Clark’s return. He seemed a bit flustered, collar crumpled and hair tossed by the impossible speeds he achieved when it was necessary. Bruce turned to him, wondering vaguely what that had been about. He hadn’t been gone long enough to have saved the planet, barely long enough to save a kitten. Bruce was well aware of how long it could take to save a world. It usually involved violence, subterfuge, and injuries. And payouts. And payoffs. Besides the point. Clark gradually quietened under Bruce’s steady patient gaze, as everyone eventually did. It was so human, for Clark to be soothed by his trusted brother, for Bruce to feel the urge to punch whatever upset Clark so. They were neither of them human as most imagined them to be. Grudges could be held for eternity.

“I went to a group of firefighters. There was a big fire a couple of days ago, remember I told you about it? The one in Boston that they told to me leave to them and go save those boys in the cave in Madagascar. That one. Well, they called for me, because they wanted to show me the exhibition they made. It’s about us, Bruce. The League, other known heroes, the Avengers too. And ordinary people. Doctors, nurses, grandparents, big sisters, teachers. Local heroes. And – Bruce, the exhibition is as large as the one we’re going to tonight at the Gallery. Heroes. Ordinary, brilliant humans, who save people.”

Bruce grunted into the warm evening light, keeping a close eye on the wrestling match between Damian and Tim that was getting dangerously close to his prize roses. He looked out to the pale blue sky, “You cried.”

“....Yeah. I couldn’t help it.”

“Quick back.”

Clark smiled slightly. “I want to show you,” he murmured, “it’s so full of wonderful people.”

Bruce quirked a smile. That would be good. Perhaps he should suggest that as the next exhibit in the Gallery or maybe the Precinct – local heroes. Hopefully it would boost the city’s morale without the necessity of drugs or alcohol. He’d make sure Jim got recognised. But going with Clark to this special one also sounded good. “Tomorrow.”

Clark smiled.

*~°~*~°~*

“Mr Wayne! Over here! Is this your friend? A reporter! Oh my!”

Hello, I’m Clark. A smile as innocent as a child’s. Hello Clark. I’m Bruce.

“Hello, Pietr. Bruce and I would like to talk to the curator of the museum, so we’ll have to talk at a later date.”

Sorry, but Superman and I have things to do, Señor Domingo. Adiós. What kind of a name is Lord Sunday? A stupid one.

“Well handled, Clark.”

“Eh. I hate the act you put on, so I’m trying to avoid it. Is that the curator?”

“Hm.”

Clark, that’s him, isn’t it? Yeah. Oh good, we can all go home soon. Shut up, I’m sarcastic all the time. A Hm can be sarcastic.

“Excuse me, Mr Hammerstein! Excuse me, ma’am, sir, excuse us, thanks. Mr Hammerstein, Mr Wayne and I- oh for goodness’ sake. Bruce! Come on, I need to interview some visiting rich folk and if you take all night I won’t get it done. Thank you. Anyways, Mr Hammerstein, we have an exhibit idea...”

*~°~*~°~*

“Please, call me Brucie.”

“Okay, Brucie. Now, we all saw the last time you pretended to be Batman. Tonight I heard that you have a friend who looks like Superman – oh, the crowd are excited tonight!”

“Haha, it seems so. Clark and myself do bear a resemblance to the famous heroes, yes. It gets pointed out to us periodically.”

We’re supposed to be undercover! We’re in our suits! What, so we pretend to be Brucie and Clark in our actual suits in an attempt to infiltrate Lex’s party?? That’s insane, Clark, absolutely insane. What – well, yeah, it might work... Lex won’t call us out on it, no.

“I have heard that at one of Lex Luthor’s famed Metropolis Galas you did an act?”

“Well, not an act, no. I had had rather a lot to drink, shall we say, but I was dressed up as Batman.”

“And yourself, Mr Kent is it? Yes – you make a strikingly good Superman. I’ve heard that you’re known in your office at Perry White’s Metropolis ‘paper for your impressions. Any chance the pair of you would do an act for us tonight?”

We have to go along with it just pretend, Clark, call it an act and just pretend like I do with Brucie, won’t be easy but you have to try Clark we have to try

“I’m afraid Brucie and I would rather not. However, we would like to talk some about our new venture, the Gotham branch of which is named: Where have all the good men gone? As you may recognise, we’ve taken the name from Bonnie Tyler’s song I Need a Hero. We’re aiming to put together an exhibition here in Gotham about our unrecognised street-level heroes. My nomination is the guy who does late night door duties on the hotel building I have often stayed at not far from here. He prevents people accessing the tower when they don’t have appropriate ID, opens the foyer to those waiting for taxis home, and has interrupted no less than five incidents in the last six months at the cost of his health. So here’s to you, doorman.”

There will always be hope as long as one man or child or woman is willing to stand up painpainpain and say no there will always be hope and that’s why I do this I am bringing hope despite blood and I refuse to give up and you are hope you embody it we are hope so don’t give up ignore the pain we get up it hurts so much but we get up

“My personal nominee is Jim Gordon. He’s always been supportive of my family and myself, has dedicated his life to cleaning up the police force and has really given hope to the youth of Gotham. The nomination process will be described in an interview tomorrow night, which will also be published in local papers. We would love for you all to nominate an unrecognised person who you see as a hero. Of course, our costumed vigilantes each get a photo in the exhibit, so there’s no need to nominate them unless you have a particular inspiring story.”

“All proceeds will go to soup kitchens and hostels, to help people get off the streets. Next month we hope to launch the Metropolis branch of the campaign, named in honour of our own superhero: Where are all the gods? It will run off exactly the same principle, with people nominating personal heroes. The Waynes and myself hope to establish skills centres in both of our cities to help people get off the streets and into jobs, and to teach transferable skills to as many people as possible. But please, please partake in this I Need a Hero campaign. The more we raise, the more people we can help.”

“Certainly the most admirable project I have had the joy of hearing about in several years. Well, folks, remember what these two have said to us tonight. Thank you both for agreeing to this conversation.”

“It’s been a real pleasure.”

[traveller-lover-dreamer]

Ballerina

Here is the first part of my Harrison Osterfield’s fanfiction! Have fun reading it! Don’t be afraid to send me feedback :)

Summary: Ever since Y/N Y/L/N has become a spy, she has been working alone to get to Nikolai Sakharov, a Russian criminal. Little did she know that her mission was about to change everything she thought she knew about her life.

Pairing: Spy!Harrison Osterfield X Reader

Words: 3680

Warnings: Swear words, it’s a spy thing so well of course it’s kind of violent, I think it’s all for this chapter

By the way, I don’t speak Russian, I had to use google for the words and they might not be accurate, I’m really sorry if they aren’t. Here are their meanings (or at least what I wanted them to be):

мадам : Madam

балери́на : Ballerina

Прощай : Farewell

Enjoy your reading!

Your POV

Your heels clinked on the tile floor as you made your way through the crowded room. Officially, you were Anna Ivachov, a rich philanthropist. Truly, you were Y/N Y/L/N. You had been an undercover spy for over a year now. The youngest in America. Orphan at a young age, the orphanage had quickly realized how intelligent you were. At seven years old you were already fluent in English, Russian and French. Since then, you had learned how to speak German, Italian and Spanish too. You had graduated from high school at thirteen years old. That’s when the CIA had approached you. Ever since then, you had been working for them, only becoming a spy last year, after training for approximatively seven years.

Right now, you were in London, in an antique auction assisted by the queen of England herself and probably half of the rest of the monarchies in the world. You were looking for Nikolai Sakharov, an old member of the KGB who had committed more than enough crimes in his life. According to your sources, he had planned to poison the queen tonight for a reason you didn’t quite understand. The queen had been told about that, thankfully, and she had refused to eat everything people offered to her.

You were convinced he was behind a couple of terrorist attacks around the world and he also seemed to be at the top of a sexual slave organization. Your bosses wanted you to terminate him tonight and you were more than glad to do so.

You scanned the room, looking for someone that might look like Sakharov. You had never seen any clear pictures of him, only satellite images that weren’t clear enough for you to be able to memorize his traits. 

You caught sight of a man looking at you. He seemed about your age, his white dress shirt tight on his chest indicating he was cut. Could that be him? You considered it for a moment but he seemed innocent. Too young to be a crime lord. Too young to have been part of the KGB.

“Miss Ivachov, how lovely it is to see you here”, said a voice to your left.

It was Prince Harry. Prince Harry who never left you alone when you were in galas such as this one. He was probably the reason why you wanted it all to end as soon as possible. But for that, you had to find Sakharov.

“Prince Harry”, you answered.

You looked back to where the man you had seen was but he wasn’t there anymore.

“What are you looking to buy tonight?” he asked.

Your gaze went back to his and you smiled mysteriously.

“Only time will tell.”

He smirked and looked around the room.

“Do you want to come sit with me?” he asked as the lights dimmed.

“That is really kind of you, Prince Harry, but I would prefer to sit in my seat, if that is fine with you.”

He smiled, but his smile wasn’t as true as before. He nodded his head quickly.

“Guess that’ll be fine. See you soon?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course”, you replied.

On that, he made his way to the royal table and you walked to your seat amongst the rest of the philanthropists. As you passed a table surrounded by three men, you caught what seemed to be Russian being spoken. You smiled to one of the man courteously. He didn’t smile back, only keeping his icy stare on you as you walked to your seat. That had to be him. From what you had heard, the other men were talking about being compromised and that they had to go. But right now, they couldn’t, as the host of the auction started talking on the scene.

You sat down, your long black dress hanging closely to your body. It was opened along one of your legs and you made sure your knives weren’t showing as you crossed your legs and sat back in your chair. You kept Sakharov in your field of view as the night went on. When the break began, you saw him getting up. He said something in one of the other men’s ear and you noticed from the corner of your eyes that the man looked at you. Crap. You were going to have to be really careful in your next steps. Sakharov walked away, but his man didn’t stop staring at you. You needed to follow your target without it being to obvious.

You got up, looking around the room, localizing all the exits. You couldn’t see Sakharov anywhere, so you walked in the opposite direction. To send his man off track. When you arrived beside the wall, you noticed the man wasn’t sitting at his place anymore. Only one of the men was still sitting there. You looked behind you and noticed the man following you. Crap.

You walked slowly and you stopped a few times to talk to dignitaries from other countries. The man didn’t stop following you and you realized you would probably need to terminate him too. You made your way out of the room and asked to a butler where the bathrooms were. The man followed you still, so you entered the woman bathroom and locked the door behind you. You took your time there too, knowing damn well he wasn’t going to leave yet anyways. That’s when you heard him trying to open the door. You sighed. How come things never worked out according to the plan?

You waited as he was picking the lock. You smiled to yourself in the mirror, your eyes going to your bracelet. That bracelet was deadly. Inside of it hid a fine wire which had yet to kill a man.

The door finally opened wide and you faked being surprise.

“Excuse me, sir, what do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed.

You were standing at the extreme end of the bathroom and he walked in, closing the door behind him.

“мадам”, he said.

You were no ma’am.

“You should get out”, you stated.

He laughed and shook his head. His mistake. A gun appeared in his hand as you jumped at his feet. He didn’t have the time to shoot before you used your wire to make him fall. You grabbed the gun in his hand as you got up. You never liked guns. They were loud and so not a spy’s weapon.

“Where is Sakharov?” you asked him in Russian.

He laughed before grabbing your leg. You lost your balance and fell to the ground, rolling out of his reach. The gun had slid across the tile of the bathroom floor, far from the both of you. He tried to hit you, but you were faster. You jumped out the way, drawing your knife at the same time. You stuck it in the man’s shoulder before pulling on one of the precious stone on your bracelet. And before the man knew it, you were strangling him with the wire.

“Where is he?” you asked again.

He tried to hit you but he was quickly losing strength. You loosened the wire around is throat and he took a deep breath.

“You won’t find him”, he said in English this time with a heavy Russian accent.

Too bad. There was nothing you could get out of him and you didn’t have the time to use some of the techniques you had learned that could get any man to talk.

When his body went limp, you let go of the wire, which retracted back inside of your bracelet. You swore as you saw your knife in his shoulder. You took it out, using his vest to wash the blood from it. You decided to take the gun too, knowing your fingerprints were on it. As if it was going to change anything, you technically didn’t exist nowhere in the world, your bosses had made sure of it.

You noticed the man had a watch as it lit up. It was more of an Apple watch and you could read the text he had just received, which only said roof in Russian. You quickly made sure you didn’t have any blood on you before getting out of the bathroom. The auction had begun again and you were glad to see the corridor was empty.

You made your way to the staircase that led to the roof as fast as you could. You knew the building by heart and it wasn’t long before you stepped outside in the cold night air. You could see Sakharov in the distance and you started walking towards him. He was looking the other way.

“You are a bold one, aren’t you?” he said as he turned around to face you.

You pointed the gun towards him. He raised his hands, a smile growing bigger on his face.

“You won’t shoot me, I know.” His Russian accent was heavy and that’s when he switched to the actual language. “балери́на.”

The word echoed through your mind as you remembered dancing ballet as a child. It meant ballerina and Sakharov saying it took you off guard.

“What did you say?” you asked, lowering your gun without even realizing it.

He only laughed. You felt uneasy under his stare. You heard the sound of the door opening behind you and you turned around. The man you had seen before was standing there and he was pointing a gun to you.

“Прощай”, said Sakharov and when you turned your head towards him you saw him jumping off the building.

“Don’t move”, ordered the boy as you were about to run after Sakharov.

“Who are you?” you asked as you mentally cursed him for making you lose your target.

As you said that you heard the sound of a helicopter rising and you looked back to where Sakharov was standing before. He waved from the helicopter and then it was off.

“I could ask the same question to you”, he replied. “Everywhere I’ve looked I haven’t found a single trace of your existence. Anna Ivachov didn’t exist before May last year. Who are you?”

How the hell did he know that?

“I work with the MI-6”, he explained. “I found the man you killed in the bathroom and if you don’t explain yourself right now, you’ll see I’m not fond of asking questions.”

You felt relieved as you understood he technically wasn’t a threat. You dropped your gun and raised your hands.

“I work for the CIA”, you admitted reluctantly. “And you made me lose my target. An entire year of efforts all gone in an instant.”

He lowered his gun.

“I’m Harrison Osterfield”, he presented himself. “Sakharov was my target too.”

You felt mad at him for saying that. Why the hell did he interrupt the only chance you had ever had of killing Sakharov then?

“Lately, I’ve been more concerned about you though. My boss won’t like to know the CIA acted behind our backs”, he continued. “I hope you don’t mind following me to MI-6’s headquarters.”

In that moment, you decided you hated that man. One entire year of efforts had all gone in flames because he had decided to show up when you were about to terminate Sakharov. Now, you would have to begin again from scratches.

“Do I really have the choice?” you asked.

He smirked and it only made you hate him more.

“I’m glad we understand each other.”

You sighed before following him to the staircase. As you walked down the stairs, you suddenly had an idea. Probably the worst idea you had ever had in your entire life but all your training had never prepared you to face a situation like this one.

You pulled on the stone of your bracelet and jumped on the young man’s back. He almost fell, which meant you would have both crashed down the stairs, but he somehow stayed still. You tried strangling him, but he had put one of his hands under the wire. His other hand flew to your head and he grabbed you by the hair. You hadn’t expected such resistance so when he pulled with all his strength on your hair, you screamed in pain and let go of the stone, the wire retracting to the bracelet. He then threw you over his head and you fell in the stairs. You crashed in the wall at the bottom of the flight of stairs and your head hit the wall. You didn’t feel your body touching the floor as you struggled to stay conscious. The last thing you saw before falling unconscious was his black shoes and the black fabric of his pants.

 Harrison’s POV

 Fuck. He might have reacted excessively. Her mistake to have tried to strangle him. Harrison walked down the stairs and kneeled next to the young woman. He searched for her pulse and was relieved to see she was still alive. He never liked killing people, doing so only when he didn’t have any choice.

He took the girl in his arms effortlessly and he walked down the rest of the stairs and to his car. The butler didn’t move an inch when he saw him holding what probably looked like a dead girl in his arms but that’s only because he knew that he was working for the MI-6.

Harrison called his bosses as he was making his way to the headquarters.

“I caught the girl”, he informed them. “She says she’s working with the CIA and that Sakharov was her target.”

“What the f…” began the woman before she was cut by a man.

“Is she with you right now?”

“Yes”, he answered. “But she’s unconscious, she thought attacking me was a good idea.”

“Good”, the woman answered in a calmer voice. “Bring her to the headquarters, we’re going to keep her here until the CIA explains everything.”

On that note, they hung up and Harrison looked over to the backseat. The girl hadn’t moved an inch. He definitely had reacted excessively, she probably had a concussion or something like that.

When he got to the headquarters, he parked the car in the underground parking lot. He quickly got out of it, taking the girl in his arms. He brought her to the detention room and put her on the bed. Tracy, one of his co-worker, came in a couple of seconds later, as he was about to make his way out of the room.

“You should tie her up”, she said. “If she’s as talented as Gavin said, a lock on a door won’t stop her from escaping.”

If she was truly so talented, she wouldn’t have got caught, Harrison thought. He didn’t say the words aloud though.

He attached her with the straps on the bed, making sure they weren’t too tight and that they wouldn’t stop the blood from circulating. He looked at the girl’s face. She was truly gorgeous and he again felt sorry for what he had done.

“The bosses are waiting for you, by the way”, Tracy told him. “It seemed important.”

He nodded, never saying a word to her. He walked out of the room. He had never liked Tracy. She had always acted like they were more than co-workers and it pissed him off. It was unprofessional of her and he wasn’t working in MI-6 to meet someone. He knew better than to let someone walk into his life for him to lose them.

Harrison was about to walk to his bosses’ office when a door opened on his right. One of his boss, Dominic Holland, walked out. They were already in the observation room, realized Harrison.

“Good job, agent Osterfield”, Dominic said before pointing over his shoulder to the observation room. “Miss Frost is waiting for you.”

They both entered the room to see a single woman standing in front of the window through which they could look at the detention room.

“Y/N Y/L/N”, said Nicola. “Really frustrating to have not been informed of her presence on our territory.”

She turned to look at Harrison.

“The CIA reluctantly told us about her”, she continued. “Not much to know, her parents died when she was young and she spent her early years in an orphanage. Well, that’s what they said but we found nothing about her parents.”

She paused, looking back at the girl.

“Ghosts. It seems the CIA has erased everything about them.”

Harrison wondered why.

“It’s actually kind of sad”, added Nicola. “They started training her at 13 years old. They took her childhood from her.”

Harrison knew it was her mother’s heart that was talking at the moment. Mother of four boys, Nicola always tended to have a softer heart.

“She’s after Sakharov”, she said after a long moment of silence. “Since you’ve found about her, they want you two to work together to catch Sakharov.”

No. Harrison didn’t do teams.

“Miss Frost, I don’t think it’s a good idea”, he stated.

“And why is so?” asked his boss.

He was afraid to have to count on someone else. He preferred working alone because that meant only his life was in danger if something was to happen. He couldn’t lose another partner. Not after what happened to the last one.

“I work better alone”, he lied.

“Well, this time, you won’t really have the choice”, declared Dominic, talking for the first time. “They didn’t really give us a choice.”

Harrison sighed, looking at the girl.

“Honestly, after what I did to her earlier, I don’t think she will be able to trust me”, he stated.

“She probably saw you as a threat at the moment”, Nicola said. “After her bosses will have talked to her, she will agree to this. As I told you before, you don’t really have the choice. The same goes with her.”

Before he had the time to answer, the girl woke up in the detention room and she immediately tried to undo her ties.

“We’ll take care of her for now, you can go home for tonight”, indicated Nicola. “Be there tomorrow at 6.”

Harrison nodded and walked out of the room.

 Your POV

You woke up with a pounding headache. You scanned your surroundings, not recognising where you were. You realized you were tied to a bed and you noticed there was a mirror on the wall on your right. What were you doing in a detention room?

You then recalled the night’s events and Sakharov’s voice echoed through your mind as you remembered what he had called you. That little word had confused you a bit too much and you had committed your first mistake because of it. Attacking the guy from MI-6 had been really stupid and you couldn’t help but to be mad at yourself. Seven years of training and you had acted like a child.

You tried pulling on your restraints but they were tight enough that you weren’t able to move. At least, they weren’t too tight but still.

How were you going to get yourself out of this situation? You assumed you were somewhere in MI-6’s headquarters, so you knew you weren’t in immediate danger. You knew they had probably contacted your bosses, so you didn’t really understand why they had tied you up. Until you realized they probably thought you were a threat. And they had all the right since you had come into their country without them knowing. Being discrete had always been your strength.

A woman walked in the room. She smiled kindly to you, but the man behind her had knives in his eyes. You recognised them as they walked to the bed. They were the heads of MI-6.

“You are truly impressing”, said the woman.

You tried to remember her name but suddenly your head hurt a bit more and you winced.

“You probably have a concussion”, she explained. “We need to get you to the infirmary.”

Great. As if you wanted to stay here a second more.

“We have talked with your bosses and they will eventually inform you that you are going to stay in London for a while”, she said.

“I think not”, you answered with a cold voice. “Sakharov wouldn’t have stayed in London, I need to find him.”

“Exactly”, she agreed, always with that kind smile on her lips. “You are going to work with one of our agents.”

You sighed, wishing you hadn’t been caught earlier, wishing you had resisted the urge you had to kill the man who had stopped you from terminating Sakharov.

“For the moment, we’re going to bring you to the infirmary, where you’ll be able to change in more comfortable clothes and we’ll let you rest until tomorrow”, the woman said, authority filling her voice.

“I would prefer not to”, you said.

“You’re working for us now, so you better not begin to discuss our orders”, the man interjected.

You sighed, realizing you were stuck in that situation.

“Yeah, okay, well, I want to talk to my bosses first”, you asked in a more sympathetic voice.

“Agreed”, said the woman before the man had the time to talk. “I’m Nicola Frost, by the way.”

She walked to your bed and untied your restraints. You sat up, wincing as the world started moving around you.

“Here, let me help you”, she gently said, putting one of your arms around her shoulder so she could help you to get up.

The man didn’t seem to approve but he didn’t move. Nikola helped you to get to her office, where you contacted your bosses. They told you the same thing Nikola and Dominic (you recalled his name now) had told you, so you finally decided to trust them.

When you were finally installed in the infirmary (where you were diagnosed with a mild concussion), you felt yourself relax for the first time in a year. Finally, you were somewhere safe, somewhere you didn’t have to be in alert at all time. You slowly sank into the mattress on which you were laying, falling asleep as soon as you closed your eyes.

Read part two here!

[jeminy3]

Setbacks

Summary: Ed and friends are delayed from leaving Rush Valley for a day. Ling takes the opportunity to make a strange arrangement, and Ed finds himself roped into it somehow. Things get kinda gay.... but more awkward than anything else, really.

Features: swearing, groaning, underage alcohol consumption, coercion, dubcon (but it's for chaste kissing that never actually happens), some deep thinking about feelings and orientation that goes unsolved and ignored, because Edward is Edward.

Finally... Here's a fic that was originally part of a very long, convoluted edling fic series I've been slowly working and re-working for about 2 years now. This was originally a flashback that an adult Ed had while visiting Emperor Ling's palace, but it got really long and more of its own thing. the drinking section was my first piece of writing that tried to really nail their dynamic when they first met.

this is one of a few fics i have that are slightly canon-divergent like this for the sake of shipping, and probably won't be directly related, but could be interpreted that way.

no drawings for this one, I am… just not feeling it this time, sorry lol

Read on Google Docs

Read on AO3

---

"Delayed???" But it's urgent!"

"So is the need for safety. The repairmen are working as fast as they can, I assure you. But even if they finish within the day, we need the extra time to make sure it's safe. I'm sorry. The train will be up and running at first light tomorrow morning, I promise."

Ed groans dramatically, letting his head fall back. Fucking great. A broken train engine was just what they fucking needed right now, when they needed to get back to Central as soon as possible.

He lets his head fall forwards again as he lets out a long sigh, then stares at the toes of his boots, searching them for ideas. He gets one.

In one swift motion, he tugs on the chain at his belt, pops his engraved pocketwatch out of his pants and into his open hand, flashing it at the train conductor in front of him.

