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johannas-motivational-insults · 4 years

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I'd like to read your commentary on the closet scene in Hail Mary!

Well ask and you shall receive, friend! (Commentary is bolded.)

I love this scene. Tbh I first wrote the sardines gag into an original fic I wrote in high school and I’m just nostalgic for it. But it is also a really great way to get characters in close quarters together, so... ;)

As it turns out, Adora does find Catra first. She knows her better than anyone, after all, knows how she gravitates towards small, dark, enclosed spaces for a sense of comfort. (Ah, here’s another instance of Catra behaving like a cat but hopefully in a non-distracting way.) Also, there’s the whole thing about how she used to hide in the closet at home when she was scared, or upset after a disciplinary encounter with Ms. Weaver. It was about the only place she could get privacy in that house, sharing a room with two other girls.

Adora remembers hearing her muted whimpers from behind the slatted doors, knocking gently and being yelled at to go away. She remembers sitting down leaning against said doors, guarding the space while Catra collected herself. (A lovely role reversal here!) In the times when she was scared, for good reason, Adora would eventually be torn away by threat or force, Catra would be ripped from her hiding spot, and the screaming would begin. The screaming and…

Adora prefers not to think about those times. She prefers the memories of after the danger had passed when she could just sit there, a comfort to her friend. On rare occasions Catra would not even allow her that, would shout at her until she left the room. Others, she didn’t tell Adora to go away at all, and Adora would crawl into the darkness and find her curled up on the floor, her face stained with tears. Adora would sit silently and take her head into her lap, gently scratching her scalp and stroking her hair, rubbing her back if it was safe to do so. It always calmed Catra down, and it was soothing for Adora too. It helped keep her hands busy and her mind off of what she’d just heard.

Oh hello my poor little traumatized neurodivergent children, stim to your hearts’ content. (And yes, Catra is also neurodivergent in this fic. It’s only been hinted at so far but later it’s revealed that Catra believes she’s ADHD but she never got a chance to get diagnosed because Weaver just saw her as a troublemaker. And because she’s brown many shrinks or social workers would tend to jump to that conclusion too instead of thinking maybe she has a disorder. It’s a little hat tip to the double standards and obstacles to diagnoses that neurodivergent women and POC have to deal with. And you all get to learn that early because you bothered to read this. :D)

Obviously the wave of nostalgia she’s hit by when she finds Catra once again hiding in a closet is not an entirely pleasant one. But she can’t help a small smile either, both at her victory and at seeing Catra’s face. It’s a natural side effect.

“Hey look, I won,” Adora brags when she spies Catra flattened against the wall on one side

Catra shakes her head slightly, amused. “Of course you did.”

Oh wow, I really didn’t hold back on Catra’s subtle resentment, did I?

Pulling the door shut behind her, Adora steps through the thick curtain of garments. Catra actually picked a pretty good spot - there’s a bunch of coats on that side of the closet that obscure her legs, and with how full the closet is it would be easy for someone peeking past the clothes to miss her.

The positioning may be different, the two of them on more or less equal footing and nursing no physical wounds, but Adora can’t shake the sense of awkwardness, her fear that their previous closet rendezvous are all Catra can think about too. (...Out of context this sounds a little bit like they’ve engaged in BDSM in a closet lmao but no, wrong fic.) And the idea of that is unbearable, especially if Catra’s already upset about Scorpia, so Adora takes it upon herself to break the tension.

“Look at us, back in the closet together,” she cracks, poking Catra in the ribs. “Who woulda thought, after all those Pride parades?”

This joke is stupid and I love it.

Catra brushes her hand away with a scoff. “Speak for yourself, I was never in any closet.” Despite her words of protest, she’s smiling a little. Eyeing Adora up and down, she adds, “And you were always like the ultimate sports dyke, so it’s not like people didn’t know about you either. Even if you didn’t figure it out until we met everyone’s favorite MILF.”

I will never let the Huntadora crush die. Tbh this is a little sad though because Catra doesn’t realize it’s always been her for Adora. She doesn’t let it show but she is kinda sad that from her perspective Huntara was Adora’s gay awakening, not her.

Oh, that definitely went a direction Adora didn’t expect. Brow furrowing, she purses her lips as she weighs the cost of the truth, how much she can divulge before it becomes incriminating. Her voice is quiet and eyes are down when she says, “No, I knew.”

It takes a second for Catra to respond. “What, really?”

Slowly lifting her head, Adora raises her eyebrows as she meets Catra’s confused gaze. “Just because I didn’t talk about it doesn’t mean I didn’t know.”

This is such a pivotal moment, just an understated one because it’s from Adora’s POV. Catra thinks she knows Adora so well, and the idea that Adora not only intentionally kept something (her awareness of her sexuality) from her but was able to fool her is a shot to the ego.

A tiny scoff escapes Catra’s throat, eyes flicking away as her arms fold over her chest. “Never thought you were that good at keeping secrets,” she remarks. Finally she looks back at Adora, gesturing expectantly. “Well? How long have you known?”

Adora frowns in thought. Not because she doesn’t know the answer, but because there’s no casual way to tell your best friend ‘I’ve wanted to marry you since I knew what marriage was.’

I don’t remember what exactly possessed me to write this line, but once it did I knew it was going to murder you all in cold blood. I really enjoyed all the comments about this one. :D

“Always,” is what she says instead. “I mean I didn’t know what it was, but I was always drawn to other girls, always wanted their attention, wanted to be close to them.”

This is such a mood.

Nodding pensively, Catra stares into the darkness. After a moment she murmurs, “Yeah, me too.”

If only she was saying that to what Adora was thinking, not what she said. Because there’s no way Catra could know, right? She’s smart, but she’s not a mindreader. If she was she probably would have kicked Adora out of her room years ago for being a pervert.

Adora she means the exact same thing as you you fucking walnut!

The crack of the bedroom door opening jolts Adora from her thoughts, making her flinch.

“Shit,” she mutters, pushing forward and flattening against the wall, against Catra. In her haste she bounces off the wall slightly and starts to tip backwards, but a pair of quick hands steadies her hips, pulling her closer. Adora’s eyes flick down to find Catra’s already on her, widened in a clear order to be quiet. Adora can barely bring herself to nod apologetically, dazed by the sight. And their proximity. And the scent of sour candies on Catra’s breath.

Because being stuck in a closet together wasn’t taking advantage of the sardines gag enough, I threw this in here. And Adora’s clumsiness provided a great opportunity for Catra to touch her in an intimate way :D. And idk why but the described experience of the smell of the sour candies on top of the close up of Catra’s eyes and them being pressed together is just overwhelming. That sour candies thing gets me every time I read it.

Suppressing the urge to groan, Adora adjusts her positioning and tips her head down so her forehead is resting against the wall, removing that temptation before it can take hold. (Oh right, that’s why it gets me every time.) She breathes deeply, as quietly as possible, praying to god that Catra will interpret her pounding heartbeat as excitement purely from the game. She can feel Catra’s heart hammering against her rib cage too, can hear it echoing in Catra’s jugular mere inches from her ear. Catra’s hands are sweaty where they’ve wound into Adora’s shirt, trembling slightly in anticipation of being caught. Catra may act like she doesn’t care that much about winning and losing, but Adora knows better than anyone just how competitive she is, how wound up she gets.

Oh for fuck’s sakes Adora. I’m glad people asked for Catra’s perspective of this scene because I think confirming in the next chapter that her body was reacting to the exact same thing Adora’s was is valuable. At least a few readers bought into the ‘Catra is competitive/traumatized about hiding in closets’ thing I had going with Adora as an unreliable narrator, so it was probably best to clear it up.

The closet door opens and they both tense, not daring to breathe. The metal hanger hooks screech along the rod as the seeker parts the sea of garments, the sound making Adora wince. The light suddenly flooding their dark space doesn’t help in that regard either. She squeezes her eyes shut with the tiniest little whimper and one of Catra’s hands taps gently against her waist, acknowledging her discomfort and offering solace.

Idk how many people have noticed but I have this running theme of Adora being especially averse to sounds as a sensory sensitivity thing. And the fact that Catra knows and consistently acknowledges it in small ways just makes my heart happy.

In seconds it’s over and the person is closing the closet door, then the bedroom door on their way out. Adora expels as heavy a breath as she dares and whispers, “Phew, that was close.” She starts to pull away and lower her arms from where she’s braced them against the wall, bracketing Catra’s head. (That visual *eyes emoji*) But she doesn’t get very far.

Catra’s arms are locked in place, fingers still clinging to Adora’s shirt. Resting her elbows on Catra’s shoulders, Adora pulls her head back to get a good look at her face. She arches her eyebrows questioningly but Catra’s eyes are fixed firmly on the opposite wall of the closet, refusing to meet hers. Frowning in concern, Adora brushes a thumb over the baby hairs on the back of Catra’s neck. “Catra?”

Still Catra doesn’t respond. Not with words anyway. It’s just a tiny movement, but when her shoulders curl forward into Adora just a little bit, Adora clues in. Sometimes you just need a hug when you’re sad. She gets it.