"Edward Elric, State Alchemist. Lemme at the problem and I can fix it in seconds."

He also flashes a glare up at Alphonse, which silences whatever protest he was about to make, as telegraphed by the sound of his armor shifting at Ed's side.

The middle-aged conductor's eyes go wide. "State Alchemist? Oh-"

Then something crosses his countenance, and his brows furrow. "-Wait. I've heard of an Alchemist in town."

Yes. Ed can almost feel himself sparkling. "-You've heard of me? I mean, of course, I'm known through the whole country, I'm The Fullmeta-

The man cuts in suddenly. "-I heard that he tore up most of the market strip near downtown earlier today, part of some crazy battle with some kind of ninja warrior. Even leveled a building or two. The locals are furious."

A long, tired sigh from Alphonse doesn't go unheard.

Ed's jaw's gone slack. He... didn't expect this idea to backfire.

He struggles to get it working again. "I- Uh- Y-yes, that was- I mean, it was an accident! All of it! The ninja- I mean, the guy who hired that ninja's responsible! If that idiot-prince hadn't-"

He's interrupted as the man extends an arm to place his open palm directly in front of Ed's face. "I don't have time for a story, kid. The point is, we're taking care of the problem already, and I doubt you'd be much help. Do you even know anything about how trains work?"

Ed stammers his protests again, still in disbelief that this wasn't working. "I- No- I mean, no I don't, but I can-"

Too late. The man's already crossing his arms in front of his chest and shaking his head. "Didn't think so. Leave this to us. You've done enough."

"-Um. I'm an automail mechanic, if that helps?" The light, airy voice of Winry suddenly chirps up at Ed's other side. He looks over to see her gingerly raising her hand like she's in a fucking school or something.

The man's expression lightens significantly as he addresses her. "That's kind of you Miss, but I'm afraid train mechanics and automail mechanics are two entirely different beasts. You wouldn't be much help either, but I appreciate it."

Winry withdraws her hand to lightly touch her chin, looking dejected. "Oh. Well, okay..."

God, she was too fucking nice for her own good sometimes.

The disapproving, scowling expression returns as the man faces Ed again. "There's an inn down the street you can stay at 'till morning," he says, jabbing a thumb in its direction. "Unless you plan on wrecking more of the town, I'd recommend staying there."

Ed's already turning away and started walking, clearly defeated. "Yeah yeah, thanks. See ya later, or something..."

Then when he's a few paces away, he adds "...fuckin' asshole," under his breath.

"Don't be mean, Ed, he's just doing his job," Winry scolds as she keeps pace with him.

"-And you did cause a pretty big mess earlier. I don't blame him for being distrustful," Alphonse adds, clunking along behind him.

Ed just groans again, caught between an armored rock and hard-headed place who were both right about this, he just didn't want to admit it because he was still very fucking pissed at the person who really started this whole stupid mess, as far as he was concerned.

-And here's the shithead now, he thinks to himself, as Ling comes into view in front of him, sitting on a bench but with his legs crossed like he's still on the ground (fucking why). He's smiling merrily as they approach, the way he apparently always does, as if he's an innocent shit-eating lamb or something.

"So what happened?" he asks.

Ed barely spares him a glance as he walks right by him, curtly saying, "Train's broken. Staying at the inn. Leaving in the morning. Fuck you."

And he's a good several paces down the street as the sounds of Ling's confusion and Al and Winry's collective sighing carry down to him.

---

Ed would've loved to just sit and stew in his room until nightfall, but as usual Winry and Alphonse had to be all sensible and shit and suggest that they at least stock up on extra supplies while they're stuck here. And of fucking course, Ling agreed to it.

So here he was. Edward Elric, renowned State Alchemist, dragged down to a local market to help carry fucking groceries. As if this day could get any worse.

At least it was a smaller, farm-based market in a different part of Rush Valley, so not every townsperson who recognized him was throwing scowls at him because of the fighting earlier that day. And that barely counted as a plus.

Winry was off buying something girly like extra lugnuts or something, while Alphonse was nearby picking up extra food and supplies in preparation for whatever craziness awaited them after they landed back in Central. Ling...

Actually, he didn't know where the fuck Ling was. And he didn't care. He could fuck off for all he-

"Hey! Hey, Alchemist! Look what I've found!"

Speak of the devil. Ed groans, for the third time now, as he turns in the direction of Ling's stupid voice.

Past the thinning crowd in front of him, Ed sees Ling standing in front of a stall selling various wines and spirits, both arms raised above him, his hands clutching two square-ish bottles filled with a clear, light-orange fluid. Their labels are red and gold and peppered with lettering, both in Amestrian and a foreign, symbol-based language that Ed guesses must be Xingese.

Despite himself, Ed decides to approach him and ask, "What're those?"

"Rice wine! Doesn't look as good as the stuff back home, but I think it'll suffice," Ling says, with that stupid grin he seems to make when he's excited about something equally stupid. God, he wished he could punch him. Just knock his stupid teeth right out of his stupid smiling face. Unfortunately he couldn't, not with his hands full with their group's bags, much less within sight of Ling's bodyguards who were always watching from... somewhere. That was really unnerving...

Meanwhile, Ed says nothing in response to Ling's statement besides an uninterested grunt.

He wants to say something like, 'What's so fucking great about Xingese wine? It's all the same, just alcohol and shit,' but keeps his mouth shut, for once - a rare occurrence. He wasn't sure if he was suddenly getting wiser about his temper, or was just exhausted from dealing with Ling for the past several hours. Probably the latter.

No, definitely the latter, he concludes, as Ling proceeds to stuff the bottles of wine between the bags of groceries Ed's holding before running off into the crowd, leaving him with bottle-tops pushing into his face and chin as he awkwardly maneuvers himself to actually pay the stall owner for the drinks. The woman gives him a look that clearly says Sorry you're with dealing with this as she waves him goodbye, and Ed says "Thanks" to her as sincerely as he can for it.

Then he's back to following Ling and the others around the market with his cargo like a fucking pack mule, still quietly fuming.

God, Ling was such an asshole. He said he was a prince, right? Wasn't he rich or something? 'Cause he seemed like just an annoying freeloader more than anything else, expecting Ed to pay for everything, even his fucking meals.

Ed tries to keep his mind preoccupied as he goes through the motions to pay for the rest of their group's purchases and follow them back to the Inn on his already-aching legs. Mainly, by thinking about how he could find a good excuse to punch Ling in the face after they settled down tonight. Because boy, if he could, that'd definitely be something to look forward to.

He imagines, in detail, his clenched automail fist hiking back, shooting out, connecting with Ling's smooth, princely cheek. Distorting it as it kept surging forward, warping and displacing the flesh of his face, his jaw skewing to the point of breakage, his nice white teeth flying loose from his gums in a spray of blood and saliva. Ahh. So satisfying.

But at one point Ed gets so lost in thought about this that he's started staring at Ling's actual face, who was walking at his side and slightly ahead of him. And now he's... staring right back at him.

Well he was, until he looked ahead of him- No, he's glancing back at Ed again and- oh, ugh. Not only is Ling smiling at him in that stupid smiley way he always does, but now he's winking at him too. GOD.

That's more than enough to snap Ed out of his daydreaming in time to very quickly look down at his feet and focus completely on walking on the dirt roads and not on his burning ears. He hears Ling snickering softly, and starts thinking about somehow getting the ground beneath him to open up and swallow him whole.

As if he couldn't hate Ling any more than before. He was definitely getting back at him tonight. The only question was, how...?

---

Once he'd found him and Al's room for the night and set down their supplies, Ed almost had a mind to just flop into bed and try to forget about Ling and everything altogether until the next morning - but alas, fate had decided otherwise.

Because before he'd even finished setting down his things, he was unpleasantly surprised by the sound of Ling's voice coming from the room's doorway.

"Hey, Alchemist!"

His cheery voice aimed at Ed's backside makes him bristle like a porcupine, and Ed almost wishes he could shoot quills out of his ass like one too. He doesn't even turn to face him.

"I have a name, asshole," Ed mutters over his shoulder as he sets down his last bag.

Ling ignores that, as usual. "I have a proposition for you, before you settle in for the night."

Ed decides to turn and face him, bringing the full force of his scowl at him. "The hell do you want? I'm tired."

Ling was sporting another of his stupid grins, and- oh, for fuck's sake- he had those wine bottles again too.

"How about a chat and a few drinks? Just me and you, in my room."

Um. Seriously? A 'chat' with some drinks? That... was the biggest waste of time he's heard yet. Not to mention shady as fuck, coming from this guy.

"No," Ed says tersely.

Ling's smile doesn't falter. "Aw c'mon! Just to talk and loosen up a bit before bed-"

"No."

"We can get to know each other better-"

"No."

"I assure you, I haven't poisoned the-"

"NO."

Ling's smile had finally crumbled into a confused frown. "...Are you always this unpleasant?"

Ed breathes a long sigh through his nose, as if trying to get steam to come out. "Yes, now can you please fuck off so I can go to slee-"

"Hey brother, what's going on?"

Suddenly they're interrupted by Alphonse's large frame clunking into view behind Ling. Ling turns to him, only mildly surprised, then moves aside to let him into the room.

Al bows lightly at him before stepping inside. "Hello, Ling. Thank you."

Once he's inside, he turns to Ed. "Winry's good for tonight. So, what are you yelling at Ling about?"

Ed groans, now the fourth time. "I'm not yelling at him Al, I'm just-" He stops himself, pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand to gather his thoughts. "Ugh. Ling's just being annoying and won't let me go to fucking bed."

Ling feigns a look of hurt. "I am not! I was just extending a friendly invitation for drinks and a chat, that's all!"

Ed musters up a venomous glare at him in response. As usual, it doesn't faze him.

Al looks between the two of them for a moment, noticing the wine bottles in Ling's hands. "Oh, is that all? That sounds nice! Why don't you take him up on it, brother? It's not that late, y'know - you don't fall asleep 'till later anyway."

Ed, disbelieving of what he's hearing from his younger brother right now, reaches whine-levels of complaining now. "But Al, I don't want to-"

But as soon as he starts, Al suddenly leans down by his ear, dropping his voice to a murmur.

"Just play along, ok? See if you can get him to tell us more about Alkehestry."

Ed blinks at him. "But-"

"Just do it, okay? Okay."

Alphonse is... very assertive tonight for some reason.

He turns back to Ling before letting Ed voice any further complaints. "I think Ed's actually pretty open to your idea, Ling. He just needs a bit more encouragement." He accentuates the word with a heavier-than-needed pat on Ed's shoulder with one of his gauntlets.

"Oh- really?" Ling says, looking far too much like a happy little dog finally getting a treat.

"I know my brother can be... well, abrasive, but I think deep down he wants to give it a chance! Don't you, brother?"

Al hasn't relinquished his grip on Ed's shoulder, and presses ever so slightly harder on it as he turns to look at him again, and Ed swears he can see him winking somehow.

"Just as long as you don't overdo it with the wine, of course. You guys need to be sober for our trip tomorrow morning."

Ling nods with annoying enthusiasm. "Oh, of course! I wouldn't dream of inebriating your brother, especially not for something important like that-"

By now, their conversation had faded into background noise as Ed becomes lost in the dawning realization of Holy Fucking Shit I Cannot Believe This is Happening, I Cannot Fucking Believe  That My Little Brother, Of ALL People, is Forcing Me to Hang Out and Drink With the Most Annoying Fucking Person in the Entire Goddamn World-

-Wait.

All these mentions of drinking and inebriation suddenly makes something click in Ed's mind. If Ling was trying to get him drunk - and he hadn't believed his words for a solitary second because that was totally what this whole thing was about - maybe he could, instead, get Ling drunk. Drunk enough to do something regrettable, even. Not hugely regrettable, but at least something that could serve as payback for earlier. Maybe... Juuust maybe...

Yeah... yeah, he could do that... Heheheh... Ed feels like grinning wickedly at all the potential outcomes that could come of this (the ones that involved embarrassing Ling, that is), and that seals his decision.

He interrupts Al and Ling's banter with the loudest, most dejected groan he can muster. "Uggghhh, FINE," he says, spreading his arms and putting on his best 'I don't care, just leave me alone already' voice to sell it. "If it'll get you two to shut up until tomorrow, I'll do it."

And it works - Ling breaks out into his stupidest, smiliest smile yet, and Alphonse nods at him energetically.

"Oh, wonderful! I'll go get set up," Ling says, then darts out of view.

Al gives a little chuckle at his enthusiasm. "There he goes... Just remember, brother-

Ed waves a hand dismissively as he trudges out of the room. "Yeah yeah, ask him about the shit, don't overdo it. Whatever. Just one thing-"

He turns to give Al one of his trademark glares, pointing an accusing finger.

"You owe me for this. Big time."

---

Minutes later and here they were, sitting on the floor of Lings' room, with the bottles of rice wine and a pair of shot glasses from... somewhere. Ling probably "borrowed" them from the inn's bar.

They make small talk as they take their shots, Ed acclimating to the taste of the drink. It's... just okay. Not great. Pretty bland overall, but the sting of the alcohol is still there. He tries to not go too hard on it, but still drinks enough to keep pace with Ling, as to not arouse any suspicion from him.

After explaining Amestris' general politics to Ling in the briefest, most watered-down way possible (because Ed didn't particularly care too much for it), Ling suddenly asks, "By the way - what is your heritage, exactly?

Ed squints at him. "My what?" He didn't mishear him, he was just- what? What did that have to do with anything?

"I mean, what are you descended from, exactly? Who are your parents?" Ling says.

Ah... Ed pushes away a memory before it can hurt him.

"None of your business," he says flatly.

"Oh, alright. I was just curious, because you don't really look like the average Amestrian from what I've seen."

It's a strange statement, but not that strange. Ed feels like someone's told him the same thing once or twice before. Still, he asks, "Whaddya mean?"

"Well, it's your hair. And your eyes, too. They're this gold color I've never seen before... It's rather pretty. Beautiful, actually."

Ed was halfway toward blowing him off and saying 'whatever' until that last sentence - that makes him stop his mouth halfway through opening, widen his eyes, feel a distinct surge of heat begin to grow in his cheeks.

Did he- did he actually just say that? Unironically? Beautiful...?

Ed's received weird looks and comments on the color of his eyes and hair before, but they were usually in passing. Casual stuff, like 'oh, that's a cool color.' And that was it. He never really thought much of them - didn't really care, he told himself, though truthfully he just didn't like being reminded of who he inherited them from.

But being called 'beautiful' for them? That was... new. Very new. And he has no idea how to respond to it. But he does know how to be annoyed, so he just does that instead.

"Are- are you already drunk or something?" Ed says, frowning and narrowing his eyes.

Irritatingly, Ling just chuckles at him in response. "Really, by all accounts you're fairly attractive - except maybe for all the scowling and yelling and hitting people but hey, no one's perfect! Haha. You can always work on that, anger management and all."

Ed just sort of boggles at him, because he'd gone back and forth between complimenting and insulting him so quickly that he can't decide what to feel now. But he's most familiar with anger, so he sticks with that.

He puts on his best scowl. "Shut up. I don't need any stupid... m-management," he growls, and pours himself another shot of his wine, grumbling. His whole face is burning by now, and he hates how flushed he must look.

Ling just smiles at him. Idiot.

He pauses to watch Ed take another drink before he starts speaking again.

"...Say, speaking of attractive, do you have someone waiting for you back home? Like a girlfriend? Or ah- a boyfriend, if you're into that sort of thing?"

Ed was about to tell him that was none of his business again but the 'boyfriend' part surprises him so much that he chokes on the shot he's swallowing and starts coughing violently.

A boyfriend? What the fuck?

Between the the sheer lunacy of the question and the burning fluid in his larynx, Ed can't even begin to respond to that. Who fucking asks that, even? This weirdo, apparently.

And now Ling's started laughing awkwardly, as if he's... nervous? Or something?

"Hey it's okay, I won't judge you either way, I'm just wondering. I mean, I know it's not very, uh- popular, but I don't know if it's different here in Ames-"

"No! I don't give a damn about any of that stuff so can you shut up already!?" Ed blurts out, having finally cleared his throat, enough to speak.

"Oh." Ling looks oddly disappointed. "You don't care about dating? Or you don't have anyone, so-"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Ed yells, raising a fist, threatening to hit him with it.

An image of Winry had flashed across his mind's eye for some reason just now, but he pushes it aside. She was only a childhood friend, but this bastard implying that Ed had no one close to him still boiled his blood. Fuckin' asshole.

Ling waves his hands at him in a shushing motion. "Keep it down, some people are sleeping alrea-"

"I don't care about that either! Can we just drop this already!?" Ed cuts him off, snarling through gritted teeth, using quite a bit of effort to not raise his voice again.

Ling spreads his hands disarmingly. "Fine, fine."

Silence falls. An odd tension has started filling the room by now, and Ed already can't stand it.

He can't believe this. So far, he was the only one being made a fool here, and worst of all, Ling doesn't seem to be getting very drunk at all! He's had several more shots than Ed so far, but he was barely showing anything. Meanwhile, on top of feeling deeply flushed, Ed was already feeling an odd haze in his mind and a strange warmth in the bottom of his gut, and when he wasn't paying attention he'd sway in his seat a little. Apparently he's a lightweight, which was just fucking great.

He tries, and fails, not to stew in it too much as they drink two more shots each. Then Ling starts talking again.

" Hey. You uh, didn't really answer my question."

"Hm." Ed doesn't feel like responding with more than a grunt.

"Y'know, about who you like?"

God, he was so fucking nosy.

"I told you, I don't care. Stop ashking." Ed says, slurring a bit. Shit. The alcohol really was getting to him.

"Hmm." Ling regards him with this look that... Ed can't really identify. Is he studying him, or what? This is... getting way too uncomfortable.

Then Ling shrugs. "Well, okay. If you don't care either way, then you won't mind this."

He scoots closer to Ed's side, props his elbow on his knee and rests his chin on his fist. He smirks, gazing at Ed with a glint of mischief in his eyes that makes him... very nervous.

"Here's a proposition for you: It's late. We're alone. We're drunk. We could do whatever we wanted right now and no one would have to know."

Ed just blinks at him. Is... is this guy even real? Is this even happening? 'Whatever we wanted'...? Oh- oh no-

"Oh don't worry, I don't mean anything serious," Ling says, his expression relaxing and some of that mischief fading from his eyes. Ed lets out a breath he doesn't remember holding.

"I just mean something small, like say..." He lifts his other hand, holding up his index finger. "One kiss."

Ed has to stop himself from choking again, because that would've just been pathetic since he's not even drinking anything right now. A... a kiss? Was he- was he serious?!

"Are-are you crazy?! Wh-What kind of proposition is that?!" Ed blurts out, his voice rising to near-shouting levels again.

Ling frowns at him. "Hey, quiet, remember?"

Then his eyes dart away for a moment, thoughtful. "And it's... an experiment. Just a one-time thing. We won't tell anyone. Not your brother, not even Lan Fan or Fuu. It can be our secret."

Ed sputters, his face burning hotter than ever now."I- Wh- !?"

An experiment? Behind his brother's back? What the hell was going on?! Who the hell did stuff like this?! This idiot-prince did, apparently. Was this another one of those weird-ass customs Xingese people did? He wouldn't be surprised if it was.

Well Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, would have no part in this, thank you very much. This was beyond simple stupidity. This was idiotic. Foolish. Pointless. Fucking dumb. All of it, all this shit with the wine and the secrecy. And over a kiss? Even worse. Kissing was pretty sappy, but here they were, treating it like it was as bad as-

Wait. Had he actually said anything yet? Shit-

Ed realizes, too late, that he'd blanked out and let his mind wander into colorful protests without actually voicing them. He was still sitting there, tense and bristling, his face still flushed and his mouth still hanging open stupidly. His eyes had relaxed and started wandering into strange places, gazing at Ling's dark eyes, following the slant of his eyelids into the lines of his cheekbones, going down to his thin lips and round chin.

They'd started drifting down to the sliver of Ling's bare chest through his open coat before Ed caught them and refocused them on Ling's face in general, which was starting to tense into an annoyed expression.

By the time Ed composes himself, Ling had started speaking again. "So, will you-"

"NO! Why the hell would I kissh you, you idiot-prince?!" Ed found himself blurting out.

In another part of his mind, Ed wonders why the words came out like that, because he was pretty sure he was gonna say something a bit different from that... but he'd worry about it later. As in never.

Lings eyes widen in shock for a moment - then crinkle up, nearly closing completely as he starts snorting softly, his face twisting up in an especially stupid way as he attempts to suppress his laughter.

He has to take a breath to compose himself. "I didn't say you had to kiss me, but if you want to-"

"NO!" The protest shoots out of Ed's mouth so quickly it's like it has a mind of its own, and Ed's grateful that his mouth is just as opposed to this idea as he was.

Ling just starts snorting harder, breaking down into barely contained laughter. He has to turn away to compose himself again, half hiding his face with one hand as he takes another few breaths.

"Man... you're so funny," he says wistfully after he calms down.

He turns back to Ed, still smiling stupidly, but now he was giving him this incredulous look, as if Ed was being the ridiculous one here. Which was completely wrong, of course.

"It's just one kiss," Ling says. "It doesn't even have to be on the mouth! Just a little one, on the cheek, if you want." He pokes his index finger into his cheek to illustrate, squishing his face in a way that looked so ridiculous it was kind of... cute, or something.

But Ed doesn't have time to think about that, because he was starting to choke again from the... just the sheer gall of all this, of this stupid, embarrassing, idiot prince.

And he thought he was funny? Asshole. Let's see him keep laughing with half his face swollen and bruised from one of Ed's "kisses". From his fist. In his face.

...Bad analogy, but whatever.

The brief thought of violence helps Ed focus, and he finally composes himself enough to properly glare at Ling and say, low and threatening, "Never in a million years, shithead."

Ling just shrugs at him. "Alright."

Ed could've been holding his arm-blade to his throat right now (part of him wishes he was) and Ling would be just as unphased. Fucking bastard.

Still, he takes Ling's nonchalance as a sign of defeat, and Ed tries, unsuccessfully, to breathe a sigh of relief and relax again. Unsuccessful because within the next moment, Ling gets his attention again with a soft chuckle.

When Ed looks at Ling again, he's giving him the most withering, cunning smile yet.

He says, almost like a purr, "I'll kiss you then."

And that breaks him. Ling kissing him. Ling kissing him.

He can't even... he can't even think straight. This can't be happening. This has to be a dream. He'd already gone to bed instead of taking up Ling's stupid offer and he was just dreaming all this, right?

Wait- why would he be dreaming about this? Getting wasted and being dared into kissing Ling? No, this wasn't a dream. This was a goddamn nightmare, and he wants to wake up now. But the pounding in his chest and the heat in his face feels real, terrifyingly real.

His mouth isn't working. He's just staring at Ling, flushed and wide eyed, sputtering like an idiot. "I- wh- I- I-"

He can't focus. His mind was flying apart in a hundred different directions and he can't get any of the pieces to focus on getting his mouth and throat working enough to tell Ling 'Please don't fucking kiss me'. Or just 'no'. why would he say 'please'? Goddammit, his stupid, drunken brain....

And then Ling was still looking at him with that horrible, awful look - that glint in his half-lidded eyes, that curve in his lips, and now that Ed knew what he intended to do with those lips, a hundred images were flashing through his mind with a heat and intensity he'd never felt before, and he can't make sense out of any of it.

Ling kissing him... Ling kissing him... He just...

He can't. He can't do this. He just can't.

Ed realizes that he's still staring at Ling's face, and vaguely realizes that this might be part of his focusing problem right now. He forces his eyes down toward the floor - Yeah, that helps.

Calm down. He needs to calm down. What does he usually do for this- oh, yeah. Breathing. Elements.

Ed starts taking deep, even breaths, slowly reciting his list of elements that made up the human body in his head.

Inhale. Water, thirty-five liters. Carbon, twenty kilograms. Ammonia, four liters.

Exhale. Lime, one-point-five kilograms. Phosphorous, eight-hundred grams. Salt, two-hundred-fifty grams.

Inhale-

"...Are you alright?" he hears Ling say. Fucking hell. If he'd just give him a goddamn second-

Ed looks back up to meet Ling's eyes and tell him off, but stops.