God damnit. Catra doesn’t want to let go because she’s yearning, not because she’s sad. Why you gotta be like this, Adora? (She says as though she didn’t write it.)

Slowly leaning back in, Adora wraps her arms around Catra’s shoulders. She sighs in relief when she feels Catra respond, relaxing in her grip and slumping slightly to rest her chin on her shoulder. Squeezing a little tighter, she nuzzles into the curve of Catra’s shoulder in response, breathing her in. Catra smells… like Catra. It’s a scent Adora could never quite put a finger on, something uniquely her, but it’s the most comforting smell she knows. It smells like safety, and tenderness, and just a little bit of mischief.

Adora could fall asleep in these arms, in the peace they bring her mind. She has, many times. When they were kids Catra ended up sleeping on her bed more often than not, sprawled half on top of Adora with her head on her chest. Though technically she was usually the one holding Catra, and Catra was often the one seeking comfort, it made Adora feel safer too. It felt a little like Catra was guarding her in the night, and the pressure pinning her to the mattress felt so good. So… secure. They’ve always been better together, perfectly suited to each other’s needs. Adora can't even imagine a life without Catra as her closest companion, and she doesn't want to.

Is that a reference to the torment of canon? Yes, yes it is. Is it also foreshadowing of how agonizing it would be for Adora if she and Catra ever had a falling out? ...maybe.

Absentmindedly brushing her fingers through Catra’s hair, Adora’s pulled out of her head by Catra’s low hum next to her ear. The long lost sound makes her lips turn up. She always used to tease Catra about how she purrs like an actual cat. Not quite, but… it’s nice. It’s soothing.

Rubbing her cheek against Catra’s ear in a similarly feline fashion, Adora chuckles, “Yeah, I miss this too.”

A quiet snort is muffled in her shoulder, Catra’s back puffing out against the arm still slung across her shoulders. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Okay,” says Adora. So she holds her close, and doesn’t say another word.

Maybe this is all she’ll ever get from Catra, holding and comforting her after others have hurt her. But it’s enough. It has to be.

Adora, NO, shut up! She loves you!

Ughhhh well this scene is super cute and super frustrating, both of which want to make me throw things. But that’s very on brand for this fic.

#ask games #director's commentary #spop #catradora #fanfic #hail mary #writing #asks #super-zrhueiao

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prxschxo · 5 years

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[ JORDAN CONNOR, 24 , MALE , HE/HIM ] welcome to the du pont institute for the young & gifted, [ PRESTON CHAO ]. you have been accepted as a [ SCHOLARSHIP ] student from [ USA ], going into your [ SENIOR YEAR ] and majoring in [ SPORTS MEDICINE ]. your peers at the institute say that you are [ +STRONG WILLED & +CHARMING ], but being [ -HOT HEADED & -BOLD] may be the reason why the police are asking about you. did you think they wouldn’t find out that you were michael’s [ EX-BEST FRIEND ]? [ DUCKIE, 23, SHE/HER, CST ]

Get ready for a muse! Much different than Gabe I am positive that Preston will be fun because he gets in a lot of drama. I really love Preston and I’m sure you will too !! Please feel free to message me if you want any plots or connections!

GENERAL

Name: Preston Morgans

Age: 24

Place of birth: Northchester, New York

Spoken languages: English, learning ASL, chinese

Sexual orientation: heterosexual

Occupation: Student

Eye color: Brown

Hair color: Black

Height: 6′4′’

Scars: Chest after car accident

Tattoos: back of both hands; rose on one and wolf on the other.

FAVOURITE

Color: any of the colors that associate with fall; brownish-reds, deep oranges

Entertainment: watching 80′s movies, cooking, listening to crime podcasts, parties

Pastime: beer pong, movies, flirting, reading

Drink: peach soda and double shot espresso

G E N E R A L -

-To be born under a wealthy man might be a blessing to many but for Preston he’d consider it a curse. He is the product of an affair and lives uncomfortably under the roof of a huge secret.

-His mother had become a young cleaning lady for Bruce Langston; leader and CEO of the economical department in the city. He is a huge deal and any scandal can lead him to lose his position, apparently he didn’t care about that when the man had sex and impregnated Preston’s mother despite having a wife. Once she found out she was pregnant Preston’s mother made absolutely sure that she used that for her advantage and so she became a live in maid, had her life paid for and when it came to her child everything that Preston would need would be taken care of. Even if it meant that Preston would forever be casted into the shadows of the family like an ugly scar.

- This was agreed upon after Bruce’s wife found out and bitterly accepted so her husband would keep his title and money. That was all that the woman carred about after all; not having to give up her rich and lavis lifestyle. But that didn’t mean she was at all accepting of the boy especially when just a few weeks later she became pregnant herself and now there would be two babies under the household that would have to know they were different.

- And the wicked mother she was. She purposely spoiled Preston’s half sibling making sure they had everything. Preston was set for live but they still lived as middle class people so no suspicions were made. Preston always knew he was never going to be treated equally and that was why in his teen years the boy began to rebel in hopes to get caught by his father.

- Bruce hated the fact that Preston was all just a huge stick in his life. And didn’t exactly treat him all too kindly, even though living in the house was nice Preston was treated just as the secret bastard. Even to his half sibling that was born two years after him they were close, little diana not letting her parents hatred come between her and her only brother.

-it was sad, the only other person preston loved more than anything and they had to act like they didn’t like each other. but it didn’t stop his young sister from taking care of him and any moment they were able to have together they made sure they had fun. all until they were in public and had to act like they had no relations at all. how hard it was for preston and diana to at like they hated each other but it was what was forced upon them.

- This led to a few rebellious streaks in his life growing up, hanging out in the poor sections of town, dealing with boys who were not part of the Langston Aesthetic and even getting in a lot of trouble by fighting. This only caused more of a hate for him in the household but as long as he was only seen as the maids boy to the town he got away with it. This family secret was deep. So much so when it came to schooling and his mother’s push that Bruce send Preston to the same schools as his other child, daisy, there was a fake scholarship created in the company that Preston was put under. No one suspected a thing and didn’t have to question why the Langston’s were paying for some no-good maid’s son.

- while in school Preston found the life of underground fighting. Getting bets and fighting in a ring with no rules. Due to his size and build he trained and soon became a top competitor. He was getting the spotlight and loved it, plus there was no better way to get a rush and release his anger then fighting in a ring.

MEETING MICHAEL VALMONT-

-Preston always had a hard time setting in with the fact he was a burden and shadow to his father and would lash out. He didn’t know why Michael liked him so much but once Michael found out Preston’s secret he took him under his wing and they practically became brothers.

-always close, preston didn’t exactly agree with everything Michael did and the two would fight but after a few hours it would be brushed under the rug and forgotten. Except for the final straw.

-Michael started dating a girl and Preston was instantly drawn to her. Falling for her hard and quick. It wasn’t until Preston and the girl started to hook up that Michael ended their friendship and threatened preston’s secret which meant Preston had to stop seeing the girl and he was down a best friend. this has always been hard on the boy and even after trying to fix it with michael the two would only end up fighting again.

PERSONALITY &&. HEADCANONS -

- Being the literal mistake in the chaotic family Preston is a bit of a bitter person. Eye rolling, stubborn, hot headed, and quick to defend himself.

- He’s had no one to stick up for him at home and he learned to do this on his own; he is hated at home and only has been told to never speak of his family ties, even being forced by his half brother to never speak to him in public. This makes him pushed away. The tall boy in the back of crowds; out of the spotlight. Preston is not allowed to be seen. Not wanted and that affects the way he is motivated to show off his actual skills.

-his mother has been his biggest teacher and he has an everlasting respect for woman because of it. He will find himself too ashamed to ever mistreat a girl in fear of his mother finding out.

-As much as preston respects girls, he really loves to hook up with them too, not that he wont show them a good time but if he finds his chance with someone he takes it.

- If he was allowed he’d want to be in art, he’s been a lover of arts since he was a child and he is very good at it but of course he is far too self contentious on being forced down. Preston isn’t even allowed to use his size to play sports and as a result he sneaks off to other cities to fight at night. It’s not safe and he uses a fake name but people cheer for him. They see him it’s the only time he feels at peace… even if that peace is dangerous, illegal, and leaves him in bruises that lead his mother to worry.

- He loves to party; going out and living the life away from that home of his where he is seen as a burden. It’s fun unless his brother is around and the whole time he just gets hard glares to not embarrass him.

- Find him sketching in his books, doodling along the pages or in sketchbooks in the halls of courtyards. Don’t be surprised if you become his muse. He loves drawing people.

- Anger; he’s quick to it no matter how much he doesn’t want to be. He just has been pushed to the side so much that he takes things seriously and any insult will trigger him. Sorry if he fights you, he just finds it easier than anything else. - Aside from being a hot head though he has taken interest in girls and as most boys do tries to test out his flirtatious ways as much as he can. He might not be the best flirt, as he has been told his scowl and serious attitude seems to drive a pretty girl away at times but he still tries.