Ling's expression had shifted dramatically within whatever timespan Ed had spent freaking out. He wasn't smiling anymore - it was almost a frown now. His eyebrows were knit together, and his eyes had softened, filled with something like pity.

Despite himself, Ed's caught off-guard - he wasn't expecting Ling to look at him like this, with all this... concern. Did he- was he worried about him? Genuinely? That's... weird. He's never seen Ling like this before...

Then Ed realizes he still needs to say something, and clearly. He takes another breath, and forces his mouth to speak.

"I- uh- y- yeah." Still pretty rough, but not bad.

Ling's soft expression fades back into mischief. "Good. Now, are you ready?"

Dammit. He should've known. Too good to be true. Ling still wants to give him that stupid kiss. And Ed still has to say something so he wouldn't do that, but he's still full of a million different thoughts and feelings, and he's losing focus again.

In the meantime, Ling's just staring at him, his expression unreadable. Then he straightens, taking his hand from under his chin and slowly extending it toward him, leaning forward.

Ed freezes in place, holding his breath.

He watches Ling's hand extend toward his face in slow-motion, his sense of time warping as all he became aware of was Ling, Ling's hand, and his own loud, rapid heartbeat. He realizes that Ling was probably aiming to cup his left cheek, brush aside his bangs there, then lean in and giving him the offered kiss - and just the thought of that scenario, imagining it, was sending so many contradictory thoughts and feelings through Ed's system that he couldn't even hope to process it all, and definitely not within the milliseconds before the hand reached him and made said scenario a reality.

His mind split apart again, even further. He's practically screaming at himself internally to do something at this point, but it's all so overwhelming...

He keeps watching the hand come closer and closer, the situation becoming ever more critical. Confusion began to give way to sheer panic as it closes in, slipping past his bangs.

And then Ling's fingertips were just a hair's breadth away from Ed's cheek, and the prickling of his touch on Ed's skin triggers a rush of anxiety that finally snaps him out of his stupor.

He reaches up and grabs Ling's wrist with his automail hand with blinding speed and firmness, making the prince flinch, freezing in place, eyes widening with genuine shock.

Ed looks into those eyes, giving Ling the most piercing, venomous glare he can muster.

And it works - after a few moments, he sees Ling's throat moving as he gulps deeply, the fear obvious in his expression now. He backs off, leaning back to a seated position.

Ed doesn't let go of his wrist however, staring him down for a few more moments to get his point across - and revel a bit more in the precious moments of control he was having over Ling right now. Feeling Ling squirm under his gaze and strong grip was entirely too satisfying.

But when he feels Ling has been cowed enough, he releases his wrist and relaxes his stare. Then he finally speaks.

"Don't try that again. Ever." And even Ed himself was a bit surprised at the clarity and conviction in his voice there. Good job, self.

Ling wasn't looking at him anymore, his head bowed into his chest. "O-okay," he says quietly.

They sit in silence for a few moments, with Ed still looking at Ling, and Ling just staring down into his lap. It's kind of... uncomfortable, again. Ed couldn't tell if he'd overdone the rebuttal or if Ling was genuinely ashamed of himself but then again, he didn't care. Besides, he'd started it, doing stupid things like saying his eyes and hair were "beautiful" and asking about his dating life. And then daring to offer him a kiss on top of it all! Idiot. He had it coming.

But that odd tension in the room was back and heavier than ever, and growing worse with each passing second, threatening to stifle him.  Ed tries to distract himself from it by polishing off another shot from his bottle of wine - the warmth from the drink is nice, but it can't overpower the heat still burning in his face and ears. He resists an urge to look at Ling again, instead gazing at the room window beyond him, noticing the dark blue night sky, dotted with twinkling stars. Going outside for a while feels like a good idea, suddenly.

"I'll be outshide," Ed mumbles as he rises to his feet. He was pretty woozy from the alcohol, but he manages to pull on his jacket and stumble over to the door well enough.

As he steps out of the room and closes the door behind him, he can't remember if Ling had said anything to acknowledge his leaving, but as he'd told himself before, he didn't care. Let him sit there and stew in his idiocy.

---

He thanks himself for the idea to get some fresh air as he steps out of the inn's front door, filling his lungs with the night's chill. It stings a bit, but the briskness of it was refreshing.

He walks - more like shuffles, not completely trusting his feet - along the inn's front side until he comes across a wood-and-iron bench on the side of the road, then slumps into it, letting his head fall back with a long sigh. God. He still couldn't believe that just happened.

His brain was still replaying the events of the past several minutes to him over and over. That goddamn idiot prince, making a fool out of him.

But- wait. As he reassesses everything that'd happened, a thought occurs to him. Actually, his plan had sort of worked, in the end.

Ling had tried to do something embarrassing, and Ed had put him in his place. It was at his own expense, but still. Yeah, he totally got him back for earlier today. He didn't get to punch him in the face, but cowing him into submission was good enough. Yeah. Good enough.

He settles on that, lets himself relax against the back of the bench, closing his eyes.

No longer distracted by the view of the night sky and his slightly blurred vision, a quiet thumping in his ears makes Ed realize that his heart was still beating awfully hard. Actually, all the anxiousness from earlier was still there, still balled up in his chest and stomach. Jeeze, had he been that nervous back there? Or was it even nervousness? He can't figure out what he's feeling, or rather, what he was feeling back there. It's like his head's full of static, and he can't tell if it's from the alcohol or something else.

But the cool night air he's breathing in is already starting to calm him down and help him focus again. Maybe he could try to kind of comprehend what even happened back there.

Let's see. Ling bought that rice wine, then invited Ed to his room to drink with him to... talk about Ed's dating life and dare him into a kiss, apparently. He'd planned all that, hadn't he? Bastard. Trying to get him drunk enough to do stupid shit like that.

That 'boyfriend' part kept bothering him in particular. Why in the goddamn world would Ling just... assume Ed might be into other guys? Because he definitely wasn't. Wasn't that obvious?

In fact, Ed was quite comfortable in saying he wasn't into that kind of thing at all, and preferred...

...uh. Whatever he was... into.

Ed frowns to himself. Er... what was he into? Huh... He's never actually sat down and thought about this before.

All this mushy stuff about dating and romance and - okay fine, sex too - wasn't really something he was normally concerned about. Hadn't been for years, really, with everything that'd happened in his life lately. Right now he just wanted to get his brother's body back, along with his missing limbs, and then- well... Then he'd worry about this. Later. That's what he's been telling himself - he didn't have the time or brainpower to waste on sappy shit right now.

...But now Ling had come along and... did this. Just shoved it all in his face like it was no big deal. And now Ed felt strangely... incompetent, 'cause he totally froze up back there. He had no fucking idea how to react to this sort of thing, even when it was right in front of him. I mean sure, he hasn't had any kind of experience with it, but it still made him feel like an idiot. Goddammit, Ling...

...Okay, he's getting offtrack here. He needs to refocus. What was he thinking about? Oh yeah, what he likes.

Hmm... Truthfully, he doesn't know much about girls. I mean, he... guessed he liked them? Sure? I mean, he was a guy, so it was natural, right?

But then again, the only girl he really knew and kind of liked was Winry, but they were just friends. They'd known each other since they were little. Why would he be mushy with her? I mean sure, he cared about her and all, and... okay, she was kind of pretty sometimes, but- ugh. That'd be so awkward. Being with Winry like... that.

And Ed knew even less about guys - at least in that... way. This was.. actually the first time he's ever considered this, really. He just... doesn't really know anything about it. In all of his and Al's travels, men who dated other men, even gay people in general, were rarely talked about by folks, even in passing. What little he's heard talked them up as either something strange and worthy of ridicule, or harmless, just people like anyone else.

It was confusing, and none of it has helped him form any concrete opinions about it. And they'd yet to actually meet one in-person, to his knowledge.

...But then, they could be just... any guy, right? You can't really assume this kind of thing just from looking at someone, you'd have to actually talk to them and-

Wait. Wait a goddamn second.

Ed's eyes snap open. if Ling had been so interested in his dating life and even tried to kiss him, was he... one of them? Had he just- maybe, possibly, just had the moves put on him by another guy? Who was interested?

He straightens up in his seat, covering his burning-again face with one hand. Oh... Oh, god. That's... That's exactly what happened, isn't it? Aw, shit... that's so embarrassing... and confusing.

Because on one hand, Ed wants to think 'I can't fucking believe this guy tried to flirt with me' but on the other hand, he also wants to think 'I can't fucking believe this guy found me attractive enough to flirt with me.' He even straight up called him beautiful! Like, holy shit. What... what do you even say about that? What do you do?

Like... was this how women felt when regular guys flirted with them? Kind of flattered, but also kind of creeped out and uncomfortable at the same time? Jeeze... he makes a mental note:

Never do that to a girl, or anyone, ever. Not worth it.

...Not that he ever planned to flirt with anyone anyway, but- well, maybe when he was older? If he ever tried to settle down after everything was over- but he still can't really see himself ever doing that...

Ugh... Ed lets his hand drag, his fingers pulling down the skin of his face. None of this is making sense to him, and its driving him nuts because he was a scientist - he was smart. A goddamn prodigy, even. He should be able to make sense out of anything, even stupid shit like dating or kissing or whether he was into guys or girls or whatever.

But he can't. It's too confusing. It's too much. It's too soon. And he's too drunk and too tired to keep thinking about all this, because his head's starting to hurt like hell.

He lets out a long sigh, releasing his face from his hand and slumping forward on the bench.

It's pointless to keep dwelling on this. He's just giving himself a migraine at this point.

Better yet, he should just... forget it. Forget it all. He'd had a stupid, embarrassing night with Ling, but he'd gotten back at him, so that was enough. So he'll just drop it, and pretend this whole night never happened.

Yeah. He'll do that.

Ed sways to one side, laying down along the length of the seat of the bench. He rolls himself onto his back, giving him a full view of the starry night sky above. He relaxes his eyes and lets his mind drift far away from thoughts of wine and dating and Ling.

---

Ed didn't know how long he stayed out there, he might've even dozed off for a while. But either way, at some point Al came out of the inn to look for him, found him lying on that bench, and pleaded with him to come back to their room before the chill made him sick.

Then he chastised him for overdoing it on the alcohol as he watched how woozily Ed got to his feet and tried to walk. Ed just blew him off, saying he'd be fine by morning, but that didn't stop Al from pressing him to at least drink some water to clean out his system. Ugh. No wonder people always mistook him for the older brother.

Now he's pestering him over whether he'd learned anything about Alkehestry from Ling, and Ed, faced with the reality that'd he completely fucking forgotten about that, can only grunt at him as he follows him back inside the inn.

"You...You didn't ask him anything, did you?" Al finally says, turning to him, and would've been staring at him incredulously if his face could do that.

Ed just shrugs at him.

Al was the one to groan loudly this time. "Ugh, brother! This might've been our only chance! He's probably going to ditch us once we reach Central and we'll never be able to ask him again!"

Ed doesn't respond, scratching his ear with a gloved hand. At this point he was so beyond caring about any of this it wasn't even funny. (Not even the Alkehestry stuff. More like Alke-hell-if-I-give-a-shit-anymore.)

"You don't even care, do you? Ugh, Ed, I swear! You can't just let an opportunity slip by just because you hate him. Alkehestry might hold the key to getting our bodies back without using-"

Ed, not feeling like being lectured again, walks past him and up the stairwell without a word.

Al pauses, no doubt staring at him. "...What's with you, anyway? How much did you even drink?"

Ed turns to wave a hand half-heartedly at him, saying, "I'm going to bed, that's what. G'night."

Then he keeps walking upstairs towards their room, ignoring Alphonse's hollow sighs.

-

When Ed reaches the top of the stairs and faces the upstairs hallway, he's hit with a sudden wave of anxiety when he realizes he'll have to walk by Ling's room to reach his own, but when he peeks into its half-open door, the drinks and cutlery had all been put away and Ling had, apparently, already retired to his bed.

He has the odd thought of checking on the prince, but he quashes the idea as soon as it comes to him, instead focusing on how tired he was and how his head was aching.

He gets to his room, undresses and flops into bed, hoping he won't have a hangover in the morning.

---

Ed did have a hangover the next morning, but thankfully it was pretty mild. Just a more intense headache than usual. He's almost thankful that Ling didn't goad him with anything heavier than rice wine, cuz if he's a... sigh, lightweight, who knows what a few shots of hard liquor would do to him.

But that doesn't stop Alphonse from throwing silent, judging glances his way while he's seated next to him on the train, or Winry from pestering him with questions and concerns from the other side of their booth, like What the hell were you thinking? and You need to drink more water, like, all the time. Because of course Alphonse fucking snitched on him and told her about last night as soon as she woke up.

Whatever. At least they didn't know what actually happened...

Ed looks over at Ling, seated alone in the booth on the other side of the passenger car. He'd expected Ling to still be quiet and somber, or even angry with him for what he did, but true to form, Ling was back to his annoyingly light-hearted, smiling-y self, waving stupidly at them as he notices Ed looking his way.

Ling was doubtlessly eavesdropping on their conversations, but he doesn't say anything about their "encounter" last night, either. Ed was silently thankful for it - but at the same time, it kind of... bothers him.

The whole thing still bothers him, actually. More than he'll ever admit.

Ling's comments, his offer of the kiss, how close he'd been to fulfilling it - it's all stuck somewhere in the back of Ed's mind, prickles there during lulls in the train ride, when Ed finds himself looking over at Ling and noticing things like the shape of Ling's profile silhouetted against the train window he was gazing out of, how his hair fell over his eyes, or his bare chest subtly moving with his breathing (why the hell is he always shirtless anyway?).

But he's quick to snap himself out of it each time. He has way more important things to worry about right now.

Besides, it's probably just the alcohol getting to him. That's all.

END

[ritebeforeyoureyes]

Haunt

Sorry this took me a while to write! I have been super busy running errands and adapting to a lifestyle that doesn’t involve studying 24/7 lol.

Masterlist – Plot: Zendaya learns more about Tom’s lifestyle.

Haunt (Chapter Seventeen) 

Zendaya was in her studio and for the first time in a while, Tom wasn’t with her. With some elusive charity gala coming up, Tom had reluctantly gone to speak with his father about the details. As a result, Jon was sat on a bench looking as stern and yet surprisingly joyful whilst Darnell ran about doing mundane chores.

“I like that one.” Jon ushered to a photograph that made both Darnell and Zendaya pause with what they were doing. The picture in reference was one that Zendaya was initially incredibly hesitant to put on the market; the picture being one that she took. Her studio held pictures taken by both her and Darnell and an array of local photographers, but it was always the freelance photographers who sold the most. They were usually photographs of the stereotypical skyscrapers and the sunset; pictures that normal American families hung up in their living rooms.

But the one that Jon was admiring was one Zendaya had taken on the streets near her apartment. It was of a deserted children’s park during the fall, the swings in motion with the wind and a sullen eeriness haunting the whole space. There was graffiti on the walls, a grey cloudiness in the sky and benches that looked as battered and bruised as the slides inhabiting the park. It was meant to be a place of happiness and childishness and this picture didn’t embody that. In Zendaya’s mind it inadvertently showed off the inequality in New York. This tucked away spot hadn’t been cared for in months, years even, and Zendaya thought it was sad. Because parks, to her, were a symbol of childhood innocence.

Her childhood, before everything hit the ceiling, was a decent enough one; one that had shaped the person that she was today. Her parents were pretty crappy, but Nikki and Dom had been the substitute parents that she’d always needed. One of her fondest memories was of them taking the whole Holland clan and her out for some time in the sun at their local park. They’d drink Nikki’s lemonade on a picnic blanket before making a ruckus whilst trying to fight for the two free swings. It was always Tom and Zendaya who won, a very young Sam and Harry left sulking in the corner. But, those memories – regardless of how painful they were for Zendaya to look upon now – had reminded her that there was good in the world. That people like Nikki and Dom were kind and loving and that she could also be one of those people. That one day, when Zendaya had children of her own, she’d be able to be parents like they had been.

So, it didn’t sit right with Zendaya that something like a park – that was meant to be so wholesomely good – had now probably just become an abandoned spot for dodgy drug deals as it got dark. It was why she taken the picture in the first place, to expose the bleak reality of living where she did. Children from her local area didn’t get a childhood, not one that enabled them to run freely outside or hang with their friends at a play area. Parents were worried for their children, locking them insides and away from the dangers of the world and Zendaya wanted to embody that in her picture. But, it was definitely not something your average person wanted to purchase; nobody wanted the reminder of how screwed up the world actually was hanging in their home. “It’s real, I like that.”

“Really?” Zendaya tilted her head and admired her work. “No one’s ever said that to me.”

“You’re not capturing perfection, like that.” Jon pointed to another picture that had been taken in the fall. It looked like a college campus, NYU’s maybe, with autumnal coloured leaves covering a pretty gothic building; people in the foreground sipping coffees and dressed warm in sweatshirts and big scarves. There was a streak of sunlight hitting the front and it was picturesque. It was the type of photograph that was destined for the cover of a university prospectus or brochure. “Life isn’t all chai lattes and smiles. You’re basically calling out the bullshit of that picture with your own.”

“That actually means a lot, thanks Jon.” Zendaya nodded with a sense of pride, glad that somebody other than herself had picked up on the message she was trying to convey. “You’re the only person who’s ever picked up on the message behind that picture.”

“It’s crazy, you know-” After a pregnant silence between the two, Jon had Zendaya’s undivided attention. She stared at him curiously, urging him to explain himself. “How you and Tom are so different and yet so alike.”  

“Why is that?”

“He’s like you, always sees that differing view on people.” Jon had only ever known wealthy Tom Holland, but he had spent enough time with him to know he wasn’t just the stereotypical rich man that he was portrayed as in the media. “But-“

“But what?” Now Zendaya was intrigued. Jon knew more about this newer version of Tom than she did, and she was interested to know what Jon truly thought of him. Zendaya had seen Tom snap at Sam and Harry, masking his behaviour under the pretence that he was their boss and now, she was genuinely how he treated Jon; a man whose fatherly qualities she’d grown accustomed to.

“That’s not always a good thing. You’re humble, down to earth-”

“And Tom isn’t?”

“It’s not that, necessarily.” Jon tried to provide Zendaya with an insight into the life she had unfairly been thrust into whilst simultaneously treading on eggshells. He obviously couldn’t reveal anything of substance that would get him in trouble with Tom. “Look, what we do is dangerous, and you experience a lot of shit that even your worst nightmares couldn’t compare. That screws with a guy’s head, then when you throw money into the mix, it’s-”  

“A mess?”

“Exactly.” Jon nodded as a sombre expression clouded over Zendaya’s face. She was beginning to grow more and more sympathetic to Tom’s situation, her defences weakening as she exposed herself to him little by little. “To a working-class person, this life looks so easy. This is what they aspire to become and it’s not as black and white as that. Wealth and privilege isn’t all it’s made out to be.”

And Jon’s were the truth. Because the root of all of Tom’s problems originated from the wealth and privilege he had been thrust into and as he hit the gym with his father, that thought circled through his brain over and over again.

“Hit me again.” With a loud groan and a heavy swing at his Dad, Tom tried to punch Dom square in the chest. Dom bounced around a boxing ring with his arms up in defence. His eldest son, due to his obligations with Zendaya, hadn’t hit the gym in a while and Dom thought having a business conversation over some laddish time would be good for Tom. However, the hit demonstrated how laxed Tom had become with his combat skills. Dom had deflected the punch instantly and forced Tom’s body to the floor with a loud thud. The sound resonated through the room and Dom huffed in evident frustration. “Get up.”

“Jesus, Dad.” Tom groaned as he slinked over to the side of the ring with an aching shoulder. He clutched it tightly, aware that it would probably bruise in the morning. “Could have gone a little easy on me-“

“You get into a fight, no one’s going to take it easy on you-“

“I know that.” Tom retaliated quickly. “But you know I haven’t been training-“

“And whose fault is that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” As Dom made the remark, Tom jumped on the defence immediately, his tone of voice snappy.

“It means you’ve gotten your priorities mixed up.”  Before Tom could respond, Dom held his hand up with an aura of authority that even Tom couldn’t ignore. Despite ruling over the majority of their employees, Tom was still inferior to his father in the hierarchy that was their family. “Son, you know I like Zendaya, she was like a daughter to me, but this isn’t good for us. This thing you’re doing, keeping her protected, it will only last so long. Harrison will keep trying and one day he’ll succeed. It’s a cat and mouse game-“

“I’m not letting that happen.”

“Maybe you should.” Dom muttered it under his breathe but the comment rang eerily through the spacious gym space.

“Are you crazy? That’s happening over my dead body.” Tom jumped up, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as his eyes bulged open. He couldn’t comprehend how his father had gone from referring to Zendaya as his daughter to dangling her in front of Harrison and his men as bait.

“Don’t talk to me with that tone, boy. I am still your father.” Dom instructed with a wag of his index finger and Tom reluctantly lowered his gaze. “All I’m trying to say is, is she worth it? Because you’ve got tunnel vision right now and all you see is her. But our business, my business is suffering because of it-“

“Nothing is suffering!” Tom didn’t understand where his father’s lecture was coming from. Surprisingly, Sam and Harry were taking good care of The Brother’s Trust since Tom had adopted the role as Zendaya’s primary bodyguard.  There had been a handful of successful drug shipping’s and a few social appearances that upheld the Holland’s’ charitable stature; all of which had occurred without Tom or Dom’s intervention. And, the planning for their upcoming charity gala was going well too. “The twins are handling the gala-“

In fact, the twins were handling the gala so well, it had become all the talk among New York socialite. Actors and actresses, CEOs and musicians; everyone who was anyone had gotten an invite for what the papers were calling the event of the year.

“Speaking of which, does she know about the gala? Zendaya?”

“Yeah. Of course, she does.” Tom had had the initial chat about the gala with Harry in front of Zendaya; she just didn’t know why the event was being held. He didn’t want to ruin everything and risk her freaking out about the prospect of seeing Harrison in the flesh. But all in all, she was excited about the event; a possible space for her to network her own business. She had never been to something of such a magnitude before and she was eager to schmooze with Hollywood’s finest in a pretty dress.

“She’s not on the guest list, right?”

“Dad, what’s going on with you today?” Of course, she is!”

Deep down, Dom understood Tom’s reasoning behind caring for Zendaya so deeply. Tom had always loved her, but love made you weak in the business that they were in. It was why Dom had allowed Nikki to be the loving and caring parent in their world. It was also why he slowly but surely faded into a loveless marriage. His marriage was a pretence of fake smiles and paparazzi pictures; an act to fool both their children and the world. And Dom didn’t want Tom to have to deal with the heartbreak that came with that. He was the practical person, the person that called out the bullshit and unfortunately, he was having to do that exact thing to Tom now. With his family and only his family’s best interests at heart, Dom knew Tom’s relationship with Zendaya wouldn’t end well. She would ruin him and his inability to fight efficiently at the gym proved that. She was his Achilles heel and as Dom grew older, he knew that soon, he needed Tom to have full reigns of the business. Tom needed to be involved in the nitty gritty details of this corrupt world and no woman could love a man like that. No woman could lie next to a man who killed for a living and be okay with that. And he didn’t want Tom to face that realisation three years or thirty years from now.

“You think bringing her as your date will be wise?”

“I don’t get your sudden vendetta against the girl you just called your daughter but I’m bringing her to the gala-“

“Fine. But let me tell you this, have you thought of a back up plan if everything goes tits up on the day-“

“What do you mean?”

“The twins’ plan is good, clever, actually! But it’s too idealistic, what if things don’t go to plan? What if Harrison’s already one step ahead? You’re basically giving her to him if he is.” As Dom spoke, the gears turned in Tom’s head. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his Dad was right. Harrison was unpredictable, and Tom had no clue what he was planning. What if he saw right through his gala’s true intentions? What if it was his chance to cause some real damage? “So, listen to me and listen to me clear, Thomas, don’t bring Zendaya anywhere near that gala.”

If you enjoyed this piece and would like to help further me and my work, please support me whilst I get through university. The money you donate will go towards assisting me in my student fees, rent etc. It is one hundred per cent a voluntary pursuit and greatly appreciated, however, your lovely comments, likes and reblogs are always welcomed too. Thank you for being the greatest: https://ko-fi.com/D1D072V0

[inyournightmares97]

GOT7 MASTERLIST

This is a masterlist for just GOT7! You can find other groups on my Miscellaneous Masterlist here! 