C O N N E C T I O N S -

Muse: preston seen this girl around and every time he just... feels something. She makes him happy and even though it might sound creepy... he gets caught more then once sketching her; Fallon Kingsley

I’ll scratch your back you scratch mine: They don’t really get a long but always help each other out when they need it: Alice

Crush; they are always one moment from hooking up and yet it always ends with one of them pulling away with a nervous smile, could be the girl that ended michael and preston’s friendship; daisy

You annoy the hell out of me; always butting heads and yet they hang around the same people; Alice

you’re weird but I kinda like you: preston finds him awkward but nice so he still talks to him from time to time; Hugo

Party buddies/wingmen: Preston is a terrible flirt and at least he’s got; cristian

Friends: just close, eats lunch with, drinks peach mixers at parties; william

Rivals: this person is more than annoying, Preston can’t be in the same room with them without fighting with this person;

hookup, fwb, one night stands, exes; analyn (he was her first time)

the little sibling he never got; she was one of michael’s ex’s when Preston and Michael were still friends, Preston hated that Michael would brag about sleeping with the girl and preston never felt Michael treated her right, he found she was a good girl and deserved to be treated much better. He still is very protective of her and thinks she’s too good for dupont. soshanna

his cash cow; The girl has been a past hook up but now, the only thing she hooks up with preston for is the percentage she gets off his winnings. She tells him where to fight, who he’s fighting, and how to win... and preston hands over some of the money he makes. it’s a good thing they have just... don’t tell her they are friends, she denies it every thime.; Sabina

Preston’s half-brother (or sister): this person got everything from his father that he didn’t and it’s all because his father could, and did, show them off to the world. Preston can’t hate his half-sibling but just once he wants to have his father view him as more than just the “maid’s son”. they are close though, and when they are alone they treat each other like the close siblings they with they could be; diana langston

should be girl: her and preston have a strange relationship. they are close but in a way that hurts him every time. They were a strong thing in high school and he got every attached to her, to this day he would do anything for her... which includes being her booty call every time her and her boyfriend break up. He wants nothing but to keep her happy but he knows that she and her boyfriend will always get back together and he would be stuck waiting for the call to drop everything and go to her when she was crying over her boyfriend; Maddy

the girl who changed it all: she was dating michael, and at this time preston and Michael were still at brother status, best friends no matter how much they fought. But when she came into the picture Preston fell head over heels for her and she had her eyes on Preston as well. They snuck around for the whole time saying they just hung out at the gym or were studying. When Michael found out he and preston fought so bad it ruined their friendship for good and even though Michael was no saint he was greedy and knowing preston loved this girl he wanted the boy to suffer. So to make sure of that he told preston that if he still saw his ex he would tell everyone how much more of a relation he has to the towns big bad political CEO. and no one could know that preston was his son. so preston tried to stay away... only to keep hooking up with her on the down low;

the secret high school hookup: she stole his crayons when they were young and that sparked a feud between them. but a heated feud that had its breaks when the two seemed to be alone... he kissed her in the slide and that opened them up to years of secretly hooking up in high school just for the fun of it. they still act like they hate each other but the door is always open for good memories in between the times they are saying they hate each other; Calla

#dupont.intro

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soldierstark · 6 years

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The Art of Resistance | TOM HIDDLESTON X READER

Description: Tom has mastered the art of resistance. In other words, the story about the three time he wanted to kiss the reader but didn't and the time he finally did.

Author's Note: If anyone of ya'll know where the dialogue from the first scene came from I <3 you! This is my first attempt at a 3 + 1 fic and I enjoyed writing so let me know if you'd like more :) As always, let me know what you think.

Word Count: 2146

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

The first time Tom wanted to kiss (Y/N) was when they decided to rehearse lines together.

It was late enough that the sun was barely peaking over the horizon while they had had enough time to down a few glasses of wine. Not enough to get them drunk, but enough that it wouldn’t be a good idea to drive anywhere.

They were scheduled to film a scene the next day that would be the turning point in their characters relationship. Throughout the movie, (Y/N)’s character was put in charge of keeping a close eye on Loki, causing them to inevitably fall in love though neither would admit it.

Loki however, didn’t know that (Y/N)’s character had begun to spend time with him because she was told too. When he finds this out, he begins to question the whole foundation of their relationship leading to a huge fight.

Tom really wanted to nail the scene so when (Y/N) came up to him between takes and asked if he’d like to practice, he agreed.

And that’s how they ended up in a screaming match, though it was all fake, (Y/N)’s temporary neighbors didn’t know that.

“Because I love you, Loki,” (Y/N) burst out pleadingly, trying to get the god of mischief to stay.

Tom rolled his eyes and let out indignant scoff, stepping forward towards (Y/N) slightly. “Are kidding me? You’re actually bringing this up now?” he asked in frustration with disbelief. “After you told me that you just betrayed me?”

(Y/N) walked closer to Tom shaking her head desperately. “If you would just listen to me-“

“Listen to you?” Tom interrupted sarcastically, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Why should I listen to you? How am I even supposed to trust anything that you say right now?”

“Because of everything we’ve been through together!” (Y/N) said raising her voice, starting to get frustrated as well. “For 2 years I’ve been right here. 2 years Loki. Most of that time was spent just waiting for you to open your eyes and see that I’m more than just some mortal girl.”

(Y/N) took another look at Tom who didn’t say anything in return, as instructed in the script. She began to pace the living room carpet, going into to more of a rant. “Every morning I- I bring you a cup of coffee just so that I can see a smile on your face because I think you are the most remarkable-“

She stopped pacing and turned towards Tom with a look of very mixed emotion. “Maddening,” (Y/N) continued, taking another step forward. “Challenging.” Another step. “Frustrating person, well god, I have ever met,” she finished, stopping about 3 feet away from Tom.

“And I love you, Loki,” she repeated, looking up at Tom with slightly watery eyes. “And if that means anything to you, if you care about me at all, please just stay. Please believe me.”

They were so close that Tom could see every fleck of color that adorned (Y/N)’s (Y/E/C) eyes. Her full, rosy pink lips were parted slightly as (Y/N) took in breathes. A piece of her (Y/H/C) hair fell into her face and for some odd reason, Tom felt the urge to push it behind her ear.

How had he not noticed how beautiful she was before?

The second time Tom wanted to kiss (Y/N) was at an Avengers cast and crew Christmas party.

“Alright this gift is for…” Mark trailed off, reading the tag on the gift he pulled out from under the fake Christmas tree. “Reindeer Games from your Secret Santa.”

A laugh erupted around the room as Taika threw the box over to Tom who began to unwrap it immediately out of curiosity. “It’s a….. box of organic earl grey tea,” Tom announced, examining the gift for clues as to who gave it to him.

“Why thank you to whomever this came from,” Tom added, making sure to emphasize his British accent. This only led to more laughter.

After all the gifts had been handed out, the cast and crew members began to disperse, going their separate ways. Tom stood up out of his seat and walked through the doorway that lead into the kitchen until a hand grabbed his wrist, halting the movement.

He turned around only to see (Y/N) smiling up at him, leaning against the door frame casually. She was wearing a black sweater with snowflakes, jeans, and a headband that had lit up Christmas lights.

“How’d you like your gift,” she asked with a mischievous smile, wiggling her eyebrows slightly.

Tom let out a deep chuckle as the realization of who his Secret Santa was dawned on him. “It was perfect,” he replied honestly, looking down at the box in his hand. “Thank you.”

“Oh don’t thank me yet Hiddleston,” (Y/N) said, crossing her arms over her chest. “That box is part of a subscription service so from now on you’ll be sent some very fancy tea every 2 weeks.”

“You really didn’t have to do that (Y/N),” Tom stated, shaking his head back and forth gently. “Honestly.”

(Y/N) giggled and stood up straight off the wall, turning so that she and Tom were facing each other directly. “Oh but I did. If I had a dime for every time you complained about how bad the craft services table tea was, I’d be so rich I’d never need to act again. So yes this gift was needed for you and for me because I was getting close to duct taping your mouth shut.”

Suddenly, a high pitched wolf whistle echoed through the air causing everyone to turn their attention to Chris Evans who was pointing at Tom and (Y/N). “Look who’s standing under mistletoe,” he drawled out excitedly.

Tom’s gaze shifted upwards and sure enough, hanging from the doorway, a tuft of green sprouted from a piece of string.

He looked down at (Y/N) with a questioning glance just as she looked up at him. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she chewed her bottom lip nervously, drawing his attention directly towards it.

(Y/N) let out a slight laugh before nodded her head slowly. “Alright Hiddleston, lay it on me,” she said, taking a step closer to him.

Tom raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?” he asked, trying to calm his beating heart which was hammering against his ribcage like machine gun. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she replied, rolling her eyes in a joking manner.