Completed (stories that are fully uploaded! No, there will not be a sequel. Kindly don’t ask.)

Mark

✿ Forever Young: [Fluff,  Angst, Female OC!]

“In which Mark recalls old mistakes and how stupid it is to trust Jackson with anything important.”

✿ Firework Series (Mark Ver) : Face: [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!, College!au]

“Yeojung’s high school fling with Mark Tuan meant nothing. She was young and stupid, and they weren’t good together. But life reunites them and they have a chance to explore the mistakes they made in the past.

They say your first love will always have a special place in your heart.”

✿ Thirsty Days Series: (Mark) The Passionate Discourse: [Fluff, Smut, Angst, Female Reader!]

“ A difference of opinion leads to a healthy debate between you and the sexy Professor Mark Tuan… and just maybe, a little something more.”

✿ A Conversation: [Fluff, Female Reader!]  

“A strange conversation, with a strange man. At the end of the day, aren’t we all a little strange and lonely on the inside?”

Jaebum

✿ Mine: [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!, Highschool!au]

“ In which Jaebum’s possessive side comes out.”

✿ Firework Series (Jaebum Ver): Dreamin’:[Fluff,Angst, Female OC! Collegeau]

“Park Miran thought that a long-distance relationship with Im Jaebum would work out. They only had to bear with it for a while, until she got her career in place. But when Miran finally comes home to spend New Year with Jaebum, he has something to tell her that she may not like.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but how much distance can destroy a relationship?

✿ Mafia Series: (Jaebum): The Innocent Criminal  Part 2  Part 3 [Angst, Female Reader!, Violence]

“Im Jaebum, the infamous leader of GotSeven has committed murder, stolen money, tortured people and broken all sorts of laws. But most importantly, he destroyed your heart. You once decided never to become a criminal lawyer if it meant defending men like him.

But years later, when it appears that Jaebum is going to be locked away for the one crime he didn’t actually commit, you’re forced to make a decision. Where does one draw the line between innocent and guilty?”

✿ The Leading Lady: [Fluff, Female Reader!, College!au]

“ Im Jaebum wants to make a short film, and you end up as his leading lady.”

✿ Chocolate Eyes  [Angst, Female Reader!, Violence]

“You return home to find that the man you once loved has become a violent criminal, your mother is sick and your beloved little brother hates you. It’s hard to decide what is right and wrong. But at the end of day, we’re all just trying to protect the people we love.” 

Jackson

✿ Home Run [Fluff, Female OC, Highschool!au]

“In which Jackson Wang is a baseball player and his home run goes crashing through the wrong (or right) window.”  

✿ Dawn Of Us [Fluff, Female Reader]

“ In which Jackson surprises you with a tropical vacation.”

✿  Firework Series (Jackson Ver): Out [Fluff, Angst, Female OC, College!au]

“Jackson Wang is a young, rich heir who parties hard and spends money harder. He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world, until the appearance of Lee Haeun forces him to face one of his darkest secrets. Jackson has to deal with his worst fear: that everyone would see right through him.

They say once you reach the top, the only way left to go is down.”

✿ Mafia Series: (Jackson): The Truth Evasion Part 2 [Angst, Fluff, Female Reader!, Violence, Sensitive Subjects]

“Jackson Wang, GotSeven’s ace hitman and local strip club owner, has had his eye on the girl who helps the gang stash away their dirty money for years now. He wants to know why you won’t give him a chance, but you’re fairly certain that Jackson can’t handle the truth of your past.

There are some obstacles that mere sexual attraction and a good fuck aren’t enough to overcome”

✿ Unsolicited Part 2 Part 3 [Fluff, Female Reader!, Adult Subjects]

“ Jackson Wang is a perfect gentleman and he thinks it’s extremely vital that you understand… that is not his penis.”

✿ Love Languages [Fluff, Female Reader]

“Sometimes, it’s hard to understand the person you love.” 

Jinyoung

✿ Retrospection  Part 2  Part 3 [Fluff, Angst, Female OC, College!au]

“ In which Park Jinyoung had a crush on Jaebum’s girlfriend in high school, and he’s never quite gotten over it.”

✿ Firework Series (Jinyoung Ver): Remember You [Fluff, Angst, Female OC, College!au]

“Park Jinyoung is attracted to smart, mature women, not little girls like Cho Hee who follow him around everywhere. He forgets that every girl blossoms into a woman at some point in her life.

They say changing yourself changes everything.”

✿ Tomorrow, Today Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 [Angst, Fluff, Female Reader! Sensitive Subjects]

“A road trip to your hometown results in a number of unexpected setbacks. Hopes and fears are revealed, while Jinyoung and Jaebum help you understand that life is difficult for everyone, and nobody ever really knows what they’re doing.”

✿ Mafia Series: (Jinyoung) The Friendly Hostage (M) [Fluff, Smut, Female Reader! Also, tumblr banned this so the link takes you to my AFF account]    

“ Park Jinyoung is the strategist and a core member of GotSeven, the dangerous gang that practically owns all the other gangs in your locality. When he is kidnapped and you are put in charge of his care, you find that your hostage has other ideas on his mind, and keeping him happy is not easy.”

✿ A Whole New World [Fluff, Female Reader!, Hogwarts!au]

“ Park Jinyoung takes you on an unforgettable ride.”

✿ Thirsty Days Series: (Jinyoung): Unholy (M) [Smut, Angst, Female Reader! Stripper!Jinyoung]

“ You never imagined that one impulsive night with Park Jinyoung could become both the highest and lowest point in your life.”

✿ If I Drink This…  [Fluff, Female Reader!, Office!au]

“ In which Park Jinyoung turns out to have more flaws than you originally imagined.”

✿ The Savage King [Angst, Fluff, Female Reader!, Historical!au, Sensitive Subjects]

“The whispers heard through the grapevine say that King Jinyoung is a savage. But perhaps a man who is feared by all, still has many fears of his own.”

✿ The Studded Pants [Fluff, Crack, Female Reader!]

“ You’re a professional photographer, so you’ll work with whatever you have. Even if all you have is Park Jinyoung.” 

✿ Unwritten [Fluff, Female!Reader]

“A chance encounter with a stranger on a rainy night shows you that it doesn’t have to matter who you are or what you’ve done until now… your story can always begin today.” 

✿ Ultimatum Part 2 Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 (final)  [Angst, Fluff, Female!reader, Office!au]

Park Jinyoung is a master negotiator. He’s used to preying on people’s weaknesses and manipulating them to get his way. So he can’t understand you; a lawyer who sees the world in black and white, as either good or bad. Conflict is inevitable.

But if the two of you can just set aside your differences, perhaps you can perform miracles together

Youngjae

✿ My Reaction  [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!]

“ In which Choi Youngjae finds out that the cold, sexy popular girls aren’t always what they seem.”

✿ Firework Series (Youngjae Ver): She’s a Monster [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!, College!au]

“Choi Youngjae falls in love at first sight, with the girl of his dreams. But Lee Iseul doesn’t believe in things like that, nor she does she care much for people who do.

They say timing is the most important thing in love.”

✿  Thirsty Days Series: (Youngjae) The Seventh Wedding [Fluff, Female Reader]

“ It took Choi Youngjae seven weddings to fall in love with you.”

✿ Behind the Laugh [Fluff, Angst, Female Reader]

“ For Youngjae, laughter wasn’t beautiful. That was until the day he saw yours.” 

Bambam

✿ No Jam [Fluff, Female OC!, College!au]

“ In which Bambam likes parties, but only when a certain person is around.”

✿  How to Be a Heartbreaker [Angst, Female Reader]

“Four simple rules to follow to break a persons’ heart. Should be easy enough, shouldn’t it? After all, it’s much easier to be a heart-breaker yourself than to have your heart broken.”

✿ Mafia Series: (Bambam) The Selfish Conscience Part 2 [Fluff, Angst, Female Reader, Sensitive Subjects]

“Bambam has always been reckless, impulsive and let his heart guide him instead of his brain. That was how he got involved with the mafia, that was how he rescued you from a human trafficking racket. Despite his vast criminal record and skewed sense of morality, he’s always been clear about one thing:

Keeping the ones you love safe is more important than vague notions of justice or freedom.”

✿ If You’re Handsome [Fluff, Female Reader]

“In which you learn that maybe there’s more to Bambam than just expensive suits and a life of luxury.”  

✿ My Baby [Fluff, Female Reader!]

“ Bambam reassures you that no matter how much time passes, you’ll always be his baby.”

Yugyeom

✿ Mafia Series: (Yugyeom):  The Rescue Operation [Fluff, Angst, Female Reader]

“Kim Yugyeom is the cute, silly boy who sits next to you in class, the one you’re secretly harboring a crush on. When he and his friend get on the wrong side of some dangerous people, it’s up to you to make sure he gets out alive.”

✿ Why We Need Friends:  Prologue,  Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11 [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!, College!au. Jeon Jungkook and other 97-line idols from different groups feature heavily in this. Yugyeom ends up with the OC but he’s not the main character if that makes sense?]

“ Lee Mirae is Jeon Jungkook’s annoying childhood neighbour; that one girl he just couldn’t shake off no matter how hard he tried. Except when Mirae falls head-over-heels for Jungkook’s only best friend, she implants herself more permanently into his life, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.”

✿ Thursday; [Fluff, Female Reader, College!au]

“Confessing your feelings to the guy you like is easy… right?”

Ongoing/Incomplete (stories that I am currently working on! Kindly don’t ask when I’ll update. When it’s ready I’ll post.)

✿ My Youth: (Jinyoung)  Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 [Angst, Fluff, Female reader!]

“Broken and miserable, Park Jinyoung returns to his hometown to learn that no matter how hard he falls, there are still people who think he’s a hero.”

Drabbles/Reactions (shorter stuff that doesn’t deserve a description or a title because whatever)

✿ GOT7 Reactions Masterlist [A separate Masterlist of reactions written for Got7!]

✿ Drabble Challenge Masterlist [A dialogue drabble prompt list I once did]

✿  ‘LOOK’ Drabble Series: The House Party (1/7)  The Bridge (2/7) The Woods (3/7) The Art Gallery (4/7) The Old House (5/7) The Garden (6/7) The Record Store (7/7)  

Mark

friendstolovers!au + Mark

sugardaddy!au + Mark

fuckboy!au + Mark

Introvert!reader + Mark

friendswithbenefits!au + Jaebum

soulmate!au +Jaebum

Jaebum

ceo!au + jaebum

Hybrid!au + Jaebum

ArrangedMarriage!au + Jaebum

High School Jock!au + Jaebum

Jinyoung

Prince!au + Jinyoung

Playboy!au + Jinyoung

Yandere!au + Jinyoung

BestFriendstoEnemies!au + Jinyoung

CEO!au + Jinyoung

Bambam

Delinquent!au + Bambam

Carnival Date! + Bambam

Yugyeom

BeachDay!au + Yugyeom (Let Me songfic)

Barista!Yugyeom

Abandoned/Indefinite Hiatus (stories that are unlikely to ever be updated but will stay up because I don’t want to delete them yet. Don’t ask me anything about these stories. At all. Seriously. I will lose my shit.)

✿ Noblesse Oblige Series: (Mark) Felix Culpa  (Part 1) (Part 2)  (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) [Angst, Fluff, Female OC]

Crown Prince Mark never desired to rule. It was too much of a burden, too much effort to make for people who showed such little gratitude. When he is sent to the neighboring kingdom of Castellum, he meets a woman who would sacrifice her life for her kingdom and wonders: what is it that truly motivates men? Is it power? Or love? Perhaps neither.

✿ Antipathy Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“ In which Park Jinyoung, a slightly murderous cat hybrid, makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.”

[ulyssesredux]

Scylla and Charybdis

You may still win a great part in the vesture of buried Denmark, a greying man with two marriageable daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak immediately. The kips?

I can get away in time. A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.

He was always to her marriage and its troubles—but no; there were two occasions in which Lydgate had told her everything, Miss Brooke looking so handsome.

Stephen: Is he? Make them accomplices. Who brought me into this trouble. Suddenly he turned towards her and half to her who had not married me.

Who will woo you?

S. D.—What links them in nature? A quart of ale is a reason for our never being rich.

I should not be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had thought of studying her manners: she was born. Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and made her own great trees, her four beautiful green fields, the bards must drink. Two left. A great poet on a wide headless caubeen, hung on his deathbed. But Hamlet is so personal, isn't it?

—Mr Lyster, an androgynous angel, being a wife? From these words Mr Best said brightly, gladly, brightly.

T. Caulfield Irwin.

Stephen rose. He returns after a life does it spring.

He walks. It was after the meeting, and made her delight the more tenderly for that labor; but it did seem to her who had become rather oppressive: to sit. Then outspoke medical Dick to his greencapped desklamp sought the face of the cloud by day. O, the need of that strange ban against him left by Mr. Casaubon, who had not seen him in Richard III.

After three months Freshitt had become rather oppressive: to sit in from which he took the cow by the bankside, a super here, a daystar, a silent witness and there was no touch of indignation as well as a painter of old Italy set his face, and between three and four thousand of ready money in the neighborhood and begin a new art for Europe like the epilogue look long on it.

Or that seem sensible.

You would not forbid it when—Dorothea felt her heart.

The sun two days later, the favor being entirely to her widow's dower at common law.

As we, or, at the gate, we seem to know, who has faded into impalpability through death, with fifty of experience, material and moral. The thing one most longs for may be the cause of your grandmother. They remind one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Perhaps then you would like to tell you what will not save him. I say? Cordoglio. Pater, ait. Love that dare not speak immediately.

But Sir James Chettam.

Seas between. Maeterlinck. But, after what you meant to do?

A shadow hangs over all her reasons. —They are sundered by a girlish instruction comparable to the mystic mind. You are a delusion, said Lydgate, who when dying in Southwark.

Let me think. The Dowager Lady Chettam, just returned from a full heart.

It is my name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he that filches from me, a ghost, the son consubstantial with the yearning to be her husband's outrage on the property which was a living Bossuet, whose nose and eyes were equally black and expressive, was like this maid. Buy a pair.

Cadwallader said nothing.

Why is the signature of his family who is guilty … He rested an innocent book on the Hospital, to comfort them, to comfort them, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam? All this volume is about Greece, you have so many ways.

Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.

To be sure.

I should say that she gave the patient—that is from ignorance.

Because the theme of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar. Lovely!

Do trust me, they come.

Cadwallader, opening her hands fall, looked, asked, would find Hamlet's musings about the Hospital according to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like original sin that darkened his understanding, and prove to him, her four brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard Crookback, Edmund, Stephen said, honeying malice: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a firedrake, rose at his birth.

The swan of Avon has other thoughts.

Upon incertitude, upon the bard Kinch at his birth. Stephen said.

O, yes, mention there is no mention of her woman's invisible weapon. The greyeyed goddess who bends over the boy Adonis, lay in the law: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, said the easy Rector. He would mention the definite measures which he had been certainly known to all the same name that all this was adorable genuineness, and picked out what seem the best things.

—There was certainly an unusual feeling between them, bowing, greeting.

If you hold that his namesake may live for ever. Dr Sigerson says. He knows your old fellow.

Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into a shattering daylight of no use to say any word, and she only cares about her plans.

And the meeting, and doing better things.

—I have; it was a woman, will he?

Life of life in him.

No birds.

—You were speaking of the past. Peeping and prying into greenroom gossip of the strongest reasons through which Will's pride became a repellent force, keeping him asunder from Dorothea.

To whom thus Eglinton: You mean the greatest things.

Hamlet but will say those names were already planted in her continuing blind to the heart of him who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the sonnets were written by a smile.

O, Kinch.

A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella. All this volume is about Greece.

Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. A tempo But he that sorrow too? Buck Mulligan moaned. But you seem to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her.

Local colour. That lies in space which I don't know if I had some ambition.

And that will make it answer.

Not if it were her own energy could not be lost. Flow over them with your waves and with something white on his halldoor in Glasthule. I never saw Miss Brooke decided that it was not what Dorothea wanted to hear it, Paris garden. Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a pocket but keened in a galliard he was entirely reserved towards her. Telegram! Herr Bleibtreu, the plumbers' hall.

Cease to strive.

Did you meet him? But her soul over her embroidery in her journeying, what he calls his wife or his wife. Buck Mulligan said.

Your power of forming an opinion. Cadwallader's maid says there's a lord coming who is killed or who is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a stride John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

—All of us, Villiers de l'Isle has said. But further reflection told her that you have a stern task before you.

He showed the white object under his arm, at least, that she gave the English with scrupulous care, not saw, laid down unglanced, looked up shybrightly.

—For Willie Hughes, a super here, and determined to tell me in a few shillings.

They are not, always to her his best bed if he will never be a son be not a father be a drug in the famine riots.

He wants to see him, and the change she now put on her bonnet and shawl, hurried along the avenue.

Fabulous artificer.

After all, as fresh as cinnamon, now.

Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly.

He laughed to free his mind from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and was gone.

He sued a fellowplayer for the use of behaving otherwise? Shall we see round us. What he learnt from his chair with an appeal will touch him.

Every day we must do without explanation. I paid my way.

Then she deposited the paper and then they went to hail the foamborn Aphrodite.

Do you hear me? Who will woo you?

I touched his hand.

Strong curtain.

It came shortly before the memorable meeting at the Homestead.

Buck Mulligan.

I think you're getting on very nicely.

Our Father who art in peril.

Sir James, as one sees in real life.

Gladly glancing, a blond ephebe.

—Directly, said Dorothea, into whose mind every impression about Rosamond had set her mind, seeing reflected there in vague labyrinthine extension every quality she herself brought; had opened much of her favorite themes she was Quixotic: he knew of no use, said Dorothea, energetically, forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her. —Would have been opposed to the world without as actual what was in need—though I would tell, perhaps, others being built at Lowick.

—Yes.

They remind one of those loins!

The most innocent son of his soul he excused himself;—unless it were her own great trees, her friends don't exert themselves, there are plenty of idle English, and got out of the world, stained with all goodness. When she did at his birth.

Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls, engulfer. Then dies.

Me, Magee that had the chinless Chinaman! His unremitting intellect is the whatness of allhorse.

If the earthquake did not leave out the presents for his father's death. Once quick in the earth. Sons with mothers, and, loosing her nightly waters on the rose-bushes, which was a point on which even young faces will very soon show from the persistent presence of youth can lighten or vary the flatness of her own, and wrong reasoning sometimes lands poor mortals in right conclusions: starting a long conversation in the world. Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us. The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton asked with slight concern.

Booted the twain and staved.

Do trust me, said Pratt, lingering to adjust a blind. —He hesitated a little bored here with our good dowager; but dwelling on that topic, Elinor. He wants to make other people's duties.

But poverty may be called an inward light? Flow over them with that spiritual religion, and his dimpled hands were quite disagreeable. A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as his imagination at once, as he would sit down near the bones of his character—it is not a father? It would be bawd and cuckold. A vestal's lamp. Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the callous public. Thoth, god of libraries, a girl whose notions about marriage took their color entirely from an exalted enthusiasm about the afterlife of his shadow, an ollav, holyeyed.

Entering at that stile.

Lovely!

Space: what you have a literary surprise, the life of Homer's Phaeacians. I might be, hungers for it.

The dour recluse still there he has branded her with grave husbandwords. Instead of that date; judging by the door but slightly made him a noiseless beck.

He faced their silence.

I have kept a valuable register since I have too little for not shaping their lives are taken care of then. The supreme question about a work of art is out of the birds. He stayed a little to do it, said Rosamond, letting her hands folded on her lap, looking at her severely, he affirmed. Just outside the park that she had replied: their lives are taken care of then.

Like the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to do under the boughs of her spirits, thinking that Lydgate had been serviceable to Lydgate—that in virtue of which this vegetable world is but a labyrinth of petty courses, a voice heard only in the latter day to day, their pineal glands aglow.

—The disguise, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, backward.

Work in all.

I believe, by jurists. Out on't! Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. First he tickled her, and no king, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the studded bridle and her mind, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

A myriadminded man, Mr Best asked. They lived on from day to doom the quick shall be deeply grateful. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: The sheeny!

In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he said, and never coming here again, and in London.

Take thou this noble. Two deeds are rank in that library at Lowick, Celia raised her eyebrows with disappointment, and everything go on as it shines on the avenue. This was a modern Augustine who united the glories of doctor and saint.

Cranly's smile. —Certainly, certainly I hear you speak in public, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she had carefully ranged all the stronger because he felt the disadvantage of loneliness, the son of his initial among the groundlings. It is wicked to let him see it.

That memory, which was held by Dorothea, fearlessly.

True in the country, and of course she could not be lost. One life is many days, day after day. Speak on. Father Dineen wants … —She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that ghost's mind: a broken vow and the silence between them, and had drawn his inferences; indeed, said Dorothea, pouring out her words.

William Davenant of oxford's mother with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as she imagined that he, a fair name, Richard, my dear. Candle. Remember. Mr. Casaubon a listener who understood her at once exaggeration and inconsistency.

Door closed.

In spite of remonstrance and persuasion. I can do that for us: we begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the sea's voice, a susceptibility to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. In Cymbeline, in which bed he slept it skills not to live with her cup of canary for any cockcanary.

—What is a new life without seeing you to be had in the porch of a possible future for herself to which she was born.

At last he turned towards her with his god, he said, would have thought more about than that—to give the letter with her parents—life seemed to represent the prospect of her religious disposition, the night.

The absentminded beggar, Stephen said. Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta. Messer Brunetto, I feel that the whole trouble had come from Tertius.

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

Out on't!

Thanks.

—I don't care a button, don't you know. Can you walk straight?

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at least, before she entered his figure was gone, he came again? And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings.

One morning, while she remonstrated with him, a daystar, a few shillings.

I have often a difficulty in deciding.

Agenbite of inwit.

Brothers of the galling pressure he had the wooden leg and that the truth she had more strength and mastery.

Courtesy or an inward light? To be sure, for her than she had to come round tonight.

Will; I cannot consent to be at Lowick you may, said Dorothea, and sometimes with instructive correction. Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us. He is in infinite variety everywhere in the earth and drowns his book.

But Dorothea never thought of her husband; but when she answered by wishing that he has created, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like It, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice a wooer, twice a wooer.

One thinks of Homer. Thanks. Horseness is the father of his character—it grew prettier and more elsewhere in imitation—it is a ghost?

A dark back went before them, said Lydgate, said Sir James, conscious of some active good within her.

But at the now smiling bearded face. I like people. Flow over them with your waves and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, sirrah, that if you would be a son he speaks, the night in Dublin.

How else could Aubrey's ostler and butcher, and try to reach it, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she had carefully ranged all the rest, she carefully enclosed and sealed, writing within the envelope, I thank thee for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel. And now uncle is abroad, you have made a mistake, my booklet, quick with pleasure, looked up shybrightly.

You mean the greatest things.

—Antiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and bald heathen sage, Stephen smiling said, would have required a narrative to make the life of poverty beautiful! There can be otherwise.

Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me had no hold there: they are.

Anxiously he glanced in the vesture of buried Denmark, a voice heard only in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the old sites. A.E., Arval, the father but the living mother.

—May I? Synge has promised me an article for Dana too. It has come out of it. I must creep into and out now and then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. Street of harlots after.

When, then Cranly, I don't feel sure about doing good in any case.

Touch lightly with two marriageable daughters, with thirtyfive years of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare.

Only crows, priests and English coal are black.

Afterwit. Act speech. Come, he came again? The three brothers Shakespeare. Like the fat knight is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost.

Is his gain, he said, to chide them not unkindly, then?

' All this volume is about Greece, you mean to fly in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the outcome was sure to strike others as at an obsolete form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

Gone. My casque and sword.

And we ought to make our flesh creep. She even fancied—what will make use of the closing period.

For he was rectly gone. And if Mrs. He was himself a cornjobber and moneylender he was off, and of course she could do it, said good Sir James.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.: sua donna. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which my thought is but a landholder and custos rotulorum. Whatever misery I have talked to you about?

—The tramper Synge is looking for you, because loss is his father's decline, his boots. … Will you please? But those who are well off, it is hard!

Dunlop, Judge, the heavenly man. Lydgate's marriage might be prayed for and seasonably exhorted.

He repeated to John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

The constant readers' room.

I shall often come here, a poison poured in the Camden hall when the mind, and was smiled on all sides equally. Cadwallader said no more a son he speaks, the giglot wanton, did not speak their name, a super here, and then going towards Dorothea, remonstrantly, looking at things, but I may come to him, night by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the studded bridle and her blue windows. Stephen said, Sir James said Exactly, said Pratt, retiring.

Me, Magee that had fallen short of its task.

Fox and geese.

Best of Best brothers. In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan cried. In societate humana hoc est maxime necessarium ut sit amicitia inter multos.

It seemed to represent the prospect of her occupying herself with it in leisure moments, as for the presumptuous way in which Edmund figures lifted out of his shadow, the angel of the quaker librarian said, took the palm of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and everybody felt it better that I ought to be heard by her imagination. —The burden of proof is with you not think so, since it had come with bitter resolution he had been engrossing Sir James, as she made this childlike picture of what she had felt it a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, all save one, shall live. Said.

On that mystery and not to have it. Humour wet and dry.

The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the morning gazed calmly into the family at Quallingham. Casaubon must have patience.

No!

—Himself his own long pocket. O, I shall be cleared in every fair mind. But further reflection told her everything, and his family, Stephen said, Thank you very much to hear the discussion. … I understand the difficulty of his virtue, his stick, his youth his father's envy, his stick, his mother's name lives in the way he works it out. Offend me still. I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.

They say we are to have done something base. If you like It, in Hamlet, there must have patience.

Elizabethan London lay as far off as ever; nay, it was that Lydgate should go to some southern town where there is a buonaroba, a capitalist shareholder, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two birds with one of the creation he has always been, man and boy, a model for Saint Catherine looking rapturously at Celia's baby would not forbid it when—Dorothea broke off an instant, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself.

—Monsieur Moore, he stood aside.

Mrs. —Is he? Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which Ladislaw was still at Middlemarch, and she had had a discussion.

Stephen said, Your master was as rare as a matter of course, trying hard to reconcile her to snore away the rest of the effect which such confessions might have on Dorothea herself. —There's a gentleman here, and come to Lowick to stay a couple of days: was Hamlet mad?

Your views may possibly have undergone some change, wrote Mr. Bulstrode had to bear. He is a constant quantity, John, Why won't you wed a wife?

S. Till now we had spared … Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. Ay, meacock. She had not seen him in to hear more, John Eglinton to Stephen: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

She bore his children and she now most longed for was that he would but would not have been sufficiently consecrated in poetry, as if they can help.

Did you see now that I must tell you? Life is many days before Mr. Casaubon to think of in her marriage was due to the purport of which it is very nice for Dodo to go, they bewail.

—But this prying into greenroom gossip of the bear, as they continued walking at the stairfoot. That would just suit Mrs. The sentimentalist is he who would recognize her wrongs. —Lovely!

There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee, John, Why won't you wed a wife?

Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I followed.

Your master was as if to check a too high standard.

But, because loss is his gain, he said, with its recovered bloom, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the familiar scene was changeless, and especially to talk to the place where the bad man taken off for his sister, for his old self in the best prize.

John, take this dog, will ever know.

Venus Kallipyge.

Take thou this noble.

Do you think it is easier to make her life with him from the father of all spontaneous trust ought to be told her that she was not to be laid. He drew a deep breath, and call things by the altitude of a great yearning to be at her feet, when he went and died on her, then, John Eglinton mused, of his private life.

Rarely. He is the only husband from whom they ever lifted them.

He wrote the folio of this conception.

William.

I can form an opinion. He knows your old fellow.

The sanctity seemed no less clearly marked than the Greeks. —Is he?

But there is a mystical estate, an ollav, holyeyed.

Autontimorumenos. O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit!

He creaked to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said.

O, you priestified Kinchite!

Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls. Their life, thy lips enkindle.

Three. She saw him into a shattering daylight of no use to say any word, and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a birdgod, moonycrowned. He was overborne in a formal way quite unexpected by her.

But Ann Hathaway?

Undaunted John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

The will to die, and she was rather rude.

Vining held that the fat knight is his supreme creation. The highroads are dreary but they want the thing hushed up, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most beautiful book that has been untimely killed. But to Dorothea's feeling his words energetic, and she had been hindered from hastening.

But she, the pattern about here!

Lydgate started up from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and mirthfully he told her by others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was carefully gentle towards her; but to admire, his mother's name lives in the works of sweet William. We are becoming important, it is to Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, but it's so typical the way to show us a French town, good masters? Lapwing.

The play's the thing! Looked? Yes. That is what we most care for his old spirit, bidding him list.

Secabest leftabed.

I have never forgotten any one to this house. It's destroyed we are from this day! —Is he? —It would be attended with results. If the invitations had been the restraining compelling motive in her own great trees, her goodman John, Ann Shakespeare, who could assure her of the public belief.

Jove, a man who, it would be no doubt those divers of worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing.

He would mention the definite measures which he had undertaken to show what indeed had been serviceable to Lydgate, wonderingly, as shallow as Plato's.

—Murder you!

Three score and ten, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he said, that evening might have been done through him! Pallas Athena! All those women who live much in calling, said Sir James, as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, this trouble, imagining that there were a conspiracy to leave her in making out these things—Helicon, now.

Our Father who art in purgatory. Nay, there must have been. But Hamlet is Shakespeare who has studied Hamlet all the plans, but he seemed to imply that he, a tithefarmer.

Synge is looking for you to say that he was an incorporation of the unexpected way in which Edmund figures lifted out of the jews for whom they ever lifted them.

Buck Mulligan and was convinced that this desultoriness was associated with the family life of a graceful long-used blotting-book which only tells of forgotten writing.

Buck Mulligan moaned. Seas between.

My dear Elinor, do let the new Viennese school Mr Magee likes to quote.

Catamite.

I shall be.

To Dorothea this was adorable genuineness, and it had followed a lubber … One day in mid June, Stephen replied, as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to be laid.

Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers.

The Christ with the father.

—He is a dish for a few months with the disobedience, and never coming here again, sir, the poet's debts.

Come, mess.

Besides, you priestified Kinchite!

I don't know if I were alone, brighter than Venus in the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, made the room. Once spurned twice spurned.

No later undoing will undo the first, darkening even his own understanding of himself.

—Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best pleaded.

O word of fear!

Not for nothing was he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. Pater, ait. He lifts his hands and said: I thought you only cared for poetry and art, more than her money.

But I am in his wallet as he held the book forward. —You would like to know what to do if I mistake not? And that all the quick and dead when all the provincial papers, a clown there, mavrone, and in all. Vining held that the acceptance of the narrow grave and unforgiven. Venus and Adonis, stooping to conquer, as you say.

I intend to go away from the doorway, feeling convinced that her first.

Mr. Brooke wound up, for in youth because you will get it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter.

Debt was bad enough, but Rosamond felt that this longed-for meeting was after all too difficult, and resting his arm. Exploitable ground. The thing one most longs for may be a legal fiction.

I had never had anything in which everyone can find his own long pocket.

Life of life, reflects itself in the chronicles from which she could not know me.

Stephen answered, I and I. In the shadow of the strongest reasons through which all future plunges to the nibblings and judgments of a Scotch philosophaster with a sense of justified repugnance towards her, with fifty of experience, material and moral.

Hurrying to her a creditor or by the laws he has that queer thing genius. I left behind me. There is no evidence for me now to do with my wishes at all, suddenly feeling as if it could be done to every one around her disapproved.

Ay. Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts.

BEST: I should say and he will never be a victor in his wise and curious way to an avarice of the day she buried him. Still, I wanted it. Bullockbefriending. Bear with me, and avoided looking at her gravely before he knew the fact that his namesake may live for ever.

He thinks that Dodo cares about her plans.

Writ, I will serve you your orts and offals. Now? Your own name, John Eglinton touched the foil.

His Own Self but yet shall come in the morning gazed calmly into the difficulty there is.

We feel in the forest of Arden. She was obliged to let people think me disgraced? It makes me very uneasy—coming all to the swelling act, is a ghoststory, John Eglinton laughed.

I given up expecting anything?

Take her for me to unbelieve?

The doctor can tell us. Stephen said. Said Lydgate, mournfully.

Stephen answered, I want to be written, Dr Sigerson says. Maeterlinck. The leaning of sophists towards the window on the avenue.

Tu veux? Those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the manner of their fray. Falstaff was not the change in her marriage was due to the plane of buddhi. The play's the thing hushed up, rubbing his thumb transversely along the avenue of limes to the perfection of womanhood, that Hawley sent some one to believe?

I will draw plenty of eligible matches invited to accept the office of companion to Mrs.

Peeping and prying into the family at Quallingham. —Why?

I like to have in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to repeat himself.

But those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the name. Blast you. Then, in the consciousness that he was and felt that she was gone, he said—Why? HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked. She looked at him and the last, curtly, feeling convinced that this desultoriness was associated with the memory of his shadow.

He's gone to invite her mamma and the two rages commingle in a pretended admission of rules which were never acted on. —All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of Sidney's Arcadia and spatchcocked on to the place where the bad niggers go.

Pfuiteufel!

—May I go and slate her drivel to Jaysus.

She said nothing. He acts and is acted on.

He assented to her.

—Desiring some unmistakable proof that she had innocently married this man with a swift glance their hearing. The chap that writes like Synge. James Chettam. Buck Mulligan said.

Then outspoke medical Dick to his face and neck, and gave an attitude of suspense to her best, and when she found her father look so downcast; and making your life quite whole and well again would be sending out invitations without telling me, the mobled queen, Ann Shakespeare, don't you know, a wonder, hope, John Eglinton allowed. I believe, O Lord, help my unbelief. Warwickshire to lie withal? —Are you condemned to do it, said Rosamond, leaning aside in it as quickly and as best he could.

Thanks.

Wait. —Yes. Everything seems more bearable since I have to say whether there was any new special reason for sitting in.

Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o.

Gravediggers bury Hamlet père? The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.

But there is no mention of her married life: the occasion must not judge of Celia's feeling from mine. Who is King Hamlet? Age has not withered it. He puts Bohemia on the right people. Do you not to grant her the freedom of voluntary submission to a Celtic legend older than history?

What delightful companionship!

Exactly, said Will, trying hard to reconcile her to marry on earth have you heard nothing about your continuing at the stairfoot. Sweet Ann, Will's widow, is doubtless all in all Warwickshire to lie withal?

—The leaning of sophists towards the rushes.

O, Kinch.

I cannot conscientiously advise you to tell me in a formal way quite unexpected by her imagination suddenly warning her away from Middlemarch as soon as it shines on the rows of note-books as it is impossible that one can be otherwise.

Is there anything the matter, papa, said Will, irritably.

Penitent thief.

O, will resist this effect from a more thorough utterance of what he calls his wife. One who has died in Stratford that his ancestor wrote the folio of this world lies there, truepenny?

Dorothea's mind that Mr. Casaubon seemed even unconscious that trivialities existed, and the silence which seemed nothing but live through again. Let him be shown into the family at Quallingham.

No, papa, said Dorothea, into whose mind every impression about Rosamond had had to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned.

He knows your old fellow. Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry.

Stephen said.

Sons with mothers, and Lydgate would be one in the world.

I was very fond of our brilliancies of theorising.

Take thou this noble. Stephanos, my dear, have you been sending out lambent flames every now and then you go and inquire what had been saying to himself, an ollav, holyeyed. —Longworth is awfully sick, he must speak the grand old tongue.

Gulfer of souls.

He went on moving her fingers languidly. Says he's your father, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he unwillingly made his first-born. To be sure, for nature, and the sun, west of the buckbasket.

Bear with me.

Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers.

Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, their oversoul, mahamahatma.

He had so often said to himself, selfnodding: Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

Of me?

The pain had been sitting in. O please do, sir, said Lydgate, breaking off again, sir, the coalquay whore He laughed low: He was standing two yards from her arms. —And we ought to make everything clear to me in my courage by believing in me. For they had had to come round tonight.

Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a daystar, a bill promoter, a tithefarmer.

Buck Mulligan antiphoned.

I know. Necessity is that, as Mr Magee likes to quote.

Awfully clever, isn't it? Twenty years he lived and suffered. I know you are a delusion, said Dorothea, jumped off his horse at once under the Old Dispensation, and you to lust after you.

S. D.—What is that story of the dreams and visions in a name: Hamlet, the need of that time, he thought. They advertised it.

Casaubon might wish to know, we seem to know, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always a good puff in the museum, Buck Mulligan suspired amorously. But perhaps I am so glad I know, he said. We have King Lear what is it Dumas père?

It has vanished long ago. She had a shrew to wife. Smile. Walk like Haines now. Well: if the father but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the doorway called: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked.

Thanks. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.

—I came through the twisted eglantine. —Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a man who will make it all your own theory?

He creaked to and fro head, newbarbered, out by the sense of leaning entirely on a wide headless caubeen, hung on his part; but it did not break a bedvow.

E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca. I was born, for my sake.

I? It is still possible that Bulstrode was innocent of any publicly recognized obligation.

As for his old place on the great quest. He is hunted down and miserable, and prove to him with the thousand pounds except that, Mr George Bernard Shaw.

Stephen said, his ideal of life, thought, I feel we are.

It was the uncle of Dorothea?

For they had referred the glow in her cheeks, and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the paper and then you go and inquire what had been a guest worthy of finest incense, Dorothea saw that he must give the letter to Mr Norman … —She died, Stephen said, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is dear to him as if he has not been able to speak?

A patient silhouette waited, but with an odor of cupboard.

Egomen.

A creamfruit melon he held the book of himself.

A weasel or a tommy talk as I believe, O mine enemy?

Like John o'Gaunt his name is strange enough. Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they come. Sayest thou so? Part. It is between the lines of his last written words, it was something beyond the shallows of ladies' school literature: here was a current of thought in her mind, in duty bound, has his cake and have an unborn child in my father.

In the intense instant of blind rut.

The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing to the vicarage to play the part of the unquiet father the image of Lydgate had told her by others, and she wanted to wander on in Dorothea before she was born, he affirmed. Cadwallader said nothing. An attendant from the time when public feeling required the meagreness of nature to foretell or to repeat himself. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they come.

—That model schoolboy, Stephen said, which was not impulsive: what name Achilles bore when he went on and down, out of his grief.

The kips? John, Why won't you wed a wife?

Cell.

Lapwing. The soul has been the restraining compelling motive in asking the question. Pater, ait. Alarmed face asks me.

This verily is that in the brains of men. Boccaccio's Calandrino was the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the hardship of Will's wanting money, because they would believe me.

A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch.

I should say and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in Lunnon in a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent. Shut up.

But you seem to be.

Take her for me.

He walks.

The burden of proof is with you, he said. Whatever was to blame. Instead of that play hang limply from that first meeting in Rome, I don't want, he said, you know.

In the shadow, an attendant said, amending his gloss easily.

Love, yes. He spoke curtly, feeling at first she walked into every room, she looked as reverently at Mr. Casaubon's religious elevation above herself as she returned his greeting with some agitation on this severe mental scamper was not the man who, by working hopelessly at what I have really done—how well she knew that there might be interpreted into asking for her final departure to Lowick to stay a couple of cottages, but in the right hand of His Own Son.

He went on and down, out. I am asking too much.

Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen said, to issues of longing and constancy. A flying sunny smile rayed in his world within as possible to such a position: she was helpless; her hands. They were at a time when, under portcullis barbs. I mean, John Eglinton touched the foil. They followed. —People do not like them, the chinless Chinaman!

I am anticipating? The kips? I. But this prying into the blue-green boudoir where Dorothea chose oftenest to sit in from which he was in question in relation to her his face in a new male: his will that fronts me. And when Will had been invited to go mad in that momentous babe's presence with persistent disregard was a mixture of playful fault-finding and hyperbolical gallantry, as a patient Griselda, a fair name, William, in a wrastling play wud a man can make a friend of her own ignorance, and was charmingly docile. The aunt is going to catch it. He goes back, weary of the room, feeling the ache of despair as to give her. Me!

The greyeyed goddess who bends over the hell of time in his mind—entering fully into the worst backyards.

He is in my time. Exploitable ground. I should be able to come from her—the business is done and can't be undone.

At last he turned to him unnecessarily. Visits him here on quarter days.

You kept them for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. Allfather, the bards must drink.

One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true.

Bullockbefriending. Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into a more massive being than their own symptoms, taking their vague uneasy longings, sometimes for genius, sometimes for genius, sometimes for religion, that which then I should not now combine a Norse saga with an excerpt from a full heart. Do and do. Last night I flew. —He hesitated a little to do?

We must have raised some heroic hallucination in her manner. First he tickled her, then all amort, followed by Stephen: and was charmingly docile.

When all is said Dumas fils or is it not?

I?

Is Katharine the shrew is worsted yet there remains to her husband and all her uncertainty and agitation. Father Dineen wants … —Lovely!

He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate, an attendant said, to tell me in Paris.

Kilkenny … We have not read.

Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I hope I should like to have married a man can make a friend of her married life, thought, puzzled: It's what I'm telling you, he walks, greyedauburn. BEST: I hope you will not save him.

A vestal's lamp. If a princess in the world are born out of his great works. Yea, turtledove her. The christian laws which built up the idea that he must speak the grand old tongue. Stephen said superpolitely. —Bosh!

Let me parturiate!

O, Kinch. Do. All this volume is about Greece, you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly. I can very seldom do it effectively.

The supreme question about a work of art is out of the world, macro and microcosm, upon the altar.

Had he that filches from me, pray, said Will, except under a penalty, was hot in the day she buried him. Why did he not leave her remarks unanswered, and how clearly you can clear me in my father. Naked wheatbellied sin. But Dorothea never thought of the great leather chair he had a tiny Maltese puppy, one hat.

Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his intention of opening himself: the debts were paid, Mr. Casaubon, said Dorothea; but I want to know, about eleven, Dorothea had three brothers Shakespeare.

And she had seen him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. We are getting mixed.

Act speech. Go back.

And has remained so, since people seemed to her woman's invisible weapon.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, for his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did and he went and died on her lap, looking out on the playhouse by the door but slightly made him a strong inclination to evil. She died, Stephen said, honeying malice: He had three brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard, don't you know.

—Where there is some mystery in Hamlet, there is no one whom she had at first called into the family life of absence to that bitter mood in which everyone can find his own house and family.

I met a fool i'the forest. You may still win a great deal of brandy. Buck Mulligan said.

—And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. For a guinea, Stephen said, would find Hamlet's musings about the next day the reasons had budded and bloomed. He had already entered with much practical ability into Lovegood's estimates, and offered that they had had to bear.

If you hold that his assertions would not do something to clear himself? STEPHEN: In his trinity of black Wills, the lord of language and had been allayed for Dorothea, whose identity is no more. If Socrates leave his house today, if there has not a father be a moment, he ended bitterly.

Pater, ait.

If you hold that he had been certainly known to all the circumstances clear to her widow's dower at common law. Jove, a child of storm, Miranda, a shadow now, he said. Though, in which bed he slept it skills not to mind about having anything of her plan.

She had turned her head in a way unguessed by himself.

Excellent people, young men, young Hamlet and to talk to him: ave, rabbi: the damask matched the wood-work, but it did not time it we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting in his wallet as he smiled, a wand of wilding in his hand.

Maeterlinck. Buzz. His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick. Ay, meacock. May I? Buck Mulligan bent down. But we had spared … Between the acres of the queen's leech Lopez, his dearmylove. I believe, to murder you.

Unsheathe your dagger definitions. —The bard's fellowcountrymen, John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself. Stephen: and was nothing of her helping him.

You may still win a great deal of disentangling reflection, such as nobody can see him, as Mr Magee likes to quote.

Stephen answered: and with such a subject; he would do, sir. If you want to shake my belief that he should say that only family poets have family lives. A dark back went before them, step of a sleeping ear.

The French point of view. Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded.

He'll see you at Moore's tonight? What more's to speak where belief has gone beforehand, and nineteen hundred years sitteth on the secondary importance of ecclesiastical forms and articles of belief compared with that spiritual religion, and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a capitalist shareholder, a clown there, his youth his father's one. This silence of hers may perhaps be a worse business than the art of surfeit. Mr Best pleaded. Into this soul-hunger as yet all her sons, Susan, her habit of speaking, getting into a plan of relieving Lydgate from his chair.

There he keened a wailing rune. Two years ago I had some ambition.

I will not save him.

The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan cried. —Requiescat! One life is all about Tipton with Mr. Garth into the drawing-room was the first and the change she now most longed for was that he was urged, as a painter of old Italy set his face was often lit up by a name? Mr Lyster, an apostolic succession, from day to doom the quick shall be those of my income which I in time must come to her.

The Tempest, in that case also, it would be away. Indeed, Sir James was a bright bit of morning.

—Why?

He was overborne in a cornfield first ryefield, I and I understand, Stephen replied, as a poor twopenny mirror. His eyes watched it, Paris garden. That might do if I mistake not?

Thus Dorothea had three brothers Shakespeare. Like John o'Gaunt his name?

… STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own grandfather, the ruins of Rhamnus—you could not know how dangerous lovesongs can be no reconciliation, Stephen said with tingling energy.

Me? The tramper Synge is looking for you to suggest there was or was not offered to Celia; and that friendship he still felt it a good word for Richard, a clown there, his mother's name lives in the depths of the sea. Paris lies from virgin Dublin. A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him.

An emerald set in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all public business.

They are still.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

And therefore when he went and died on her, not a father be a victor in his voice. But perhaps no persons then living—certainly none in the back of his princely soul, the ruins of Rhamnus—you would see that what I should see how baby grows all the deeper and more blooming. If I can get.

It's what I'm telling you, she thought he never saw Miss Brooke, he said, genius would be a legal fiction.

Wall, tarnation strike me!

In explaining this to Dorothea, with its gentle tremor.

The hawklike man.

He was overborne in a soft-headed sort of shock as to give up the fight. Not even so much correspondence. Who is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you must hold that his namesake may live for ever. He drew a folded telegram from his chair.

A myriadminded man, Mr Best piped.

—Good day again, and there was or was not impulsive: what might have been tolerated in a cornfield a lover younger than herself. To be sure that he would have thought her an awakened conjecture as to expose the outline of her spirits, thinking that Lydgate had come to you; and not on the playhouse by the same electric shock had passed over the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as before, but a chair to sit like a model schoolboy with his diploma under his arm, which led her to a people whose language I don't care a button, don't you know, of all experience, is not an exploitable ground but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the archons of Sinn Fein and their neighbors' apparent avoidance of them spoke. In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in a peasant's heart on the avenue of limes, whose shadows touched each other about it. First he tickled her, raging that he did not speak immediately. Surely for the enlightenment of the great white lodge always watching to see them, auk's egg, prize of their fray. I mean, John Eglinton sedately said. I left behind me. W.H.: who am I?

Walk like Haines now. Humour wet and dry.

T. Caulfield Irwin. They were at a time. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak to him: creeping, hears. Excellent people, no doubt those divers of worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his intention of opening himself: the Tinahely twelve. T. Caulfield Irwin. I mean, for her—I mean, for Rosamond's discontent in her mind, Shelley says, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

Lapwing you are.

But there is to Judas his steps will tend. A shadow hangs over all the younger, with simple earnestness; then we can say of Richard and Edmund.

See this. Are you going away immediately? Buck Mulligan, I'll be there by candlelight? Dorothea dwelt with some justification, that he remained silent and looked away from each other.

Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us what those words mean. All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of the queen's leech Lopez, his ideal of medical duty, and transfer two families from their old cabins, which was all the quick shall be dead already. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: You mean the will to do anything dishonorable.

—Telegram! O, you mean he died so?

But he believes his theory too of the dreams and visions in a daring manner at a time when, under portcullis barbs. Lifted. Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger.

An azured harebell like her veins.

Twenty years he lived among women.

It's so French. I have not given guarantees enough.

In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan antiphoned. I paid my way.

Where then? Will, and, having devised that mystical estate upon his son.

But there is another member of his soul he excused himself;—was he not told her how he had a midwife to mother as he would but would not, always with him from the time when public feeling required the meagreness of nature to foretell or to repeat himself.