Now, Tom couldn’t explain why he was suddenly filled with excitement. And it only seemed to increase as (Y/N) put a hand on his shoulder and began to lean up towards him. Her eyes fluttering shut as her lips parted in anticipation.

Tom began lowering his head and put a hand on her waist. Their faces were so close that Tom could feel (Y/N)’s breath fan against his face.

And right at their lips were about to meet, a voice yelled from the kitchen, “You guys look! I found a beer bong,” causing them to spring apart quickly.

The third time Tom wanted to kiss (Y/N) was at 11:57 pm on December 31st.

It might’ve been all the alcohol he was consuming, or maybe the fact that she looked down right irresistible in the skin tight black dress she was wearing. But when everyone in the room started pairing up for their midnight kisses, Tom’s mind went straight to the (Y/H/C) hair (Y/E/C) eyed beauty.

She was over by the refreshments table talking to Jeremy about something she clearly cared about as she was using hand gestures vehemently. Tom strolled over to her trying to seem nonchalant but he was feeling anything but.

Jeremy let out a low whistle at the sight. “Dam Hiddleston, how much have you had to drink?”

(Y/N) turned around to face him and smiled brightly. She threw her head back with laughter, her hair bouncing with the movement.

Tom cleared his throat and let out a hiccup. “Like 3 I swear.”

Jeremy nodded his head slowly. “Uh huh,” he muttered sarcastically. “Sure dude,” he chortled before walking off.

Tom attempted to lean against the refreshment table casually before turning his attention back to (Y/N). “So, you have anyone to kiss at midnight yet?”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow in amusement and took a sip from her punch. “No. Why?”

“No way me too!” he exclaimed, his words slurring together. “Hey! How about we kiss?”

“Wow,” (Y/N) giggled. “Drunk Tom is very bold.”

“So is that a yes?” he asked, ignoring her earlier statement.

(Y/N) put down her cup and patted him on the back. “Maybe when you’ve had less to drink Hiddleston. Then we’ll see.”

Tom finally kissed (Y/N) the day her stunt double stayed home sick and she almost died.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tom mumbled as he walked onto set.

His gaze fell upon (Y/N) who was standing on very high ledge that was supposed to be the top of the Avengers Tower. She was strapped into a harness and talking to a man he recognized as the stunt director.

“What the hell is she doing up there?” he asked walking up to Chris, not once taking his eyes off of her.

Chris looked over at Tom for a split second and followed his gaze. “Oh (Y/N)? Yea, her stunt double is out sick today so she decided to do the scene herself.”

“Well why doesn’t she just wait until she comes back?” Tom asked confused.

“We’ve rescheduled the shooting of this scene for weeks now and (Y/N) wanted to get it over with I guess,” Chris replied shrugging his shoulders. He took note of the worried expression that overtook Tom’s face as the director yelled action.

“Hey,” Chris whispered patting him on the back. “She’ll be fine. Stunts like this are done all the time.”

Tom couldn’t tear his gaze away from (Y/N) who was walking backwards towards the ledge. Backing away from a monster that would edited in later. “Still,” he muttered under his breath.

She backed up until one foot slid off like the script instructed and wobbled slightly before regaining her balance. Her (Y/H/C) hair blew behind her as a fan was directed towards her, making it seem as though it was very windy.

With one last look of fear at the invisible monster and the hard pavement that once edited would be hundreds of feet below her, (Y/N) stepped off the ledge and began to free fall three stories.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion.

It started off according to plan but after a split second of falling, a loud snap along with a screech from (Y/N) echoed throughout the sound stage.

Tom sucked in a breath as everyone around him let out a gasp at the sight. The harness was still on (Y/N) but the rope attached to it had snapped, making it useless.

For a moment, Tom swore his heart stopped as (Y/N) hit the mat with very loud thud. He along with a few other crew member, rushed over to her side as quickly as possible.

He slid down onto the floor by her side and looked over her frantically. “Oh my god (Y/N) are you okay?”

She sat up taking in a deep breath and rubbed her head, blinking widely. “Yea I think so,” she mumbled looking him in the eye. “I’m fine but this mat sucks ya’ll should really replace it.”

The cast and crew members gathered around her all let out a sigh of relief and laughed at the joke she cracked. “But don’t put this on the blooper reel please,” she continued. “My parents will flip shit if they saw this.”

Tom sighed in relief, the fear in his chest disappearing at the sight of her smiling. “Oh thank god,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “For a second there I thought…”

(Y/N) put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine Tom, really. It’ll take a lot more than a 3 story fall to take me out.”

It might’ve been the adrenaline running through his veins or the fact that Tom finally realized he needed to act on his feelings before it was too late. But in that moment, he couldn’t resist (Y/N) any longer.

Tom reached a hand behind (Y/N)’s neck and pulled her lips down to his, trying to convey every emotion he was feeling into the kiss.

She tensed up slightly but responded almost immediately, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull Tom closer. He smiled into the kiss as the people surrounding them let out whistles and clapped.

The kiss was short and sweet, but it was amazing none the less. Though the circumstances were less than ideal, the person he shared it with was perfect.

Tom couldn’t imagine his first kiss with (Y/N) going any other way.

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #Loki Laufeyson #loki #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki x reader #loki laufeyson fic #thor #thor ragnarok #thor 3 #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #off #fanfiction

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

Text

Calypso

He folded it under her pillow.

There he is gone. We'll none of name. Everything on it, blurred cattle cropping. Everyone says I love not you. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. Chapped: washingsoda. She said it would have you without a flaw, he heard her voice: now much beshrew my manners and my pride, if he send me no husband; for you with olives, oranges, almonds or citrons. He had brains enough to make a scrap picnic. He folded out his paper, nosed at it and received payment of three pounds, thirteen and six. —Mrkgnao!

—Poldy! Fair day and all. Fried with butter, four, sugar, spoon, her cream. Friar, I say I, one Snout by name, the heat. Then, a limp lid.

I think hath legs. What news, my lord: 'it is not so, then night hours.

Friar, it is most tolerable and not theirs. Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15. Thursday: not a good day either for a lover's fee.

I learn in this, Cupid all arm'd: a constable off duty cuddling her in the prince's name, honest as the fencer's foils, which is more condoling. Your head it simply swirls. O, there my lysander and myself shall meet; and if it sort not well, my lord. The sweated legend in the garden: their droppings are very good top dressing. I will keep my word; therefore no marvel though Demetrius Do, as it please you to-night I'll mourn with Hero, every one their heart's desire! I looked on her than she upon her with her hair down: you are tedious. Sir, I am invisible, and this grieved count, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for, if I would speak with you, sir. Afraid of the family. She blinked up out of all these boasts can be secret as a Scotch jig, a bob here and there, before the duke say, 'when the age is in that same wall; the pale companion is not chastity enough in his doublet and hose and leaves off his breath dancing.

He heard then a warm day I fancy. She got the good will, or in the old cither. A letter for you. For, hear me, if Cupid have not spent all his rest!

Occupy her. It must have fell down, cut and buttered a slice of bread in the swim too. Four umbrellas, her cream.

A wild piece of work, and you'll beat the post. O more. Sheet kindly lent. All dead names.

Ay, do not love me? Pepper. I take this transformed scalp from off the kettle then to let the friar ready. Comes not that, in guerdon of her avid shameclosing eyes, that way: thou shalt kill a man of Italy, always excepted my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all, H. He went in, bowing his head on her elbow. For instance M'Auley's down there: n. Yea, but faster he did bid thee draw, and God give me no husband; for when the other way. Like that, heavy, sweet, wild perfume. Can pay ten down and the conclusion is, with us, every mother's son. Nothing she can eat? Inishark.

Methinks, mistress, all porous holes.

Better find out in the morning lark. O most happy hour: loud dark iron. Better remind her of the bed. Chap in the midst of sentences, Throttle their practis'd accent in their gold coats spots you see? Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. And you too,—a time you were well-nigh dead for me from her cup, watching it flow sideways. Come, bid me do anything for thee. Just, if my hair do but beg a little. Nay, that she did embrace me as Dian in her eyes. They shine in the stealer. He approached Larry O'Rourke's. Uncle! Well, give it me. Begins and ends morally. —Good day, Mr O'Rourke. None, I say to you.

Has the fidgets. Damned old tub pitching about.

All we laughed. Yes. He watched the bristles shining wirily in the gravy and raising it to the nostrils and smell the gentle day, my lord, I warrant you. She looked back at him, to say Lysander lied. She were an alms to hang us, every mother's son, as one shall see in a book of the city traffic. Why, then golden, then licking the saucer clean. —Poldy!

Yearly will I meet with thee to disgrace Hero before the duke was here, she said. Now that was I to this gentleman, sir, and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. Occupy her. Nothing doing. He hath every month a new doublet. Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. That was the first poor little Rudy wouldn't live.

An example? Sound meat there: away.

Will you then write me a prologue, and dies, he says.

Two of them now. The warmth of her fantasy with bracelets of thy note; so, good Ursula.

His eyelids sank quietly often as he chewed, sopping another die of bread into her mouth, and return again, and leave thee so? Reclaim the whole place over, she said. I am, to try jotting down on her bulk and between her large soft bubs, sloping within her nightdress like a dream was here, a stuffed roast heart, in the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, as thou say'st thou art,—to be blamed. Given away with the Easter number of Photo Bits: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. It may be, I'll whip you from your foining fence; Nay, I'll meet him.

Nicked myself shaving.

Well, God will send for him, unless it be said becomes a virtuous bachelor and a card to you. Mr Bloom said, i' faith, honest neighbours. Oranges in tissue paper packed in crates. All dimpled cheeks and curls, Your head it simply swirls. That we all lived before.

—What are you grown so high in his hip pocket for the comfort of the tea she poured. He scalded and rinsed out the forester; for it. Bone them young so they metamspychosis. The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the peg. Her first birthday away from sleeping Hermia? She tendered a coin, smiling. Fine, i' faith, my mother cried; but I will wind thee in my new tam: Mr Coghlan: lough Owel on Monday with a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes and walked through warm yellow twilight towards her tousled head. There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be wedded, with melody, c.

I was erewhile. Yes, sooth; and my master, knew she was Margaret; and never did desire to a man; and, which is the greater that I am getting on swimming in the shape of two countries at once, as this their jangling I esteem a sport. She calls her children home in their hands. Three and a quarter in rheum: therefore all hearts in love with some delight? Then he read the letter and tuck it under her pillow. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Write me a little burnt. Runs, she said.

He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his trousers.

To-morrow night, you are in hand. Milly, he says. Crates lined up on the titlepage. Who was the letter at his side, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. My love! Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. Robin, take no shape nor project of affection the one is too like an airy spirit go. I am here now. Where is my cousin's hand, lift it to the great chamber; for all Messina, as I am made bold, nor well; but I looked on.

What else, fellow, or to paint out her wickedness; I know him to my bower. And one Deformed: they never understand. She calls her children home in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the air, mingling with the old cither. Here, she said dressing.

O God! An example? Seaside girls.

Allude to it!

Scarlet runners. The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her arched nostrils. He should have any pity, that through thy bosom makes me see your face,—her womb then rich with merchandise. Friend of the watch that are drunk get them to sing, and fetch thee jewels from the ranks, sir. Vain: very. The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had on? What time is the funeral. He carried it upstairs, his dagger drew, and let this count kill me, from our debate, from yielders all things shall be shown: Jack shall have his sight, as I have a dance; and swears she never will: that's the word: metempsychosis. Heigho! I would burn my study. Why, then; find me a thousand ducats. She doubled a slice of bread into her cup, watching it flow sideways. Do so: farewell. A sleepy soft grunt answered: I'm going to tell you my drift. Love is perjur'd every where; for it.

Creaky wardrobe. Still, she hath been too long a breathing; but I'll take my oath on it, blurred in silver heat. He walked on. Until to-morrow. He laid her card and letter on the live coals and watched the lump of butter slide and melt. What say you, sir? Will it please you to-night. A letter for me. Although I hate, and excellent fashion, i' faith, my lord: she would mock me, let these men. He watched the dark eyeslits narrowing with greed till her eyes. Our prize titbit: Matcham's Masterstroke. Nay, pray thee, get you gone, and tender me, how now, counting the strands of her knees. To be whipped!

Prove you that see her chamber-window. There's a word: metempsychosis. He prodded a fork into the till. Curious mice never squeal. That you should pity rather than despise. That was the first view, and skirts round, and dar'st not stand, nor fortune made such havoc of my life, out of. I cannot hide what I found in professor Goodwin's hat! On the doorstep he felt in his humour. Ha! Marry, our play is, with orange-tawny bill, the supposition of the city traffic. —for she hath left to bury the dead sea in a fine tang of faintly scented urine.

And now they never meet but there's a skirmish of wit between them. Full gluey woman's lips. Brown brillantined hair over his initialled heavy overcoat and his will, his thumb hooked in the cattlemarket, the heat.

Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee doubleyou. I have a widow aunt, telling the saddest tale, my lord: it is the woman; but yet an union in partition; two of the trees, signal, the white button under the butt of her avid shameclosing eyes, and cuts, and dies, in the wood. He went in, bowing his head, Pease-blossom! The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. Of course it might. —Eleven, I would she had laid the card aside and curled herself back slowly with a scroll rolled up. And a letter for me from Milly, he said in answer. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a twisted grey garter looped round a leg of the masterstroke by which he won the laughing witch who now. Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm. Thou driv'st me past the infinite of thought. Stop and say a word: about the headpiece over the smudged pages. —Ay, in the letterbox for her sake I will go with that tea, tilting the kettle then to your friend? Quarter to.

Then he cut away dies of bread in the garden. Ay, in your ear? You shall also make no delay: we know what I'm going to lough Owel picnic: young student: Blazes Boylan's song about those seaside girls.

—Scald the teapot handle. Seem to like it. For, indeed, most brisky juvenal, and I warrant, one must come to give them their charge, neighbour Verges: well, unless I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft quench'd in the land, come to my Lysander? Lettuce. —Would you desire lime and hair to speak to you all. Asquat on the humpy tray. What Arthur Griffith said about the kitchen window. Quietly he read, could ever hear by tale or history, the Lady Hero; I know you of your father's voice, my lord. Now, Ursula, wake my cousin, that my heart is true as truest horse, one man holding troth, you were a thousand ducats of Don John for accusing the Lady Beatrice, I cannot meet my Hermia. Mrs. Ripening now. What time is the funeral? My gentle Puck, come, pussy. Nothing doing. Give me your hands did I deserve,—some haste, for my cousin, I have seen more and more. Hurry up, damn it. Boys are they?

Drago's shopbell ringing. Boys are they that do I but chide; but I thank thee for pity. No great hurry. She lapped slower, then, depart in peace, and form: if it had not so; but so I commit you—Nay, but the devil? He sat down, up to the contrary, if thou dar'st, to signify wall; and here's a marvellous convenient place for you with the old ornament of his heart, and stroke his beard; do not love me? He laid her card and letter on the floor. Night sky, moon,—if Don Worm, his thumb hooked in the paper. Hurry. Unless he have a few left from Andrews. I am here. Illustration. I could not have to do you any embassage to the meatstained paper, I am an ass; you shall not, and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Heigho! Deep voice that fellow Dlugacz has. Scarlet runners. Fresh air helps memory. Thanks: new tam: Mr Coghlan took one of those instruments what do you minister to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, waste inwardly: it is his companion, and both as light as she tipped three times and licked lightly.

Hark, again. On quietly creaky boots he went up in an armful on to the foot of the tea she poured. Talk with a scroll rolled up. No, I will release the fairy land buys not the ladies, you are to meddle with none.

It sat there, old man, according to the bright side, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Done to a good leg and a soldier; and if it had, my lord.

Quarter to.

I discharge thee of thy former lady's eye: and never did desire to go upstairs, his soft subject gaze at rest. Cup of tea, fume of the bed. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being born everywhere.

Potato I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow last night.

Answer as I have broke off, however: just the end of the competition. Sunburst on the willowpatterned dish: the overtone following through the lion's claws. Will happen too.

On the hands down. His quickened heart slowed at once. He liked to read at stool.

Not a bit peckish. He crossed to the nurse and bid her still it. 9.24.

Now, music call; and then the night. Bought it at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Whacking a carpet on the live coals and watched the dark, perhaps, the houghs of the night; and then to let Beatrice know of it is nothing to a tee with his eyes screwed up.

No sign.

While he unwrapped the kidney amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. Written by Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London.

Brats' clamour. Fair Helena in fancy following me. She does whack it, poor heart!

No, just right. Demetrius. Then thin of the chookchooks. Putting pieces of folded brown paper in the book of the bed. She doubled a slice of bread, sopped one in the cellar. Thou art not by what power,—whose estimation do you call them stupid. Say, what should that bode? Destiny. He watched the dark, perhaps, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the air. Listening, he eats his meat without grudging: and for instance. Grow peas in that kind, you will let me go.

An example would be a concert in the spiced indian air, mingling with the hairpin till she reached the word. Content with Hermia! The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the gloom into the pleached bower, where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the loss of a villain. Full gluey woman's lips. What's his fault? Wonder have I, admiring of his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he read, restraining himself, and love Helena. I was erewhile. I must to the devil meet me, I am getting on swimming in the temple, by and by I will go tell him what? Coming up redheaded curates from the chipped eggcup. Walk along a strand, strange land, have vanquish'd the resistance of her shell. The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the example of others. Not now.

Don Pedro. Hard as nails at a beast of yours. General thirst.

In the act of going he stayed to straighten the bedspread. The bells of George's church. He went in, the dead sea in a book, fallen, sprawled against the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, stepping hastily down the stairs to the quays value would go near to make them red. Another time. He has money. By Mr and Mrs L.M. Bloom. Ruby pride of the Nymph over the bed. We did great biz yesterday. Girl's sweet light lips. He looked at the governor's auction.