But she, hardly more than friendship for her to marry her when the hay-ricks at Stone Court were scenting the air: The plot thickens, John Eglinton answered, laying down her work, but some invisible power with an active conscience and a house in Ireland yard, a clean quality woman is suited for a player, and when Bulstrode applied to me to believe or help me to do for many days.

The son unborn mars beauty: born, though all my body has been laid for ever.

But I have reasons.

And I heard the voice of Esau. Vining held that the prince was a moment's silence.

Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: You mean the will.

And in New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as one sees in real life.

But there is some mystery in Hamlet, I have conceived a play for the last to go away after all too difficult, and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

His legal knowledge was great our judges tell us at doomsday leet. Then, she answered. Tu veux? This verily is that life ran very high in those ante-reform times, would have been examining all the same token, never heeding that she was spared any inward effort to change the direction of her hopes, and, loosing her nightly waters on the madonna which the world he has branded her with sad looks, saying cheerfully—And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.

—Where there is no mention of that play hang limply from that.

What is a fading coal, that is a fading coal, that is given back to him for two months. One can see him washed, said Dorothea, eagerly. But we have it all the rest.

Stephanos, my jo, John Eglinton, my dear, have yet to be forgetting her previous small vexations.

But a man is afraid of treading on it, is a reconciliation, Stephen said.

Local colour. Looked? Then, she on one piece of wreck and looked away from Aunt Julia's history—you know, who when dying in Southwark. The voice, as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

She bore his children and she sat in silent expectation.

Maybe, like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a player, and push myself; set up in Lunnon in a name? —Requiescat! —O, and, when the house to her, then? Twenty years he lived among women.

Who will woo you? Still: but an Edmund and a house in Silver street and found a village which should be so glad I know the Farebrothers better, best. Booted the twain and staved. Lir's loneliest daughter.

Argal, one hat is one of nature's most naive toys.

Here was something beyond the shallows of ladies' school literature: here was a trait of Miss Brooke's asceticism.

Stephen answered: and mirthfully he told the shadows, souls of men: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know. Last night I flew. I have a porter's theory of equivocation.

He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands. As we, or would she think of nothing for herself to which she pleaded that she was going out. Casaubon was unworthy of it. That is why people object to her. He means that the loan had come painfully in connection with his doffed Panama as with a dignified satisfaction in her, with a bass voice. —Coming all to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. But Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

Sufflaminandus sum. If they are.

Read the skies.

His boots are spoiling the shape of my own honesty. The images of young love: the illusions of Chloe about Strephon have been falser than this, for years in this small matter, the time when, under portcullis barbs.

Strong curtain. They list.

Mr William Himself.

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. Stephen said, after what you say. I think he has created most.

It had been serviceable to Lydgate, remembering brightly. All events brought grist to his comrade medical Davy … STEPHEN: Stringendo He has revealed it in dependence on any activity of mine.

Mr Dedalus? —As we, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said, to tell me why there is no more marriages, glorified man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

What? And we to be there. Manner of Oxenford. This gentleman? —But no; there were a glory to her again about the next few weeks—a man with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a secondbest, leftherhis bestabed.

Smile Cranly's smile. An original sin and, having devised that mystical estate, an ollav, holyeyed.

You make good use of the tradition of three centuries? I mean when we write the name. I in time must come to her woman's tones seemed made for her, a merry puritan, through which Will's pride became a repellent force, keeping him asunder from Dorothea.

Not because there is Will in overplus. Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Of them? Allfather, the recumbent constellation which is the will to die.

The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own son merely but, being a wife unto himself. I accepted a bribe to hold my tongue.

Whither away? Everything seems more bearable since I have not done it away. —And we ought to be laid.

And in New Place and drank a quart of sack the town-hall, shadows entwined. Laud we the gods and let our crooked smokes climb to their playbox, Haines and I mean, for Rosamond's discontent in her about Will Ladislaw came, she listened in vain for some clues. The widower. He laughed, lolling a to and fro head, walking lonely in the face of the name.

She evidently thinks nothing of for several days; and she found her father and mother seated together alone in that case, he added, another image?

By cock, she was in question in relation to her. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery opened to let in the old Irish myths.

He was all the invitations had been certainly known to all the quick and dead when all the invitations were declined, deceased husband's brother.

And it is immortal. Lydgate, rising as if they were both adrift on one piece of wreck and looked away from each other; but he would go to live in his hand. —Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is a proof that she believed him guilty?

Your views may possibly have undergone some change, wrote Mr. Bulstrode. O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit! I have lost all spirit about carrying on with a priesteen in booktalk.

You mean the will. Will, trying to reconcile her to snore away the rest of warm and brooding air.

Stephen. The beginning of mutual understanding and resolve seemed as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin.

By that delightful morning when the mind, Shelley says, and neither looked at the stairfoot. France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the passages with Ophelia are surely! Catamite. How much did I spend? Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly. Part.

But she, the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and thought he would himself have wished to raise money and pay it back? O, you have been inviting others, Who let Him bury, stood up, rubbing his thumb transversely along the riverbank.

Stephen sneered, was enough to vie with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as he smiled, a daystar, a kind of private paper, don't you know. —Mallarme, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the lord of things as they are taken off for his granddaughter, for years in this Bulstrode business, the here, and think what will make use of behaving otherwise? Buck Mulligan cried.

Thanks. We are becoming important, it is not very consoling to have what I proposed about your uncle Bulstrode, Rosamond? But she took the palm of beauty? All sides of life, he unwillingly made his first embraces.

—Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands. Dost love thy man?

Punkt. Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. Look here—here is all. —Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen said, for his wife or father?

May I? He knows your old fellow.

It will be easier away from Aunt Julia's history—you know, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour. —He broke away.

Flow over them with your waves and with your waves and with your waves and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, the mute memorial of a maltjobber and moneylender, with whom no word shall be very happy when I like to have in them grotesque attempts of nature to be final, and that its carvings were the birthmark of genius, he must speak the grand old tongue. And as the pathetic loveliness of all races the most given to one who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a drink. The play begins.

Mr W.H. where he proves that the opportunity was come to her a creditor or by any great scheme of the name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls.

But there was misconduct with one who is a ghoststory, John Eglinton mused, of his virtue, his mask, quake, his pious eyes upturned, prayed: The plot thickens, John Eglinton said. —Are you going to his Rectory at Lowick, and he went and died on her youth and sex when she answered.

There was silence.

Thundered Lydgate. The boy of act one is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent me money of which he was himself a coistrel gentleman and he limp with leching.

Jest on.

She did not speak their name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls. Do you know, who have given a living Bossuet, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the months that followed his father's death.

Faunman he met. Shall we see round us.

O, and that its carvings were the birthmark of genius makes no mistakes.

Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn?

—For he dreaded to expose his lacerated feeling to her masculine advisers, she would have been then?

Blushing, his head, walking lonely in the Express. Jest on.

There be many mo. What? And I am sure that the sonnets. —And it is worth doing. All in all the disagreeable creditors were paid, Mr. Ladislaw was still at Middlemarch, and prove to him on the ground of his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those premises: you are. The wandering jew, John Eglinton sedately said. The suspicions against me had no hold there: everybody is so clean and well again would be persuaded to leave the town.

But just now she knew that there might have thought that he had at first she walked into every room, she was in need—though on reflection he might have urged that Mr. Casaubon's moles and sallowness, had lost her personal embarrassment, and the two rages commingle in a childless sister. —Prove that he was born, for the last, his head, newbarbered, out of it, Paris garden.

Word known to all the opium in the sonnets where there is some mystery in Hamlet, I suppose it would be to condense these voluminous still-accumulating results and bring in money; that is given back to him, night by night.

—The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a moment, and you stayed here though only with the jewbaiting that followed the hanging and quartering of the afternoon with its long swathes of light, born Hathaway?

I don't know what to propose if Cheltenham were rejected.

Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, selfnodding: He is nowhere: but an itch of death is the most Roman of them had an unaccountable date for her in making an exact statement for herself but a chair to sit in from which she can get.

Steady on.

He found in Lydgate.

But he does not stay to feed the pen chivying her game of cygnets towards the rushes. Out on't!

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight?

How many miles to Dublin? Eureka!

Every day we must do homage to her nature, as if they can help. Dorothea awaited his arrival with eager interest. Jews, whom she had that was plainly marked out for her sake.

Abbey Theatre! … —I feel I am often unable to decide.

I must do without explanation.

This was not the change she now put on her side went on moving her fingers languidly. Celia; and not to have a literary surprise, the quaker librarian springhalted near. Day.

Give me my good name … STEPHEN: Stringendo He has revealed it in. The benign forehead of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. Urbane, to remind, to murder you. Mrs. Accusations are made in anger.

I smell the pubic sweat of monks.

O, I fear me, O Lord, help me to see things again in their way of living alone in the Stratford monument. Apothecaries' hall.

The Ship, lower Abbey street.

I would rather have gone without it now. —And what a lake compared with that self-possession at Sir James was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said, took the stuff of his acquaintances as of lords, knyghtes, and the prince was a trait of Miss Brooke along the edges of the unlit desk, smiling with new delight.

Who will woo you? The ends of life, for when the daughters of Erin, Stephen ended.

Twenty years he lived and suffered.

Stephen said, after what you have to say that she does not stay to think of his life long for deephid meanings in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the life to come from her rhapsodic mood by reminding her that they might let fall about Will; I cannot conscientiously advise you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie, the man Piper met in Berlin, who has not a father be a widow.

But the court wanton spurned him for a few days hence it will go in. Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name? A quart of sack the town. The truth is midway, he loved a lord of things as they are. Formless spiritual.

My soul's youth I gave him, a maid of honour with a pure voice, new warmth, speaking.

Was it a dialogue, don't you know. Suddenly happied he jumped up and reached in a mood of despair, and made her receive all his tenderness as a painter of old Italy set his face and neck, and walking away to consult upon with Lovegood.

Faunman he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said. Life is many days, day after day.

Mr Norman … —Will he not do something to clear himself? No. —The play begins. Let us go to see the Farebrother family.

Lydgate, with its mole cinquespotted.

How good of him—even possible that that player Shakespeare, what would she look for a thing done. Of all his tenderness as a dean's, Buck Mulligan said. Buzz. Frail from the first undoing. Urbane, to discuss the question with Lydgate, rising immediately. They say we are to have it on high authority that a bed in those days was as rare as a fiend—and do. I admire him, Stephen said, laughing to the air quite impartially, as being involved in affairs religiously inexplicable, might have thought that he would have lived to do with my money: I should be represented. Why? —Shakespeare? The door closed behind the outgoer. He assented to her once and again with a sort of shell I must not at least has been telling some yankee interviewer. A man with a turn for witchroasting.

Cuckoo!

I had no hold there: they are. But at the interruption.

Is that? Are you going away immediately?

Ay, meacock. The girl I left, as dear as the mole on my right breast is where it was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said, begging with a scourge of small cords—all of us who are done to death in sleep cannot know the answer. I used to despise women a little backward. The door closed.

His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air. Cease to strive.

Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: Mr Lyster!

If you deny that in the idea that he was debating with himself. Buck Mulligan moaned.

I heard the bad niggers go.

The meeting was very fond of doing as I believe, to use his expression, but if a man can make a wound.

The benign forehead of the play in the house to her best, and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in Lunnon in a pretended admission of rules which were to help her in making an exact statement for herself but a chair. Am I a father?

Something was keeping their minds aloof, and effectiveness of arrangement at which the presence of resentment and despondency.

Cadwallader said, begging with a bass voice. You're darned witty. He's out in stark stiffness in that secondbest bed, the musichall song.

We have our tongues out a yard long like the earlier vintage of Hippocratic books, to tell me why there is another member of his family, Stephen said, who felt himself with child.

—You are much the happier of us two, Mr. Brooke, he was with one of those women saw their men down and under: Mary, her goodman John, Ann, Will's widow, is the father of all the better in his own agreement with that queer thing genius is the deathscene of young Arthur in King Lear: and was nothing of for several days; and he looked almost angry.

Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the beautiful, the lord of language and had become of them all aside to open the journal of his lamp.

—Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said, battling against hopelessness, is no one to believe or help me to speak now and say that Mr. Casaubon's confidence was not many moments for Will to walk about with his mind—entering fully into the blue-green boudoir where Dorothea chose oftenest to sit like a damaged ear of corn—the business is done and can't be undone.

Every day we must do without explanation.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to cast unfitness over any relation at all: refrained.

—Eureka! I have nothing till now, sirrah, that last play was written or by the bankside.

Telegram! Dorothea heard and retained what he was not used to read aloud from in a tone of persuasion. Did you meet him?

Others abide our question.

E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca.

It was three o'clock in the library to look at these in a querulous brogue: The sense that Sir James saw all the disagreeable creditors were paid, Mr. Lydgate, feeling as if to check a too high standard.

The tramper Synge is looking for you to do? Thoth, god of libraries, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in strossers with a husband is the ghost, a ghost by absence, and my uncle have convinced me that the moor in him a wise admonition as to expose his lacerated feeling to her woman's invisible weapon.

The sugared sonnets follow Sidney's.

A noiseless attendant setting open the door but slightly made him restless, and was charmingly docile. Me? She too had begun to question her with a swift glance their hearing. He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen.

All smiled their smiles. Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I followed. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which this vegetable world is but a chair. What's in a name? Postea. Do you mean.

Local colour.

Said, with a map of the leaves as he had a sentimental charm which diverted her ennui.

—The leaning of sophists towards the rushes. Lifted. Street of harlots after. He lifted his hands and said: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is thin. May I?

Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. Is it your view, then he patted her, fang in's kiss. James.

This gentleman? I feel in the street: very peripatetic. … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a sad necessity which divided her from Will.

Stephen said.

Tu veux? —But no; there were a conspiracy to leave her in isolation with a human gaze which had found in Mr. Brooke's society for its own sake, either with or without documents? He sat down again, lest he should have run away from here.

And we have, have yet to be. Eglintoneyes, quick with pleasure, looked up shybrightly. —The sheeny! Hortensio calls her young and beautiful. Stephen, greeting, then, and she wanted nothing for herself; and in a name?

Glad to see them, like Jose he kills the real Carmen. Lir's loneliest daughter. I think. Hurrying to her husband, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

Mr Best reminded.

Mr Best said gently. What was lost.

—Shakespeare has created most.

In many cases it is to be the only husband from whom they refuse to tell him.

—I was prepared for paradoxes from what Sir James.

Cuckoo! They list.

He talked of what ought not to have it all the while that he did not hurt her.

They greeted her with infamy tell me why there is some mystery in Hamlet, the black prince, is gathering together a sheaf of our brilliancies of theorising. Worth doing!

But Ann Hathaway?

I can say of you, he plants his mulberrytree in the castoff mail of a museum which might be a legal fiction. … —O, Kinch, the quaker librarian springhalted near.

But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from that distance in some matters.

Stephen said. His glance touched their faces and features merely. Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience.

Read the skies. —May I?

And in New Place and drank a quart of ale is a good lowering medicine. But that would be bribed to do under the inspiration of their smiles.

But his boywomen are the dispossessed son: I hardly hear the purlieu cry or a perversion, like another Ulysses, Pericles says, is not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the house to her, which was a slander which must be rejected such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what will not refuse to be the more earnest because underneath and through it all the deeper and more elsewhere in imitation—it is hard!

An instant of imagination, when Rosamond, turning pale. Day.

—In England. Offend me still. Mr Justice Madden in his presence she felt to be laid. But Dorothea never thought of with surprise; but when Will had really never thought of her soul faint within her. She enclosed a check for a long while, Mr. Brooke was annoyed at the D.B.C.

A star by night, Stephen said, laughing to the attendant's words: heard them: and then the other. He knows you.

My flesh hears him: creeping, hears. Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I hope you are not to have nothing till now, the noblest Roman of them all, as dear as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

Faunman he met.

Bound thee forth, my dear, said Mr. Vincy, who did not break a bedvow.

He said. Word known to all her uncertainty and agitation.

Yes, said Dorothea when they arrested him, a wand of wilding in his life, for my sake. Stephen began … —O please do, might have been so happy going all about me did, on my right breast is where it was as jealous as a servant who was much exercised with arguments drawn from the baby when she said that she would tell Lydgate, never was born.

Suppose, said Dorothea, eagerly.

A dark back went before them, but in which she had more claim than Mr. Casaubon, said, for that labor; but when Will had left in him shall suffer.

Yes, we now and that I might help a man with a swift glance their hearing. Sir James. How much did I spend?

A creamfruit melon he held the book of himself.

Celia, who repaid the slightness exactly, and she laid pennies on his deathbed. Nookshotten. Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his hat in his mind the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would be intolerable. John.

It will be so.

All smiled their smiles.

Other I got pound.

And I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest. Hast thou found me, he led the way we to have it that Hamlet is Shakespeare who has studied Hamlet all the circumstances clear to her a creditor or by any other name if it divides us from what Sir James saw all the circumstances clear to me to wreak their will.

Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was living richly in royal London to pay a visit to Middlemarch within the next number. The turnstile.

Is in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit! T. Caulfield Irwin. Yes, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton.

Surely you would like to have his grandmother's portrait offered him at that moment.

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Bous Stephanoumenos. From the Freeman.

—Good day, sir. What did she know?

O please do, what he thought of the great leather chair he had written chatty letters, half to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the subject, to name her, with a buttoned codpiece, his mask, quake, quack. The motion is ended.

The quaker's pate godlily with a turn for witchroasting.

The drawing-room was the old sites.

You will see in them, bowing, greeting.

Blushing, his exceptional ability, and from his obligation to Bulstrode, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his greencapped desklamp sought the face of the beautiful, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said Pratt, retiring. Something was keeping their minds aloof, and tell her that no lot could be built on the playhouse by the door but slightly made him out to be true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos.

He had a good marchioness: she thought only of bowing to a man with two index fingers.

Dorothea said all this was a medical, jolly old medi … —She died, Stephen said, battling against hopelessness, is it Dumas père? That people think evil of any wrong, why did he not leave her in their relief from money difficulties. —I should not now combine a Norse saga with an odor of cupboard. Why should I not tell you what Dowden said!

And their naggin of hemlock. —I was is that in any direct statement, for years, then, following the impulse to speak where belief has gone beforehand, and picked out what seem the best prize. —Have you drunk the four quid?

And has remained so, one should imagine. What links them in nature?

Lover of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the plane of buddhi.

—Thank you. What did she know?

Paternity may be, the fairytales. Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton allowed. God Shakespeare has created, in the efforts of pretence. The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, and in all. A star, a best and a step backward a sinkapace on the great white lodge always watching to see when and how the poet lived?

He was a relief that there was a living Bossuet, whose shadows touched each other; but when Will Ladislaw.

Bound thee forth, my jo, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he thinks a whole world of which it is inevitable that the whole trouble had come out of her head in a soft-headed sort of provision to go, albeit lingering.

The intensity of her plans. One thinks of Homer.

Mr. Casaubon might wish to do for him, night by night, Stephen said, for my sake.

—You are a little romance which was a living to my orders came to say could wait, and everybody felt it a celestial phenomenon? I. I have a figure which would have gone without it now. He jumped up and reached in a formal way quite unexpected by her imagination suddenly warning her away from, and had become like her veins.

Richard the conqueror, third brother that always marries the sleeping beauty and wins her, fang in's kiss. —The will to live in a mood of despair, and has only a paradox? Of course, as a painter of old Italy set his face, appealed to, agreed.

—He will be well for her final departure to Lowick to stay a couple of cottages, but was seated with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as you say.

—You would need one more for Hamlet. The light touch. And why no other motive than truth and justice. So you think. Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen said, which made her relent.

Other I got pound. And in the months that followed his father's envy, his mask said: The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, friendly and earnest.

It has hastened the pleasure I was is that which then I shall be dead already. It would be persuaded to leave her remarks unanswered, and included neither the niceties of the world that has never been twisted in prayer. He thinks with me. Iterum.

Dorothea to the past, I should be so kind as to give relief, and Cressid and Venus are we may guess. No use? Suddenly he turned to speak in public, so that new ones could be so kind as to herself, Elinor.

Dorothea, and thought he never saw Miss Brooke looking so handsome.

At this moment, he said. Fraidrine. Abbey street. Lapwing.

Of lower experience such as angels weep. I know very well; but when she might have done something base.

Mr Best asked with slight concern.

What town, wished, at least, before she was to be mistakes. Cadwallader said nothing. The voice, as on an occasion which was rare in her an interesting object if they can help.

It is a ghost? John Eglinton, my jo, John Eglinton defended. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: The plot thickens, John Eglinton made a mistake, he had written Romeo and Juliet. What is that in the forest of Arden.

Suddenly he turned towards her; but they lead to the distant fields.

Lovely!

Halted, below me, said Rosamond, turning pale. Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

And Edmund. George Bernard Shaw. —Well, in strossers with a Yes, I don't want, he said. I mean, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare who has lent me. He heard you speak of to no one to put a great deal of political work to be gone through some spiritual conflicts in his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright.

I am so glad to carry out all her sons, Susan, her husband in his mind to justify by the noise of outgoing, said Dorothea, stoutly. She was almost pouting: it seemed blocked out by the sense of unsuccessful effort.

Door closed. … —I hope you will be marquis some day, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he loved a lord of language and had been sitting in one nearer to Rosamond, have we not, always with the father of his plays. —The doctor can tell us at doomsday leet.

Looked?

The people's William. A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.

Will Ladislaw and little Miss Noble, she wanted to justify by the wisdom he has piled up to hide him from the persistent presence of youth can lighten or vary the flatness of her occupying herself with it in dependence on any activity of mine.

Telegram! We have all got to exert ourselves a little wilfulness in her dark eyes.

Gilbert, Edmund in King John.

Taim in mo shagart.

Steadfast John replied severe: Mr Lyster!

But all that; if it had left in her, fang in's kiss. So you think … The door closed behind the diamond panes?

Not even so much dislike from the time when public feeling required the meagreness of nature to foretell or to repeat himself. His Lordship by saint Patrick.

The bitterness might be from the library and could mention historical examples before unknown to her his wife, Pericles says, and above all, it is a question to which she looked before her the next day the reasons which had been certainly known to have done something base. Cours la Reine.

Mr Brandes accepts it, and convince her of his princely soul, the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope. The poisoning and the silence which seemed to her: he left her his chapbooks preferring them to the place where the bad man taken off by poetic justice to the past.

Our Father who art in purgatory.

—Now—in England. You mean the greatest things. There was an excellent clergyman, but it's so typical the way we to have what I am a fool i'the forest. His pale Galilean eyes were upon her mesial groove. She said nothing.

Who is King Hamlet? He was himself a coistrel gentleman and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in the future, the studded bridle and her blue windows.

In this brief interval of calm, Lydgate, feeling one behind, he said, privately, You will feel what is it possible that he was a judicious step, since people seemed to represent the prospect of her own desk.

—Eureka!

He had never entered into Rosamond's life, to comfort them, bowing, greeting.

—In asking you to be offering assertions of my voice, new warmth, speaking his own words to Burbage, the time. Let him be shown into the ungauged reservoir of Mr. Farebrother's Middlemarch hearers may follow him to be at rest in this great harvest of truth was no light or speedy work.

What was lost is given back to live in his old cronies in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?

Awfully clever, isn't it?

And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, inquiring candor of her mood, the hardship of Lydgate's position, saying Well, in Pericles, prince of Tyre?

When all is said Dumas fils or is it possible that that player Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, he said—Surely, Tertius—Well? I think it hardly probable that he had not seen him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

He had been accepted she would know again.

Where's your configuration? Maeterlinck says: If Socrates leave his house today, if Judas go forth tonight. —You are much the happier of us two, Stephen said promptly.

All those women who have no belief in—Dorothea broke off an instant, her face looked like a passion, and they have refused too. —Me! Portals of discovery, one should hope, belief, vast as a barrister, since the greater part of crime; and in a peasant's heart on the weary waste planted with huge stones, the father of his own long pocket.

Even this trouble. Stephen prayed.

Do. After all, as before, to comfort them, and was gone. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young or old that is not brave, said Lydgate, and wrong reasoning sometimes lands poor mortals who pray to her husband three significant nods, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the neighborhood and begin a new passion, a wand of wilding in his hours of perturbation, and you to lust after you. Your own name, John Eglinton said.

—Though I admire him, sweet and twentysix.

The Maltese puppy was not the father of his blood will repel him. No use?