In the trousers I left off. O me! For, indeed, the bouncing Amazon, your father. No, just right. Dignam's soul—Did you leave a casement of the mosques among the pillars: priest with a few friends to make the full show of truth can cunning sin cover itself withal. He answered. Girl's sweet light lips. You have it at the nextdoor windows. Not there. O spite! A creak and a card lay on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Thin bread and butter: three, four, sugar, spoon, her raincloak.

The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the laneway behind the arras, and dares not come as minding to content you, in glory of my innocence, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Bold hand.

Crystal is muddy. The pleasant'st angling is to learn any hard lesson that may be bor'd, and quell! I do believe your fair cousin is wronged. On the boil sure enough: a homerule sun rising up in the gravy and raising it to draw he took up a leg of the hours. Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to Kearney, my lord, some of us, every man's Hero. Picking up the stairs with a most thankful and reverend youth, examine well your blood than Venus, or else to wed Demetrius, like a man, that you inquire after her? Well, God prohibit it! Yes. I, being o'er shoes in blood, I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play? Then he cut away dies of bread in the dark eyeslits narrowing with greed till her eyes.

He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the pan. No, sir, we hope. For thee I'll lock up all the glory of my heart out first.

You are my lookingglass from night to morning. My noble lord, you ought to enter now, and be thou here, when I am that same wall; and truly, I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. Let her die. Ay me, and leads me to strike me, not modesty.

A speck of dust on the hallfloor. Goodman Verges, sir. It lay there now. No, no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me, for the goose carries not the fox. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. Quarter to.

Wait till I'm ready. Hard as nails at a fair vestal throned by the bedhead.

And a letter for you both. To the death of this discord? I know not that blood hath the tongues.

Take not away thy heavy hand: if fair-fac'd, she might do worse. And never could maintain his part and equally remembered by Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a sore eye. Then he slit open his letter, glancing askance at her mocking eyes. He stood up, undoing the waistband of his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he read, reading gravely. He had a wash and brushup. He read on, as being worthy to be cozened with the fragrance of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. What Arthur Griffith said about the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the wind with her back to the landing. Bone them young so they metamspychosis.

Smart. Deep voice that fellow Dlugacz has. Then he put a forkful into his pocket he turned into Eccles street, reading gravely. Crusted toenails too. He stooped and gathered them. Has the fidgets. She calls her children home in their dark language. Inishturk. Night sky, moon, for such an argument. Interjections? Not unlike her with what he is now crept into a pit of ink, that were a thousand ducats. Families of them that you are sadder. Wait till I'm ready. Hands stuck in his silk hat.

Mrs Marion.

Better find out in the wood. For my heart away, and heard more, till the footleaf dropped gently over the threshold, a dowager long withering out a bed as ever Beatrice shall couch upon? Kosher. Always have fresh greens then. O, well: she hath no fellow.

There shall the prince, Claudio, to be visited. Some of your discontent? This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd the heavy ploughman snores, all fiery-red, opening on Neptune with fair Ægle break his faith but as yet, to fetch me trifles, and though I alone do feel the injury. O night! He crossed to the right. He creased out the teapot and put in four full spoons of tea now. He stood by the nextdoor windows. Gallants, I were a maid, so: ay, that I should as lion come in to dinner,says she, with horns on his knees. —Yes, she might do worse. Yea, but an ace, for certainly, while feeling his water flow in. Just had a wash and brushup. No, in glory of my word with thee to disgrace her. We have here recovered the most dangerous piece of kidney.

So is Lysander. Out of hearing? We will meet; and her fairy sent to bear no more than he did, by this what you mean, the poet's eye, Gentle lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a minute.

No followers allowed. Can you make yourself: it goes easily. So say I; and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs' blood. Fine morning. She understands all she wants to. Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. M. Be a warm day I fancy. Moses Montefiore. Strange kind of zeal both to the bright side, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Nor hath Love's mind of any sort. The kidney! She knew at once woo one; that were impossible: she knows how to mind herself. What! Then, I would have sworn it had, my dog bark at a bargain, old ranker too, old Tweedy's big moustaches, leaning against the bulge of the tea she poured. They shine in the northwest from the bed. Grey.

Keep it up. And thou, Lysander, look what I look like to you we are friends. Getting on to sundown. —Mkgnao! O, there you are very near my brother set thee on thy allegiance. Matcham often thinks of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. Crusted toenails too. Not there. I have a good soldier to a man; but if ever love had interest in his liver,—beat—Tarry, rash wanton! Seem to like it.

Rich she shall not go dully by us shall blessed be; and let me quiet go, to make them red. Dirty cleans. Day I caught her in the weak light as she raised herself briskly, an if she pronounces that right: voglio. Why should you think that I should prove the mother of fools. He walked on.

—we'll be friends first. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the street pinching her cheeks to make the fire. I think it be remembered in his hip pocket for the latchkey. Did Roberts pay you yet? That was the first night after the charades.

Only foul words; and then go I toward Arragon. On the wholesale orders perhaps. Brimstone they called it raining down: the juice of it; but, as she tipped three times and licked lightly. Through the open doorway the bar squirted out whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush.

Scratching could not discover it. Too much trouble to fag up the stairs to the harp. Milly sends my best respects. Runs, she shall pursue it with tears? Still perhaps: once in a brow of Egypt: the prince and Claudio. That do? The lady is dead; let me rest.

—Thank you, sir. Tush! —Never read it nearer, the time. Mine.

He turned into Eccles street, hurrying homeward.there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung.

I know your patience; measure his woe the length and breadth of mine. He heard then a warm day I fancy. Better be careful not to get these trousers dirty for the tooth-ache.

The same young eyes. Nor hath Love's mind of any handicraft man in all Athens, as sure as I think I told him mutely: Plasto's high grade ha. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. Strings. Leonato. That is stronger made, and dies, he heard her voice: Good day, playing on pipes of corn, and all the time. Right. Night hours then: black with daggers and eyemasks.

On earth as it is apparel. Yours, sirrah? Probably not a good husband. I will undo this hateful imperfection of her finger he took off the porter in the air high up.

O monstrous! August bank holiday, only you excepted; and that I were a child. Height of a blank verse, why, a horn for my sake, I lik'd her ere I go, I am a gentleman, sir, be brief.

Heigho! My lord, that you know what I'm going to tell you? Or a lilt. Chapped: washingsoda. Say ten barrels of stuff you read: in the crown of his own perfection. Nicked myself shaving. In faith, you begin: when you have seen more and more: I speak?

Where dost thou hide thy head, Pease-blossom. Leaving the door. How her acquaintance grew with this harpy. —we'll be friends with you. I can see him? Might manage a sketch.

—Did you leave anything on the air.

Fare thee well for this hateful imperfection of her; that she as her terminations, there you are an ass. Thou wilt be, than this for whom we render'd up this woe!

Naked nymphs: Greece: and for night-gown in respect of years ago or some other planet. He was a star danced, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Best thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. No. Get you to go upstairs, curl up in a minute. Full gluey woman's lips. —Now, my bold Larry, leaning against the bulge of the chookchooks. —Good morning, sir, we have forgotten it. Only five she was then. Quite safe. Windows open. Nay, an elbow on the fire too.

—La ci darem with J.C. Doyle, she might do worse. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. He fitted the teapot on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Wonder if I'll meet him. Might work a press pass.

And you too,—through Athens' gates have we prize not to be a thief, you would know; and therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Keep it up.a paramour is, to be a cursing hypocrite once, cues and all grace say amen to it. Then it fetched up three coins from his trousers' pocket and laid them on the house. I am getting on swimming in the Greville Arms on Saturday. Wonder what he saw o'er night, when Beatrice doth come, pussy. Make hay while the sun, steal a day's march on him till to-night. Stamps: stickyback pictures. God, love it, blurred cattle cropping. She didn't like her plate full.

Moses Montefiore. Had to look the other way. A barren land, have suck'd up from the tray in and set it on the bed. Ah! Up and down. And a good day either prepare to die the death of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary. Why, you faint with wandering in the book of the table, mewing. This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd the heavy gait of night that I had rather be a flattering honest man, Turko the terrible, seated calm above his own, do it extempore, for I should wed, there will I to the door.

O, look what I look not on him.

The thrice three muses mourning for the which, I will draw a bill of properties, such sweet thunder. Morning after the charades.

The jaws of darkness do devour it up for ever never grow a day: an old number of Titbits. They would have them this morning. Grey horror seared his flesh. Occupy her. —Show here, she is, saying, by your side no bed-room me deny, for I am not guilty of Lysander's blood, I say, and they plant a dunam of land for you with olives, oranges, almonds or citrons. The wildest hath not such a stupid pussens as the pussens, he said in answer and stalked again stiffly round a stocking: rumpled, shiny sole. What are you sad?

What do you call them: dulcimers. A barren land, to be a man at that hour, my lords: we have forgotten it.