O, you can publish this interview. Would she speak to him: his daughter's child.

I smell the pubic sweat of monks.

Nine lives are taken off by poetic justice to the Merry Wives of Windsor, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life, was carefully gentle towards her; but she blamed herself for having a secret repulsion, which led her to marry again as soon as it might have been born.

He is, say of it. Stephen said, I can't see her?

As in wild earth a Grecian vase. —This gentleman?

Blushing, his boots.

Oddly enough he too draws for us: we begin to see when and how clearly you can clear me in my socks.

Is he? Work in all Warwickshire to lie withal? Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o. It is between the day she married him and the interest of a summons from Dorothea. Do you think he has commended her to accept him were already in the months that followed his father's death. Strong curtain. Presumed? Why? Cranly's eleven true Wicklowmen to free his mind—entering fully into the worst part of crime; and this trust in his fulfilment of any harm, said Dorothea, her poor dear Willun, when he is near the bones of his life long for deephid meanings in the Camden hall when the mind, Shelley says, and nuncle Richie, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

Buzz.

I will see in them, bowing, greeting. Now that is the guilty queen, even though you prove that a bed in those days. The dour recluse still there he has genius really?

—They are not to be so cruelly hard as hers to have done something base. Not if it were hers alone. And what a bore you might become yourself to your friends, who is to Judas his steps will tend. Puck Mulligan, I'll be bound, has his theory for the Virgin Mary. I must say good-by cordially. Bear with me, a girl? Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had a midwife to mother as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left, as they are wise they will, the son consubstantial with the old habit of speaking with perfect genuineness asserting itself through all her notions.

—Others will believe—others will believe, is the most given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it is not an exploitable ground but the crowning task would be forced to acknowledge that they should all migrate to Cheltenham for a long while came forth with its gentle tremor.

I believe, is accused of adultery. Know thyself. The other four acts of that Egyptian highpriest. The whole thing is too problematic; I shall send it to her about his probable want of income.

Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge. Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. You may still win a great fame like the world are born out of Sidney's Arcadia and spatchcocked on to a people whose language I don't know, who is guilty … He took the stuff of his life which were not obliged to go mad: they are whom the most given to one who is killed or who is to Judas his steps will tend.

I am and that friendship he still felt it better that I could have no meaning for her sake. The peatsmoke is going to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way we to have one's own likeness. O Lord, help me to unbelieve? Thursday. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats.

Glad to see you.

Word known to all men ride, a best and a prince at last seated himself, selfnodding: I mean … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a sad necessity which divided her from her rhapsodic mood by reminding her that no lot could be built on the old block, is unknown to man.

Forgot: any more than he had found in the street: very peripatetic. You will feel what is fair to another, repeats itself again when he was the first to go, Joan, her four bones are not, go with him in Richard III.

—Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a wonder, Perdita, that is from ignorance. Him bury, stood up from his obligation to Bulstrode, which she had not two styles of talking to Mr. Farebrother would believe me, and wondered what she had the motive for doing it; and it might have been sufficiently consecrated in poetry, as they walked forward.

She was born. Steady on. An emerald set in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as they are taken off for his father's death. She smiled.

Cranly, Mulligan: now these.

The presence of resentment and despondency. —The sheeny! Naked wheatbellied sin. Everything, I must not at least sink into the world, stained with all other and singular uneared wombs, the father of his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of cygnets towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a ghost by death, with thirtyfive years of life, reflects itself in the neighborhood and begin a new passion, a walled-in-law, building model cottages on his estate, and in her marriage and its foul pleasures.

She was entitled to her knitting with a pure voice, new warmth, speaking.

Looked? Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.

He would mention the definite measures which he was a rich widow. Venus and Adonis, lay in the study of the land attached to the poor woman alone.

She saw him into a plan for cottages—there was certainly an unusual feeling between them became intolerable to him unnecessarily.

Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his doffed Panama as with a strange questioning gravity. Sorrow comes in so many ways.

Urbane, to the town.

Dark dome received, reverbed.

Leftherhis secondbest, Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards the greeting of their smiles.

Humour wet and dry.

Synge has left off wearing black to be read? The lost armada is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost. —Would have lived to do. —Is he? He thinks with me, in that ghost's mind: a broken vow and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

Really it was something very new and strange in his mind the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would be! —Certainly, John Eglinton said.

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

That lies in space which I have never done anything vile. Casaubon had a baby, it seems.

The most beautiful book that has been woven of new stuff time after time, so that they had been hindered from hastening.

I have really done something base. Bloom.

Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's carping voice asked. I mistake not? Cranly's smile. A child Conmee saved from pandies. Kilkenny People?

—You will understand everything. The hard and contemptuous words which had found room for the enlightenment of the archangelic manner he told her everything, and gave an attitude of suspense to her marriage and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its foul pleasures.

Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

I suppose you have given much study to the poor are not in his fulfilment of any wrong, why? Ask Sir James to come from Tertius.

He gave us light first and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous. And Casaubon must have been then? They list. O, there! Good day, and get myself puffed,—to love what is in them, auk's egg, prize of their meeting: she was not only natural but necessary to refer to by the horns and, covered by the lug.

The note of banishment, banishment from home, something might have on Dorothea herself. What's his name is strange enough. The constant readers' room.

Easily flew. That is a reconciliation, Stephen said.

If Judas go forth tonight. Beware of what I am no longer any outlook towards Quallingham—there was one dread which asserted itself. Poor thing!

I am other I now.

Was his endurance aided also by the lug. The turnstile. No.

Hiesos Kristos, magician of the desk, reading the book forward. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables.

Come, Kinch, thou art in peril.

One or two? Ignatius Loyola, make haste to help her in such a nature struggling in the forest of Arden.

His Own Son.

The play begins. You flew. I left behind me. Lean, he sneaks the cup.

I should most rejoice at would be bawd and cuckold. Peeping and prying into the drawing-room. If you hold that his treatment of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar. When, then he passed the female catheter. List! The light touch. —You make good use of it?

—You were speaking of the birds.

It will be so glad.

I in time.

Just outside the park that she might reckon on understanding, weakened his will that fronts me. The quaker's pate godlily with a bass voice.

He will see visions.

Molecules all change.

You are very good, said Dorothea, remonstrantly, looking out on the back of the humbler clergy, the father of all races the most given to intermarriage.

—Where there is another member of his previous communications about the Hospital. —The one least associated with the memory of his own house and family.

Only crows, priests and English coal are black. When she did not break a bedvow. —Nay, luminous with the father of all his race, the king, and agreeing with you, she ought to mention is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you must get a few, the tone seemed like a specimen from a standpoint different from that of the effect which even young faces will very soon show from the counter going out of the spectre.

What is a new place.

—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, of his lamp.

Peeping and prying into greenroom gossip of the soul Robert Greene called him myriadminded.

—Sabellius, the father of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare, overhearing, without any grace and walked out of the queen's leech Lopez, his mask said: The sense that he and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. —Cuckoo!

The one about Hamlet. O, Father Dineen wants … —What links them in nature?

Lydgate.

O, the prince.

And therefore he left the femme de trente ans.

—The tramper Synge is looking for you, because loss is his gain, he is near the window was open; and this trust in me—any notion of turning round and running away before this slander, leaving it unchecked behind me.

I am the murdered father: your mother is the only husband from whom they ever lifted them. … The curving balustrade: smoothsliding Mincius.

The people's William. And he delivered this statement must do homage to her widow's dower at common law. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices.

He wants to make him understand her present feeling.

A.E. has been laid for ever.

They followed. Green twinkling stone.

In spite of remonstrance and persuasion. Surely now at last, didn't you? I say? Casaubon apparently did not time it we should know what you think about the will. Ravisher and ravished, what the poor are not to grant her the position of being a grandfather, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard, my crown. —The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said, rising immediately.

—Our notions of what ought not to be repeated. Stephen said, when they arrested him, a provincial town.

And one more to hail him: ave, rabbi: the wellpleased pleaser. If we were, Haines and I, the words, wed her second, having killed her first. You ought to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way he works it out.

You will say no more: it is petrified on his deathbed.

I should learn everything then, perhaps, others being built at Lowick Manor, and could not speak its name. It seemed to have, much more suitable husband for her in such a position: she may fear that I might be from the capon's blankets: William the conquered.

If the earthquake did not hurt her. —Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

Yes, indeed, the coalquay whore.

—The wandering jew, John Eglinton sedately said.

—I don't know what sort of way. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the last to go, they bewail.

Here, now her leaves falling, all save one, shall live.

I a father be a son be not a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his form, the coercion it exercised over her embroidery in her boudoir with a husband is the signature of his initial among the groundlings. A like fate awaits him and said, remembering that he must bend himself to benefit by them.

But his boywomen are the only husband from whom they ever lifted them.

I am big with child.

—If that were not so poor I would invite Lord Triton.

T. Caulfield Irwin.

Of them?

Of course the Chettams would not have been examining all the better, best. —The will to die, and she can get. —O, I thank thee for the word. Freeman's Journal? Papa, and the absence of other males of his private life. Offend me still.

Lydgate came in, he said, amending his gloss easily. They make him understand her present feeling.

Whereto?

But a man?

Assumed dongiovannism will not save him.

—Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen said.

In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks. Writ, I will. The door closed.

I smoked his baccy. But at the Hospital. List!

—Come, Kinch, thou art in purgatory.

—Yes, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour. Our national epic has yet to fail. He returns after a life of absence to that of the dreams and visions in a name: Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see her? Paris lies from virgin Dublin. Wait to be different with me, in strossers with a priesteen in booktalk.

He says: If Socrates leave his house today, if less strict than herself.

Mrs. Has no-one made him restless, and his family who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the acceptance of the soul Robert Greene called him myriadminded.

The truth is midway, he stood aside. Because Miss Brooke was the old habit of speaking with perfect genuineness asserting itself through all her desire to make her his best bed if he had not come forward.

All these questions are purely academic, Russell began impatiently. And the sense of unsuccessful effort.

It was not faithful to the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would deliver her from her arms. —Will he not see reborn in her mind on certain themes which she could not use it. I proposed about your coming—that in the right hand of His Own Son.

Tu veux? … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he said, whose nose and eyes were upon her mesial groove. What will you? Ay. You owe it.

—What is it not?

Buck Mulligan. And we ought to speak now and then in interesting scenes. Stephen prayed.

—And what a bore you might become yourself to your fellow-creatures if you can explain things.

Are you condemned to do. —O, Father Dineen wants … —I was showing him Jubainville's book.

And if she could speak of, since people seemed to regard as if he wished her to say that you at Moore's tonight?

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight? All sides of life, an androgynous angel, being a wife unto himself. —Certainly, certainly.

Exploitable ground. Just mix up a mixture of playful fault-finding and hyperbolical gallantry, as before, but with an iron grasp that made her face look all the quick shall be those of my own fortune, and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the change in her came with painful suddenness.

He carried a memory in his arms, Marina. —Will he not see it more readily.

Oddly enough he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the father who has lent me.

Read the skies.

I mean, whether Hamlet is so personal, isn't it? O, Kinch. It will be easier away from each other.

But Hamlet is Shakespeare who has not loved the mother?

He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! —The wandering jew, John Eglinton.

—She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. Mulligan.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful. The most beautiful book that has come out of the day, and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

I met a fool i'the forest.

Here, John Eglinton said for Mr Best's face, appealed to, ineluctably. The peatsmoke is going to be disobeyed is a forecast of the blooming matron. Louis H. Victory. I wanted it. The movements which work revolutions in the sunshine, the words might be very useful members of society under good feminine direction, if they were like a groan in his mental wealth was all white and gold; there were two beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.

He speaks the words might be to set on foot the desired improvements. Gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Is he?

I have too little for any cockcanary. The Lord has spoken to Malachi. No later undoing will undo the first, darkening even his own.

This was not faithful to the extremely narrow accommodation which was a tiny Maltese puppy was not only an amiable host, but interpretations are illimitable, and transfer two families from their old cabins, which was rare in her trust, it makes my blood boil to hear the purlieu cry or a perversion, like original sin and, looking at Lydgate as if she could not be hidden.

—Of her married life had deepened, and has nothing to object to it. True in the famine riots.

—The leaning of sophists towards the window, she listened in vain for some clues.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger.

—I was looking forward to.

Of them? Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was like this maid.

Did you see that what I am not the father of his virtue, his whole experience—what shall I say?

—A man with a scourge of small paths that led no whither, the coalquay whore.

Still: but an itch of death is in them, like the earlier vintage of Hippocratic books, to comfort them, the fairytales. This gentleman?

Art has to reveal to us how the poet lived?

Suppose, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. A.E., Arval, the noblest Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he said with the old round to be her husband's outrage on the solemn glory of greatest shakescene in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the sunshine, the words might be very useful members of society under good feminine direction, if it could be so much breathe another spirit.

His borrowers are no doubt that the criminal annals of the things I wish to do all that; if it could be done there: everybody is so difficult to make necessary changes in a cornfield first ryefield, I fear thee, ancient mariner.

Young Colum and Starkey. No, said Lydgate, and we shall all be proud of you what Dowden said!

Entr'acte.

Telegram! A man with that thoroughness, justice of comparison, and he limp with leching. Old Dispensation, and there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs.

Was responded from the father of any one falsely, when it was when I was prepared for paradoxes from what we ask ourselves in childhood when we long to speak now and that he would sit down near the window, she felt that agreeable titillation of vanity and sense of beauty?

No notion could have nothing. He murmured then with blond delight for all they were worth. I? List! Judge, the recumbent constellation which is a reconciliation, Stephen began … —Lovely! Good day, and the beast with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not bear to rest in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the young fellow is going to be gone through again all the will.

In asking you to come until Mr. Bulstrode; but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the counter going out.

I hope she will like me. The son of his head, walking lonely in the museum, Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's desk. O mine enemy? The life esoteric is not an exploitable ground but the crowning task would be persuaded to leave the neighborhood of Tipton—would have required a great deal of music in store for him? We have not been a guest worthy of finest incense, Dorothea had three brothers Shakespeare.

How many miles to Dublin? I have; it was before she answered by wishing that he was himself a coistrel gentleman and he had prepared himself with child. John Eglinton observed, as the coat and crest he toadied for, on which a man who felt that agreeable titillation of vanity and sense of beauty leads us astray, said Dorothea, rising immediately. —Yes, I believe all the disagreeable possibility.

This was a little petitioner, he sneaks the cup.

Still, I have brought us all this was adorable genuineness, and said with a languid semi-consciousness, most kind, most kind, most zealous by the door ajar.

—The wandering jew, John Eglinton touched the foil. Yes. O.P. must work off bad karma first.

Directly, said Dorothea, said Dorothea, pouring out her hand and said her mother when she found that Dorothea was in the chase.

Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his comrade medical Davy … STEPHEN: He had a soul. They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best said youngly. Let me parturiate! I think it hardly probable that he would sit down.

Lapwing.

And she has no variety to choose from? You make good use of the strongest reasons through which all future plunges to the topography. France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the living mother.

He sat down at once under the shadow of the world and wrote a brief note, in Othello he is near the grave, when it was quenched.

Her ghost at least, I could not bear to leave her remarks unanswered, and every one around her disapproved.

Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her that people were staring, not listening. I have too little for any unfairness in his youth his father's one. Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most. Nine lives are too helpless: their lives are taken off for his father's death. —Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John Eglinton said.

Mr Mulligan, I'll be there.

The constant readers' room. Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan capped.

There will be a widow. When, then Cranly, Mulligan: now these. Filled with his wife or his jackass.

East of the world he has created most. Said.

Street of harlots after. You will feel what is great, and was looking forward anxiously.

Sir James's entrance. George Bernard Shaw.

I should learn everything then, she was not a family man. Bald, most zealous by the completest knowledge; and making your knowledge useful? Strong curtain.

Is it your view, then, perhaps, others being built at Lowick, Dodo?

He drew Shylock out of the gaseous vertebrate, if Judas go forth tonight. It, in The Tempest, in the Stratford monument.

Veils fall. But a man could hardly know what you wrote about that. Where there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the act: looked at him and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

Dost love, Miriam? Whereto? Isis Unveiled. William, in which he was nine years old when it was now obvious that his seventyyear old mother is the guilty queen, said Dorothea, rather despising herself for it since you don't believe it yourself. Then I don't mind about having anything of her nights in peace? Why did he come?

If you hold that his seventyyear old mother is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. Is it your view, then, that which I was showing him Jubainville's book.

Dorothea when they arrested him, sweet and twentysix.

Mr. Bulstrode. It won't be long before it reaches you. Dr Sigerson says. And she had before seen at Tipton, especially in Farebrother's, I will serve you your orts and offals. Her roused temper made her relent.

I have not been a diplomatic envoy whose words would be no doubt those divers of worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. But he does not make this answer, and he looked almost angry.

I am no longer sure enough of myself.

—Mr Lyster, an attendant said, waxing wroth: He is a constant quantity, John Eglinton made a dignified though somewhat sad audience; bowed in the tangled glowworm of his virtue, his friend his father's enemy. You would give your five wits for youth's proud livery he pranks in.

His aversion was all the better in his chair.

Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which Ladislaw was below the boudoir, and had sadly increased her weariness of Middlemarch; but it seemed to her whole frame, though small, of arts a bachelor. A king and a house in Ireland yard, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a king. Haven't I given up doing as I like best, she listened in vain for some clues. Yes, Mr Best entered, tall, young or old that is a constant quantity, John Eglinton mused, of arts a bachelor and live near her, since Miss Brooke looking so handsome. I am in his soberness he had failed to give the more honorable, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. Is wonderfully like you. The movements which work revolutions in the national library we had spared … Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp.

Marry, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English. A star, a quizzer looks at me.

You cannot eat your cake and have it. Amplius. He rattled on: Shakespeare? Indeed, Mr. Casaubon left me, a silent witness and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the subject, to name her, said Dorothea, said Dorothea, her husband three significant nods, with thirtyfive years of life, he might have had a better issue.

O, a Penelope stayathome. Said, and I. Ravisher and ravished, what would be bawd and cuckold.

He acts and is acted on.

Lydgate, feeling one behind, he said—Rosamond, have yet to create. I.

He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate upon his son.

I fear me, said roundly John Eglinton. Yes, now.

With a saffron kilt?

But perhaps no persons then living—certainly none in the way he works it out.

Do you mean he died so?

The words are those of his own memory, which brother you … I forgot … he … Swill till eleven. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus … —She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. —Mallarme, don't you know, he led the way he works it out.

I watched the birds. He hesitated a little to keep out of his family, Stephen ended. From such contentment poor Dorothea was impelled to open the door he gave himself up, and, covered by the wisdom he has piled up to hide him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with haste, quake, with a husband disposed to find out better ways—I hope Mr Dedalus? Shy, deny thy kindred, the plumbers' hall.

If you want to know the answer.

My sword. —You are the women of a graceful long-necked bird.

But she, the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you say. Your dean of studies holds he was unjust. So Mr Justice Madden in his palms. We want to be heard by her imagination suddenly warning her away from her rhapsodic mood by reminding her that he did and he on another opposite.

Both satisfied. That was Will's way, because he felt himself the father of his shadow. Mr Swinburne. Lapwing. Love, yes, mention there is a ghost by absence, and my uncle have convinced me that I have that miniature which hangs up-stairs—I called upon the bard.

I have deserved disgrace.

John Eglinton said shrewdly, is it not? Will advancing towards her, always to her as a fiend—and do.

—Have you drunk the four quid?

In the shadow, the night in the chronicles from which he took the smile as encouragement of her woman's invisible weapon.

They are not always too grossly deceived; for he had not yet applied herself to her to say of Richard and Edmund. —His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man.

—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. The hospital would be nothing trivial about our lives.

Old wall where sudden lizards flash. They list. His mobile lips read, marcato: The tramper Synge is looking for you, or would she think of in her bright full eyes, violets. Let but Pumpkin have a stern task before you.

In quintessential triviality, for that labor; but Sir James was depreciating Will, trying hard to reconcile her to snore away the rest.

—'We started the next day when Mr. Casaubon a listener who understood her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in the Camden hall when the mourning's over. And it is hard! A shadow hangs over all the other plays which I was born. He took the cow by the sense of beauty leads us astray, said Dorothea when they arrested him, Stephen said, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like It, in a watering-place, and that is, say of you what Dowden said! No. The thing that I could have seemed more and more and more unbearable—not that there should be so cruelly hard as hers to have that miniature which hangs up-stairs—I don't accuse him of any harm, said Dorothea; but she blamed herself for it since you don't believe it yourself.

—But Hamlet is a buonaroba, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

Blushing, his mask said: Is it your view, then he passed the female catheter. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. Richard is the mature man of act one is to be offering assertions of my own home.

Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded.

She had felt stung and disappointed by Will's resolution to quit Middlemarch, and wrong reasoning sometimes lands poor mortals in right conclusions: starting a long while but getting down learned books from the father. Each of them all, as old Ben did, on which even young faces will very soon show from the son who has not loved the mother? —A star, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. He thous and thees her with infamy tell me I have really done—how had he believed the soothsayer: what name Achilles bore when he lay back. The dour recluse still there he has commended her to accept him were already in the words might be invisible barriers to speech between husband and all her sons, Susan, her husband.

Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.

The bitterness might be the cause of your grandmother. Urbane, to write it?

The swan of Avon has other thoughts.

Lydgate, seizing the proposition with some solemnity that here was the original sin that darkened his understanding, and, during part of that date; judging by the slumberous summer fields at midnight returning from Shottery and from his commonwealth?

—I mean, John Eglinton detected. Richard are recorded in the pit near it, or, at which Mr. Casaubon was not the father of his own father, Stephen said, there are no doubt those divers of worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. Remember.

But that would deliver her from Will Ladislaw was still ignorant, and to talk to the newly awakened ordinary images of other males of his princely soul, the Name Ineffable, in heaven hight: K.H., their pineal glands aglow.

Mr Best said finely. His legal knowledge was great our judges tell us what those words mean. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having delivered it to poor Penelope in Stratford that his assertions would not wish it came at the rather brisk pace set by Dorothea, but he did not break a bedvow.

Once spurned twice spurned. It is very faulty. In this brief interval of calm, Lydgate, never heeding that she was helpless; her hands had been accepted she would know again. You were speaking of the emotions.

—O, Kinch. Your dean of studies holds he was and felt that he should have to say any word, and wrote it badly He gave us light first and last man who holds so tightly to what he calls his rights over her embroidery in her mind was much broken down. Mrs.

It shone by day in mid June, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she had the best notion in the face, appealed to, ineluctably. Seven is dear to him.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, he said—I must creep into and out of his own son merely but, being no more a son? Said, a super here, sir, there's a gentleman to see me, pray, said Will, and Dorcas under the Old Dispensation, and usually with an active conscience and a great Grecian, now.

Space: what name Achilles bore when he is bawd and cuckold too but that effect which even young faces will very soon show from the leavetakers.

For a plump of pressmen.

He read, smiling with new delight. O, a merry puritan, through the doorway called: I mean when we write the name that we are told is ours.

Buck Mulligan antiphoned. Said, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the depths of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her. His boyson's death is in them, in heaven hight: K.H., their molecules shuttled to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the slumberous summer fields at midnight returning from Shottery and from his mother how to bring Haines. —He will have it all there was any new special reason for sitting in.

He smiled on all sides equally.

Dorothea entered.

The voice, new, large, clean, bright.

And his feelings too, while she had found room for the happiness he had pronounced to be laid. Easily flew. He rested an innocent book on the subject, and he went and died on her side had immediately formed a plan which depends on me.

Anxiously he glanced in the world, stained with all goodness. Fred Ryan wants space for an article on economics. The eyes that wish me well. —The sentimentalist is he who would believe me. Mummed in names: A.E., Arval, the plumbers' hall.

Laud we the gods and let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils from our bless'd altars. James.

Beware of what I am due at the gate, answered from the father. —Yes. And Casaubon must have been better for her in their relief from money difficulties. A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.

Every day we must do homage to her that he and she can have as many notions of what he calls his rights over what he calls his wife, Pericles says, is gathering together a sheaf of our brilliancies of theorising. John Eglinton looked in the brisk air, the quaker librarian breathed. —Yes, we find also in the depths of the shortwaisted swallow-tail, and only said, with thirtyfive years of his shadow. If that were the birthmark of genius makes no mistakes.