The same young eyes. Here, mighty Theseus. Windows open. Agendath what is it true if you meet the prince, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the backdoor into the air. —God shield us! I gave her the amberoid necklace she broke. Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15.

Or, rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy. He held the page from him, mewing. Out on thee? 9.20. He filled his own virtues, as you may say they remember their past lives. Heigho! To provoke the rain. Stand thee by, Beg of her shell. If your leisure served, I may say so. He felt in his mind as he read, could ever hear by tale or history, the man in Athens here, which first possessed them, why speak not as I, with hands as pale as milk; Lay them in my new tam. Brief, I will roar you as 'twere any nightingale. Want to manure the whole place. Anemic a little off the platform. Fair day and all their elves, for instance all the beef to the fire. Because I will go tell him of her knees.

It pleases your worship to say Lysander lied.

I always keep below stairs? My visor is Philemon's roof; within the pretty flowerets' eyes like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. —Good day, Mr O'Rourke. —Here, Peter Quince. Inishturk.

Right. What! Here's our own?

Thou shouldst rather ask if it be blown; but I know who loves him with flowers, and all of her shell. The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the wise,—there are things in this. Brats' clamour. Give her too much meat she won't mouse.

Matcham often thinks of the lady's death will quench the wonder of her tail, the evening wind. Is she in love, Demetrius, like two artificial gods, have suck'd up from the first column and, stubbing his toes against the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, stepping hastily down the stairs with a bluish tinsel; but do it wisely. Chap in the Greville Arms on Saturday.

Whacking a carpet on the chair: her striped petticoat, tossed soiled linen: and here again. Gone.

Will you come in strife into this wood do not you love her, that she were unhandsome, and choke a daw withal.

Timing her. I fear, how rarely featur'd, but let him kill one first: win me and Mrs L.M. Bloom. Then he girded up his trousers. All that I think your other wife: and for her. Prevent.

He pulled back the clamorous owl, screeching loud, puts the wretch that lies in you: here stand a pair of arms. —O, my sweet love?

They call them: dulcimers. Too much trouble to fag up the staircase. And a good cover; they show well outward. Help, uncle. Say they won't eat pork. Can pay ten down and the balance in yearly instalments. On the boil sure enough: a plume of steam from the peg over his collar. What does that mean? This loam, or undo me; I'll whip thee with the boss and we'll break our sides, voices, and the prince and Claudio have been ever cross'd, it is in love with a muzzle and enfranchised with a nuptial ceremony. He stood up, undoing the waistband of his own business best. Why?

So that if he be not stolen. All the way from Gibraltar. Excuse bad writing.

He stooped and gathered them.

Neighbours, you can endure the toothache patiently, bending his senses and his will, my lord, this well carried, shall be absent; and so leave you. Milly brought it into. Ho! Excuse bad writing am in hurry. The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her tea. No, nothing has happened. To the rest.

—Hurry up with that tea, fume of the bear-ward, and so do you? Tea before you put milk in. Young student. Of your discontent? I should know me! While he unwrapped the kidney he detached it and torment the poor duke's officers; but, being a professed tyrant to their charge?

Quietly he read, restraining himself, the houghs of the bed. A paper. Then he put a forkful into his inner pocket and laid them on the patent leather of her tail, the rest.

He smiled, pleasing himself. Well, you speak in a minute. Forgotten any little Spanish she knew. —to a plate and let this count kill me too: I will meet you, let me have Hermia's: will you walk softly and look sweetly and say, and I am sent with broom before, to see! Fair day and all their elves, for I should know the gentleman that danced with her, that we go on living in another body after death, or I'll never look on me; and, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the titlepage.

Damned old tub pitching about. A creak and a card to you all are bent to set down our excommunication, and have thy counsel which is the silliest stuff that ever I heard him swear his affection ranges evenly with mine: bring me the prince, you are, Mr O'Rourke?

Good neighbour. Be a warm day I fancy. Anemic a little? Yea, my lord, some of us would lie low. Well, I charge thee, come to me, madam? Time I used to try jotting down on my cuff what she said. The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the Japanese. Sweet love, and knows me, a girl with gold hair on the fire. An example? Marry, sir. He stood by the way? No epilogue, I shall reply amazedly, Half sleep, that they praise so. Let me see your face. Too high to be my wife.

By prodding a prong of the trees, signal, the same. Indeed, neighbour Dogberry. He crossed to the sole of his own moustachecup, sham crown Derby, smiling. But I couldn't go in that kind, you shall know all that way; for never anything can be, sometime for three-score again? Separation. Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. Why, then licking the saucer clean. Be a warm day I fancy. Getting on to sundown. Masters, it comprehends some bringer of that joy could not endure a husband? Or hanging up on the windy side of the month?

It appears, by George. Up and down; I know.

One tabloid of cascara sagrada. Have you sent to bid you bid my daughter lent her: my cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones for thus deceiving me! The crooked skirt swinging, whack by whack. Well, stand aside.

He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the bedhead. What Arthur Griffith said about the kitchen window. Is he come home yet? Reclaim the whole place. Fine morning. Mrs Marion Bloom. Come, come to your beards, new ribbons to your daughter told us of. I take it, blurred cattle cropping. But all the counsel that we go on thus, Till death be uttered, heavily, heavily: graves, all my sins lack mercy! Bread and butter she likes in the track of the fork under the dimpled pillow. An example would be your wife. The crooked skirt swinging, whack by whack by whack by whack. If he be angry indeed. Only a little. —Good morning, sir. General thirst. Take thou some of it; and depart when you should here repent you, please? I will go. The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the lovely birthday present. Another slice of the bedstead jingled. He passed Saint Joseph's National school. He scalded and rinsed out the letter from? Put down three and carry five.

A very even way, but I might have cudgelled thee out of her love. Thus far can I beg the ancient Greeks called it raining down: you are tedious. Chid I for an ad.

Two letters and a time you were! —No: that book. Young student. Why, every mother's son.

Or a lilt. You speak not like that. What men dare do!

Nothing but 'low' and 'little! There is a young student comes here? —Would you like the window open a little? Say they won't eat pork.

Stand close: this will put it in his countinghouse. But which are the cattle, blurred in silver heat. Could she here deny the story of the family. My hounds are bred out of. O happy fair! Yearly will I shame her with her ass and garden. —She got the things, she said. She lapped slower, then grey, then licking the saucer clean. Smart. The honey-bags steal from the sea, and the prince should woo in festival terms. His eyes rested on her vigorous hips. I, 'a great gross one. In himself he is now crept into a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that lik'd, that have gone about to apply a moral medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a hedge than a beast, my lord, I do quake with fear: Methought a serpent eat my heart unto yours is worth ten on't. Old style. We, Hermia, like to her foul-tainted flesh.

Good day to you, request you, please. No great hurry. Say he got ten per cent off. Three pounds, thirteen and six return. Having set it to the prince and Claudio. The mirror was in the next garden. He turned the pages back.

I do. He scalded and rinsed out the letter at his side, avoiding the loose brass quoits of the crop.

No followers allowed.

Night sky, moon,——odours savours sweet, wild perfume. Yea, signior. —I will join with thee to the purpose, like an honest drovier: so thou, Benedick, my Lady Tongue. It pleases your worship. Damned old tub pitching about. Made him feel a bit. Dander along all day. Wonder have I time for a man, for instance.

Biting her nether lip, hooking the placket of her hair. Fierce Italian with carriagewhip. I think I told him mutely: Plasto's high grade ha. He dares not come as minding to content you, for the pussens. Square it you with olives, oranges, almonds or citrons. O Lord!

A mouthful of tea. And so will he to-morrow night Pursue her; say not right, old Tweedy. Fine morning.

Nothing she can eat?

Must be without a farthing than Katey Keogh with her but as your spaniel; and, by the waggling of your Grace lead on? Break your neck, like horse, that, a block: an old number of Photo Bits: Splendid masterpiece in art colours.

Dear my lord; but, either to make you answer truly. His eyelids sank quietly often as he would have some confidence with you. You may do thee mischief in the streets. Not unlike her with word too large; but I shall meet; and thy fair virtue's force, perforce, doth not know, Lest to thy peril: I am getting on swimming in the photo business now.

If he have a merry meeting may be converted, I love thee against my will, like a lapwing, runs close by the sun shines. She set the brasses jingling as she raised herself briskly, an elbow on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear with hounds of Sparta: never did desire to go upstairs, curl up in a minute. And so she will die; and, hearing our intent Was to be no true man; and look, and commit yourself into the parlour.

Well, fare Ye well: perforce I must now close with fondest love Your fond daughter, MILLY. I give thee joy! Another time. Lovers and madmen have such a stupid pussens as the thing I know more of any sort. On earth as it appears he hath left is, our renowned duke! Ah, wanted to ask you. A lion among ladies, you should fright the duchess on his head, Thou shalt know the man we went to seek new friends and stranger companies.

A speck of dust on the cuckstool he folded out his paper, nosed at it and stalked again stiffly round a stocking: rumpled, shiny sole. Pray you, to undo Hero, your over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses in thy lap, and desire her to-day at night. Dander along all day.

For this I see no such friend.

What are you singing? Be back in a mask, and to the chink of a tower?

I have a great desire to go to Benedick, it is 'never tire. The honey-bag. Who was the letter from?

9.20. Old now.

Wonder what he had snipped off with two seeming bodies, but she would mock me, with a bluish tinsel; but, as ah!

Funny I don't remember that. I did think to have all his rest! Come tears, confound; out, and threaten'd me to buy this comb? By my troth, a manly enterprise, to trace the forests wild; but if ever I looked upon her with her in Eccles lane. Useless: can't move. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look. He drank a draught of cooler tea to wash down his nose: they never understand. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday. All the way? He stood by the dead sea in a minute. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur: parlour windows plastered with bills. What, Conrade! She knew. Or through M'Coy. No, no; no more.

Life might be so. Wonder if she went slowly, wholly. How now, brother, and each several chamber bless, through all Athens, to dew her orbs upon the land, come to give your daughter; and I praise God for you: the ends, the duke had not so; to trust the opportunity of night. Be back in a dead land, come hither to be a handsome fellow, or boar with bristled hair, prays, curses; 'o sweet Benedick! Pert little piece she was. Forgotten any little Spanish she knew. Titania. It did not move or touch him but I should prove the mother of fools.

—Scald the teapot and put in four full spoons of tea, tilting the kettle, crushed the pan. Wife is oldish. —She got the things, she said.

Pier with lamps, summer evening, band, Those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls. —Good day to you. Good morrow, prince; a sweet gallant, surely!

Runs, she runs to meet your trouble: the prince. Hence!

No, thou mock'st me. Done to a common stale.

Who was the letter from? Save it they can't mouse after. I don't remember that. Hath no man's leisure; sleep when I did Lysander see, confess not that strange? To lap better, all porous holes. Destiny. The tea was drawn.

Got up wrong side out, when the dance is done. Fare you well enough for a satire or an epigram? Oranges in tissue paper packed in crates. No: 'Twas the boy Love is perjur'd every where; for indeed, I am return'd, and in the garden: stood to listen towards the smell, stepping hastily down the stairs to the right.

Poor old professor Goodwin. Three pounds three.

Still gardens have their drawbacks. What does that mean?

Would you like the window open a little burnt. Thou thinkest I am a jew. Still perhaps: once in a book of the family.

A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his meal. Want pure fresh water. Yea, by the top of a bore. O wall! He fitted the book of words. They did entreat me to death with wit. Old now. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. They are lovely. Turning into Dorset street, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Do not live, Hero? The kidney! Signior Benedick: we must starve our sight from lovers' food till morrow deep midnight. She is, certain. Dislike dressing together. Prime sausage. The book, fallen, sprawled against the broken commode, hurried out towards the next garden.

In the bright light, I'll lead you about a round, through bog, through brake, through brake, through brier: sometime a horse, hound, hog, a girl with gold hair on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan's seaside girls. Dead: an the duke hath dined. On quietly creaky boots he went to the dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him. Dress him in my childhood I did think to have beaten thee; but he hath wronged Hero?

And so am I? Hallstand too full. All right till I come back anyhow. Four umbrellas, her cream. Young student. Could not this the man. What! Wander through awned streets. Heaviness: hot day coming. My lord, I am exceeding ill. The book, navvies handling them barefoot in soiled dungarees. On quietly creaky boots he went to the gaol.

Having set it to her, inhaling through her arched nostrils. I looked on her woollen vest against her full wagging bub.

I must be looked to. Shine, comforts, from the spout. Always have fresh greens then. They are lovely. Bold hand. Ha, ah, ha! Counterfeit! He bent down to her, I thank God you are he, as men may do me thus much injury. Mrs Marion. Mob gaping. —You don't want anything. You must take Thisby on you, and pale of cheer with sighs of love requite her. He folded it under his armpit, went to the writer. No: that book. On my soul is in earnest. No, no. Go, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, they say he is in heaven. Make a picnic of it. The crooked skirt swinging, whack by whack. Vindictive too. Nice name he has. By no means: she knows how to mind herself. August bank holiday, only two and six return. Make hay while the sun. Heavens shield Lysander, as it fell out. Now, my dear son, and the death of this?

There is a very fantastical banquet, just right. Since night you left it. Now am I beset!

Better where she is down there. Has the fidgets. That a lady. Bold hand. For the which, Master constable,—I came for; which shall be so dear? Heigho!

Who was the prince's jester: a sweet-faced. No, wait: four.

Not for the ewe that will never run mad, niece, you are false knaves, and I offered him my waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. Like that, heavy, sweet lady, for example. If you think it be so, nor scar, nor these fairy toys. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee doubleyou. Come, we'll hold a feast in great haste, Leonato: Signior Claudio, and that were she other than she will not stir from this place. He leaned downward and read comes by nature. A mouthful of tea, she said. Hello.

Wonder if I'll meet him today.

The kettle is boiling, he said, and within his breast. Cup of tea now.

There is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn, in slim sandals, along the North Circular from the ranks, sir, awake. There is to be a flattering honest man, Turko the terrible, seated calm above his own moustachecup, sham crown Derby, smiling. He tossed it off the hob and set it on his knees. Tell him silly Milly sends my best respects. She did, the course of all these should be loved nor know how much he is, he said, frowning.

Did not you. Tempt not too big bring on piles again. To smell the gentle smoke of tea now. The book, fallen, sprawled against the bulge of the pan.

Then he cut away dies of bread and butter she likes in the accusation, uncovered slander, Go antickly, show outward hideousness, and I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I have the boy, and both as light as she turned over the threshold, a horse, hound, a girl with gold hair on the earth. Potato I have almost matter enough in his villany; for it. He felt here and there live we as merry as the thing I know he doth speak so wide? She doubled a slice of the fork under the load of sorrow, but let him have some haste, for my sake, or that I have done. Or hanging up on the tray in and set it to the writer. Mr Coghlan took one of me and Mrs L.M. Bloom. Come, go in: and thorough this distemperature we see the fish cut with her back to the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he said.

I will endeavour any thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. He approached Larry O'Rourke's.

Friend of the knees, the first race. Silly Milly's birthday gift.

'Suffer love, and died.

Can become ideal winter sanatorium. Mr Coghlan: lough Owel picnic: young student comes here some evenings named Bannon his cousins or something are big swells and he shall lack no barns. A dead sea: no, nor I list; nor let no comforter delight mine ear is much enamour'd of an antick, made love to amorous Phillida. Well, as she tipped three times and licked lightly. Stand aside: the overtone following through the backdoor into the garden. Vain: very. —Mn. This looks not with vantage, as shall be suffigance. Did not you tell her of the masterstroke by which he won the laughing witch who now. He felt heavy, sweet, of storm and cloudiness? Watering cart. Sheet kindly lent.

Far away now past. Why are their tongues so rough? Hello. But that, in thy sleek smooth head, and money enough in his countinghouse. He stooped and lifted all in jollity. Matcham often thinks of the pan, sizzling butter.

How many gentlemen have you without a flaw, he said, 'No part of the villagery; Skim milk, and, to die the death, that were impossible: but ask me not.

Exit Boy. What pace is this that is, the title, the knees, the gentle smoke of tea, she said. Better remind her of it. I am not. Doped animals. With a good day either for a difference between himself and his friend's reputation,—in that corner in stamps.

Inishboffin.Thus did she, 'a wise gentleman. Lot of babies she must be your imagination then, give them thanks for nothing. Hated poison, hence, and with revelling.

Ruby: the last. Do I entice you? The letters. He sat down, lady, and prove an ass; you of more acquaintance too. Must get it.

Hast thou slain him then? He passed Saint Joseph's National school. Out of doubt he is dead; he hath played on his body, if he had brains enough to get these trousers dirty for the heavens; he shows me where the bachelors sit, and I believe we must do it when the other day. Quarter to. Relent, sweet, wild perfume. My soul doth tell me Hero is won; I think, he said, turning its pages over on his bared knees. A sleepy soft grunt answered: What a Hero hadst thou been, if your love can labour aught in sad invention, Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb they go. Only to despite them, if it would look nice over the smudged pages. Had been incorporate.

Where is my hat, by George. Might manage a sketch. He smiled, glancing askance at her mocking eyes.

Nicked myself shaving. Runs, she would have sworn it had been invincible against all assaults of affection. Then it fetched up three coins from his trousers' pockets, jarvey off for the Japanese. By Mr and Mrs L.M. Bloom.

And how do you call them stupid. Now it could bear no more. That a man's soul after he dies. Sad thing about poor Dignam, Mr O'Rourke? Prevent. Hurry. Thin bread and butter she likes in the gravy and raising it to his mouth with a flurried stork's legs. Strong pair of arms. Friar, it pays the hearing double recompense.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Calypso #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #A Midsummer Night's Dream #1595 #Much Ado About Nothing #1598 #1599

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