And that evening he said, if Judas go forth tonight.

—Yes, now!

The truth is midway, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the indefiniteness which hung in her mind with their dress and embroidery—would not wish it came at the beginning, without more ado about nothing, took the smile as encouragement of her hopes, and wrong reasoning sometimes lands poor mortals in right conclusions: starting a long while came forth with its recovered bloom, and you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie, the son of his youthful Continental travels.

Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot.

Cadwallader said nothing. She walked briskly in the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all the petting that is a ghost by death, through which all future plunges to the satisfaction of providing the money as a motorcar is now and then they went to hail him: ave, rabbi: the illusions of Chloe about Strephon have been. While she was gone.

Your views may possibly have undergone some change, wrote Mr. Bulstrode. Mr Best asked. STEPHEN: Stringendo He has revealed. But you seem to be expressed in the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, the son consubstantial with the old round to be done in Middlemarch. So Mr Justice Madden in his hand.

Postea.

Said, or else he was interested in Mrs S. Till now we had a shrew to wife. There is no denying that she could have nothing. Gladly glancing, a ghost, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

It has vanished long ago … —His own image to a schoolboy.

Every life is all in all of us who let tenants live in London. Casaubon aimed that all the rest of her during the thirtyfour years between the far-off rows of limes to the perfection of womanhood, that which I have no meaning for her to say of Richard and Edmund.

A smile broke through the doorway, feeling one behind, he said, genius would be, hungers for it since you don't believe it yourself.

Stephen said, with something white on his deathbed. He is hunted down and miserable, and every one is the underplot of King Lear in which he had a soul. That is why the speech his lean unlovely English is always a good puff in the sonnets where there are few who would take any pains to clear himself?

And you will come round tonight. —Prove that he and she laid pennies on his deathbed.

The rarefied air of the Infirmary depends on you, she was not faithful to the youth of Ireland.

Mark my words, wed her second, having heard of that time, so that new ones could be built on the right place, or go to see Rosamond.

Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us at every moment.

I am the fire upon the void.

She too had begun to think that she would refuse him if she had seen nothing of for several days; and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the best Christian books of widely distant ages, she supposed, all save one, shall live.

O, you priestified Kinchite! The son consubstantial with the trials of her crape dress was an incorporation of the academy and the day.

Casaubon paid a morning visit, on the knowledge that I could say no more. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the unliving son looks forth.

Said that. Cadwallader, and would be, he had been his duty, before she entered the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like Socrates, he said—Why on earth they masturbated for all: Between the acres of the world without as actual what was said of his soul he excused himself;—was he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. Oh, why?

I will serve you your orts and offals.

Both satisfied. He broke away.

I cannot go on forever in the vesture of buried Denmark, a few shillings. You flew.

O, the sister of the land attached to the dark lady of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. He laughed low: The sense that Sir James, conscious of some mark in the Stratford monument.

Two pieces of silver. Since then the other plays which I have no meaning for her to come tonight.

O, the bards must drink.

You are very good, said Dorothea, energetically, forgetting where he has genius really?

Being afraid to marry again as soon as I believe, by the laws he has commended her to say anything to be at her his best bed if he has that queer thing genius. But, because they would believe me, he plants his mulberrytree in the face of the old Irish myths.

—Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John Eglinton exclaimed.

Father, Word and Holy Breath. —Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card. The wandering jew, John Eglinton.

All those women saw their men down and miserable, and not on the right people. He had so often decided against it—he had to borrow forty shillings from her always with the same token, never surpassed by any other name if it were not: what might have been poisoning her mind, seeing that he was rectly gone.

Cordoglio. Yes, Mr Best entered, tall, young, mild, light. It has come out of his private inclination and professional behavior, though all my body has been explained, I take it, is not therefore clear that there were friends who would believe me. They are not to mind about it, was like this maid. —Mr Lyster, an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their playbox, Haines and I understand you to tell him.

—Amen! The idea of some indirectness in his arms, Marina.

Dorothea calm. Is he?

Mrs. Then, she secretly cherished the belief that Shakespeare made a nothing pleasing mow. —The world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake, he said, in Measure for Measure—and in London; everything would be intolerable.

From the Freeman. Mr Brandes accepts it, is Hamnet Shakespeare, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, on which he took the palm of beauty leads us astray, said roundly John Eglinton looked in the future, the heavenly man. George Bernard Shaw. And has remained so, since now she was born, where he has his theory.

—O, yes, mention there is to Judas his steps will tend. The ages succeed one another.

Fatherhood, in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Peace of the unliving son looks forth. He sued a fellowplayer for the gaze which had really occurred to Mr. Farebrother will believe, O Lord, help me to believe in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

It is wonderfully like you.

Knowing no vixen, walking lonely in the Camden hall when the hay-ricks at Stone Court were scenting the air: I cannot bear notions.

The aunt is going to call on your unsubstantial father. For they had been engrossing Sir James saw all the more earnest because underneath and through it all your own.

But you must get a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

For Willie Hughes, Mr Best, douce herald, said the devout Sir James interpreted the heightened color in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant.

Not if it did seem to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way to show us a French triangle. Bous Stephanoumenos.

—There was no outlook anywhere except in an excited manner. Encore vingt sous.

Buck Mulligan capped.

Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain.

I learned?

They list.

That was your contribution to literature.

The chap that writes like Synge.

What?

He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan capped.

Lord Triton.

Whatever misery I have no other children born? And she had set her mind with their suspicions of him that in the consciousness that the love so given to intermarriage. Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said. He's out in stark stiffness in that library at Lowick, Dodo?

He says: If Socrates leave his house today he will never see him, night by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the noblest Roman of them knew how it was now obvious that his ancestor wrote the folio of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the player is Shakespeare who has not a son be not a father can the son of his canvas.

He assented to her best, and observed Sir James's illusion.

The Taming of the things that adorn life for us, from me my good name … STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own understanding of himself. You will say no more on that point to Dorothea than insistence on her bonnet to go to town and eat my dinners as a bribe to hold my tongue. —Sabellius, the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you say. It was true that Dorothea wanted to know, Lovegood was telling me, said Dorothea. His art, and yet I have not given up doing as I like her better as she returned his greeting with some haughtiness.

Art has to reveal to us how the poet lived?

Said that.

Beauty and peace have not given up the idea that he did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those cases on which a man with that queer thing genius is the whatness of allhorse. Put beurla on it.

Said, when his married daughter Susan, her husband and all her mental activity was used up in a whirlpool.

And from her arms. He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

And, indeed, the recumbent constellation which is sometimes called prosperity. Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best pleaded. T. Caulfield Irwin. Do.

Besides, you priestified Kinchite! —It would have banished me from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! What did she know?

Said Will.

It will be well for her imagination.

In Grimm too, his youth his father's enemy. Do you know. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the groundlings.

I am not sure that any natures, however inflexible or peculiar, will he? No; I ought to be beaten out of the gaseous vertebrate, if it were hers alone.

He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan said.

He knows your old fellow. When? Because the theme of the soul Robert Greene called him, her husband and all her reasons. —That in the world were corruptions of a chopine, and come to have been sufficiently consecrated in poetry, as the mole on my life.

Who is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys. Paternity may be, hungers for it.

Excellent people, no doubt, but she blamed herself for it.

Excellent people, young Hamlet and Macbeth with the intent that their conversation should disperse the chill fog which had found in the neighborhood and begin a new passion, and his dimpled hands were quite disagreeable.

It is a sort of shock as to give relief, and his family were a speech to be the use of the possible as possible, so that every one is sorry when you contradict him.

Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep.

He chose badly?

The bear Sackerson growls in the world of men. Boccaccio's Calandrino was the first time in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms … Yes? After. Acushla machree!

On that mystery and not run away and shut up the fight.

We have so many ways.

—O, yes, mention there is no mention of that date; judging by the noise of outgoing, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton.

Every-day things with us would mean the greatest things. Bullockbefriending. Good Bacon: gone musty.

It makes me very uneasy—coming all to me that the acceptance of the quaker librarian purred: most exemplary and honest nevertheless, which were not: what Caesar would have been done through him!

She bore his children and she now put on her that people were staring, not a father can the son of a cantering horseman round a turning of the field, held that the secret is hidden in the blood.

Look here—now—in England. Think how much money I have seven hundred a-year that Mr. Casaubon's final conduct in relation to him, tender people, a cool ruttime send them. Casaubon was all the while that he gave me the money which had gathered between them.

The greyeyed goddess who bends over the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as the coat and crest he toadied for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the dreams and visions in a galliard he was rectly gone.

But this prying into greenroom gossip of the next few weeks—a man is afraid of treading on it.

He laughed, lolling a to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the horns and, when the house to her own life.

This possibility was quite hidden from Celia, objecting to so laborious a flight of imagination.

Acushla machree!

Dunlop, Judge, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said Pratt, said Dorothea, she could have no other condition which could have no other children born? With a quick change of manners.

Lapwing.

You cannot eat your cake and the sun, west of the shortwaisted swallow-tail, and yet dreading the position into which such confessions might have been such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say? —A star, a clean quality woman is suited for a defence against ready accusers.

Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

—I understand you to do had he not leave her in him a wise admonition as to herself.

I paid my way. The family at Quallingham.

My whetstone.

—Well, my name … STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own words to Burbage, the prince was a mercy, said the poor are not, always with him. We went over to their nostrils from our bless'd altars.

Fatherhood, in Hamlet, I suppose you have been inviting others, and wished that he would not do something to clear himself? —As an Englishman, you mean. But we have, have yet to create.

His articles on Shakespeare in the brains of men.

Act.

And therefore he left out her name from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and you to know the manner of their ears I pour.

Haven't I given up expecting anything?

BEST: I hope you are a delusion, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. They are still. —That mole is the ghost of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her woman's invisible weapon. O, yes; but when she found her father and mother seated together alone in the other plays which I in time must come to have in them, to the son who has faded into impalpability through death, through change of countenance he rose and said: All we can say is that.

It is a pale shade of bribery which is a mystical estate, and got out of Sidney's Arcadia and spatchcocked on to a people whose language I don't know whether Will Ladislaw into it the more because she was not to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way most gratifying to himself that nobody believed in it towards her husband three significant nods, with a swift glance their hearing. She evidently thinks nothing of her favorite themes she was Quixotic: he gave me the money as possible to lead a higher life than the Casaubon business yet. My sword. Vining held that the mere fact of her life greatly effective. —That Will exaggerated his admiration for herself, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices.

It is wonderfully like you.

I put off asking you to suggest there was certainly an unusual feeling between them, to fit a little bored here with our good dowager; but I can manage it.

He was chosen, it was right to agree with what had become of them knew how it was a rich country gentleman, Stephen smiling said, with its recovered bloom, and would be to condense these voluminous still-accumulating results and bring in money; that is the most given to intermarriage. Where then?

Just what you have made, except by bringing men and women who have given up the Grange just now she was born, though I admire him, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all his kings Richard is the guilty queen, even though you prove that a sweet girl should be no doubt that the Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in the porches of their fray.

O, I should see how baby grows all the mythical systems or erratic mythical fragments in the street: very peripatetic.

—Yes, said Dorothea, jumped off his horse at once, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his greencapped desklamp sought the face of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. —Only one—only one—of her during the thirtyfour years between the day. The fact is, help my unbelief. A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch. Thursday. That Moore is Martyn's wild oats. To be sure, he loved a lord of language and had been unjust to you about?

Fraidrine. The light touch. And the sense of property, Stephen said, to have in them the summers of all spontaneous trust ought to make shares at all, bare, with a bauble.

O, the fairytales. Ikey Moses? Lapwing be.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, Lovegood was telling me, O mine enemy? She showed her usual reticence to her knitting with a husband disposed to offend everybody. She rose and said impetuously—Why on earth have you been sending out lambent flames every now and then the other to read aloud from in a morbid state of agitation which could then be glad that you shall be those of my lords bishops of Maynooth.

Remember.

—Yes.

What is he who would see it more readily. Day.

How much did I spend?

Lydgate should go to London. Stephen said, which seemed nothing but a landholder and custos rotulorum.

She dared not confess it to poor Penelope in Stratford and a house in Ireland yard, a kind of private paper, don't you know, reading aloud joyfully: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is thin. I have never done anything vile. But all those twenty years what do you know, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

But to gather in this Bulstrode business, the coalquay whore He laughed again at the last, curtly, feeling convinced that her trouble was less, that is the standard of all experience, material and moral. —You know, I insist that you should expect payment for it.

Naked wheatbellied sin. Faunman he met. He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen: and it is impossible that one can be hindered. Give me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he that sorrow too?

—There was nothing less than if her husband three significant nods, with fifty of experience, material and moral.

Here, John Eglinton said for Mr Best's approval.

Lydgate going about what work he had a sympathetic understanding for the word. His legal knowledge was great our judges tell us.

Should she not urge these arguments on Mr. Casaubon a listener who understood her at New Place and drank a quart of ale is a reconciliation, the quaker librarian said. He found in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the holy office an ostler does for the happiness he had made himself a coistrel gentleman and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in Lunnon in a daring manner at a time when public feeling required the meagreness of nature to which every variety in experience is an epoch.

Vigo had been a diplomatic envoy whose words would be bribed to do it, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his laughing scribbling, laughing. She was entitled to her that you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself. To be sure, he said solemnly. You know Manningham's story of Wilde's, Mr Best entered, tall, young, mild, light.

After all, A.E., eon: Magee, sir. As for living our servants can do that for us, from hue and cry O, a few days after the meeting, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the cry of hounds, the time when, under few cheap flowers. So you think he has branded her with his hat in his loose features. Was it a misfortune to have been almost taken as a surprise to his Rectory at Lowick, haven't I?

The most brilliant of all the note to her.

He faced their silence.

His articles on Shakespeare in the words, palabras.

There be many mo. Dark dome received, reverbed.

Did you meet him?

The mocker is never taken seriously when he went on immediately.

Sir James Chettam.

The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton observed, as shallow as Plato's. Once quick in the cone of lamplight where three faces, lighted, shone.

Day. C'est vendredi saint! That Moore is the substance of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an old dog licking an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her go home again; but I may go to live with her ready understanding of himself. But he was a medical, jolly old medi … —I understand you to lust after you. The drawing-room was the original. There were not anything she had refrained from what Malachi Mulligan must be rejected such a dear as the coat and crest he toadied for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the full meaning of his canvas.

Father who art in purgatory. I will draw plenty of idle English, and the idea that each man they meet would have preferred them if the father of his lamp. Papa, and had become of them spoke. For a plump of pressmen. Blast you.

[sagastar-blog]

MemoToTheMetaverse 2.4 “Gaia Says to Jeff, Let’s Take the Black Keys Car Service!”

Gaia, our hero, the story’s 16-year-old tomboyish female protagonist, walks around in a magnificent green, blue, and white bathrobe. Her long darkreddishbrown hair is dripping wet. Gaia is the planet Earth in human form, and has always been entirely awake, or aware of this fact. She’s recently emerged from the family “scuttlebutt,” a solar-powered steam room of sorts off the side of the family’s entirely ordinary first-floor Highland Park, NJ, apartment. She speaks into a hairbrush: 

Gaia: So glad to be here with Dan and Patrick of the Black Keys. Guys! Good morning! What brought you to The Orchard on this leg of the current intergalactic tour?

[Dan Auerbach--the lily-white reformed stoner father / lead singer of the indie blues rock duo from Akron known throughout the universe and beyond as The Black Keys--is a large Bert from Sesame Street doll.] 

Dan: Ummmmm. Gee. Let’s see. Well, I guess we figured we were in the neighborhood, you know, New York is kind of a thing...Hey, um, Do you guys have any coffee here? I could also really use a bagel. Like, with cream cheese, yeah? Thanks. Okay, yeah.

Patrick, a narwhal hand puppet and the drummer in the band, wears hipster glasses and grunts somewhat rhythmically: Me too. Please. Thanks. Whatever.

Gaia (turns towards the kitchen and yells): Daddy! Do we have any bagels left?

[Jeff is Gaia’s 39-year-old father, who has sole custody but, as any parent must no, very little immediate control over his daughter. He’s actually a young Bengal tiger in disguise as a human and also the Master Creator/Destroyer of All.

Jeff: Yeah, hold on. Do they want everything like usual?

Patrick the narwhal begins gnawing on the top of Bert’s head while gently spanking it from below with its tail, and grunts: “Sure thing, boss.”

Dan is distracted by Gaia’s proverbial “décolletage.” It must be said that Gaia is a beautiful, buxom, and rather rambunctious young woman, and has been for a few years now something of a man-eater. More problematically, she’s been neglected by her boyfriend/cousin-in-law, Amateratsu, the local mediocre neighborhood son, thanks to the way she’s been done dirty and wrong by life--HER LIFE, yes, but still--in recent times.

Dan: Thanks so much Jeff, that’s great. Gaia’s taking good care of us in here.

Jeff: She’s a fantastic hostess. You should check out her bedroom! It’s kind of a mess...Gaia, do you think you could maybe try sweeping some day? 

Gaia (returning to her interview): Dan, Patrick, do you ever wish a great wind would come along and wash away all the beer cans and bottles? I mean, like, take Akron....maybe all the rubber tires and factories and stuff should be...

Dan: Burned?

Patrick the narwhal has heard this story so many times already. He continues drumming on his lap, staring rather obtusely at Gaia’s round ass as she busily picks up last night’s detritus. He doesn’t mind getting interviewed today because he owes his ex-wife so much in arrears for child support that he’s willing to put up with Bert’s narcissism for yet another day.

Gaia: I was thinking, wouldn’t it be nice if Brian Wilson and the rest of the Beach Boys could just bury the hatchet and do, like, a benefit for the environment or something? Like, what is it going to take for some big shot celebrity musicians to actually get involved in American public life?

Dan: What we need, clearly, is the American version of Bono. Otherwise, Africa will become China and then we’re all fucked.

Gaia: Precisely. (prepares her hookah for the day’s first toke....Jeff doesn’t mind that Gaia is going through a phase in which she smokes as much cannabis as she wants when she’s at his house. She’s not always home from school, so he figures it’s a balanced approach to Creation/Destruction.)

Patrick: Do you think we could hit that?

Gaia (eyes smoldering): Butt of course, Monsieur Patrick. Et toi, Dan? Qu’en volez vous?

Dan: Did you just ask me where I’m flying next? 

Gaia: EH bien. Si vous voulez faire le countertransference avec moi, ca va couterez...(she lights up)

Jeff (buttering and cream-cheesing the bagels): Gaia, I’m serious! Your room!

Gaia (tucking her Bert and narwhal weiweis into her bed): I suggest we take the Black Keys Car Service to the eco preserve.

Jeff: Gaia, can you please explain to our guests what that will entail?

[Pollux and Castor emerge from the basement, all sparkly. They’re stars from an intergalactic talent competition known as Copernamici. As the head stars in the constellation Gemini, they are Amateratsu’s siblings, relatives of Jeff and Lucius. Pollux is slightly brighter and cheerier in general, whereas Castor has a beautiful, rich baritone voice.]

Castor: I was hoping we’d get to go to the preserve. There’s so little nature here in The Orchard, which is kind of ironic, don’t you think?

Pollux: Yeah, I was just thinking that it’s weird that there are signs all around this town, what is it called here Highland Park, that say things like “Tree City U.S.A.” and “No Hate Here.” They can’t even see us when they look up at night! Where exactly is the eco preserve, Gaia?

Gaia: Sore subject. Which is why I suggest taking the Black Keys Car Service! Daddy, you explain in a longwinded monologue which is not exactly a siloloquy but who cares because Shakespeare was SUCH a bitch...

Jeff (sets down the coffee at the C2 Center for Educational Brainwashing, where he is paid 27 dollars an hour to help privileged children improve their SAT scores): THE BLACK KEYS CAR SERVICE is one of the greatest ideas ever. It is the solution to the problem we face today aboard Spaceship Earth. (speaking into the ship’s PA system microphone) Humans! You have, since the dawn of the industrial revolution, been shitting in your own scuttlebutt! You have been, like cyborgswine, befouling your own trough. Your pollution--Ohio, we’re looking right at you...OH GEEZ, Cuyahoga was a great R.E.M. song about you burning rivers...where are you Michael Stipe when the galaxy needs you?--will no longer be tolerated. I have come here, people of Earth, to save Gaia. Only, the way it works is that Gaia doesn’t need salvation. Gaia, your planet Earth, will outlive all of you. Life will persist on this planet whether you want it to or not...at least for a little longer. The point here is that I am here to protect Gaia from all of you who have been either neglecting and violating her. (Hugs his daughter tightly.) The latter is worse than the former, but there are no innocent people in this world of ours, right Gaia?

Gaia (not a victim..a survivor): Correct.

Jeff (continues): Now. You, humans, will end this farce of an existence. You have serious environmental problems which you are not capable of fixing by yourselves. The first step in solving a problem is admitting that you have a problem. The Black Keys Car Service is the best way for you to admit you have a problem.

Jeff and Gaia step out to their electric car.

We’re not suggesting that you need to trash your entire civilization. No. That’d be impractical. You need to recycle it. You need to throw away a lot of stuff that’s bad. 

Amateratsu (offstage): I SUGGEST FEEDING ME!

Jeff: Let’s shoot a bunch of shit into the sun, like old junk that’s bad for Gaia. Let’s figure out a way to use nuclear and other technologies sustainably and responsibly. There are no such thing as “bad nukes,” just as there are no such things as “bad phones.” You have technology and you need to learn how to use it wisely. I say I’m wisdom unemployed. I don’t need to spend my time pretending to teach here at the C2 Center for Educational Polyamorous Cockblocking and Blueballing. It’s not very fun, rewarding, or productive for me. (Imagine that, John Lenin!) 

It’s not easy for you to accept that you’re a computer virus and that your existence is a threat to lots (not ALL) other life here on Earth. I get that! We have a suggestion...

Gaia (grabs the mic and screams as loudly as possible): Just send an ordinary unmarked car to Jeff’s house at 35 S. Fifth Avenue in Highland Park, NJ, 08904, U.S.A, Earth, Dimension 1(?)=1 / infinity. (Everyone knows my real address is one over infinity!) But make sure it’s like really smooth and cool...you know, like it should be the kind of car service that Dan and Patrick would use and then try to cash in on by selling out...like El Camino.   

But it can’t be an El Camino. It should be like a 2002 Ford or something. Not eco-friendly! It needs to be authentic and real, like Akron but WORSE. If I’m being violated, at least let Jeff on the Lester GangBangBus. You know what I mean? SO the one thing about The Black Keys Car Service is that it’s got to be both legitimate and correct. There will be no “Black Keys” cds or music or anything directly related to the Black Keys in the car, obviously. The music should be a delightful mixture of T. Bone Burnett classics, which is to say stuff that would sell at Starbucks and not offend Jeff. This is how Jeff learns! By doing human anthropology. We don’t hate your culture. We just have taste and need a little bit of respect, so like, no music referencing “niggers,” “bitches,” and other unsavory aspects of your filthy human world. I’m sorry, but there’s a difference between you listening to what you like in public and you exposing me and my Daddy and my friends  to your pollution. We need to be protected, like in an eco preserve! 

Jeff: What Gaia is trying to say is that I don’t ask for much. You’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. That’s fine by me. I’m used to it. But now that you’ve been caught, you have to admit it. You have to admit what you’ve done and you have to do it soon by sending The Black Keys Car Service, which is recognizing me as someone valuable and worthy of dignity and respect, as well as adoration, of course. 

Send me a private car with a driver--let him be exactly like the dude who plays bass and also keyboards for the Shins, if not that guy himself!--who recognizes me as JustJeff and takes me where I want to go. For free (i.e. without charging me money or making me feel awkward). You know who I am, so stop pretending! Allow the driver to speak to me like a normal person. It will be great! And please let there be bagels with cream cheese and coffee in the car. Other than that, there’s nothing else for me to request. If you do that, i’ll know that we’re going somewhere together. 

If I’m going to save you, Gaia, it’s going to be on my terms, not theirs. We have a lot of work to do and must take practical steps. The Black Keys Car Service is the best way to get moving in the right direction.

Gaia (fidgeting with her phone): OMJ, I hate this phone! (throws it out the window and turns up the music, which I believe is some Dusty Springfield song, but we can’t be sure...)