#it was my cousins first communion yesterday

[pitiplush]

I've been keeping this amigurumi a secret for more than a month but I can finally show it to you! This was a very special gift for my little cousin, who took her first communion yesterday. She does ballet and loves it, so I crocheted her as a ballerina 🩰

The amigurumi have a couple of accessories that you'll see in future posts ❤️

🪡 Pattern by Green Frog Crochet

#amigurumi #crafts #pitiplush #artists on tumblr #yarnblr #fiber art #amigurumi artist #crochet #yarn crafts #ballerina #ballerina doll #amigurumi doll

[hippolotamus]

Worthy Wednesday Fic Challenge

@trickiwooao3 says

We see the same (admittedly excellent) stories recommended over and over and over. Let's expand our horizons! Recommend and briefly describe a fic or two or three (or more) that you've never (or rarely) seen mentioned. Extra points if you don't personally know the writer. Tag @trickiwooao3 or #Worthy Wednesday

Thanks for the tags trickiwooao3 @apothecarose @stereopticons @jesuisici33

Schitt's Creek

communion by coffee_and_glitter / @fictasticvoyage

A short lil fic, clocking in at just 611 words, but I love it. Anyone who's known me for more than 5 seconds knows I have a thing for rain and storms. This fic hit just the right notes for that mood.

Their summary:

In the early days of their relationship, thunderstorms are the background for some important feelings.

Boys don't wear makeup by @myolivebranch

A slightly longer one that I'm shamelessly in love with. If you're in it for the queer feelings (and the unintentional well meaning practices of adults) may I direct you to this fic? Please. Sit. Read.

Their summary:

When Patrick is seven years old, he spends a Friday afternoon with his cousins, and they practise putting on makeup.

9-1-1

i wouldn't call it a mission by ASweeterArrangement / @eddiequinns

This time travel fic had my heart from the summary. The author tags it as 'silly'. I say it's anything but. I sure got very weepy for a silly little fic.

Their summary:

It’s not commonplace but it’s not unusual either for Buck to wake up in his loft to the sound of Eddie puttering around in the kitchen downstairs. What is unusual is that when he gets close enough to see him, Eddie looks a little... different - his hair’s got a good amount of gray in it and his cheeks are a little rounder and - is that a wedding band on his finger? “You’re up,” Eddie says, and his voice is pretty much the same, if not the tiniest bit raspier, which is at least a little relieving. Buck looks up from Eddie's left hand to his face and realizes there are more lines around his eyes than there were yesterday. Plainly put, Eddie looks older. Like, quite a bit older. “I uh - I don’t really know how to start this…” “Uh,” Buck says unhelpfully.  “I’m sure you can probably tell I’m - well, I'm not your Eddie.”

whatever it might have been by onegirlandherpen

A subtitle for this could be or how to destroy your heart in 400 words or less. Because that's exactly what happened. Be warned there is no happy ending to this one, but you'll thank the author anyway.

Their summary:

Eddie and Buck flirted and joked and came so close many times to falling head first over that line between best friends and lovers. Then, lightning struck and Eddie’s world stopped with Buck’s heart.

It's late so no pressure tagging @alyxmastershipper @panbuckley @mammameesh @ramonaflow @elvensorceress @rmd-writes @monsterrae1 LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy and anyone else who wants to play along

#worthy wednesday #sc fic rec #911 fic rec

[polesgirl]

My weird stories *a bit about ninjago*

I remember it was 2017 I was 10 years old then (Oh! Shit! How quickly 6 years have passed!! OH JESUS!! CHRIST!!! and in 11 days my birthday!!! These people will be 16 in a week and 4 days....he he...)About then I was the day before my first Holy Communion....And it came through the Internet of gifts....And...It turned out that my godfather (who is a psychotherapist.. ..hee!) He bought me a LEGO Ninjago set (which I no longer have because my cousin's kid fucked it up) A set of LEGO bricks...

Nice because it's from season seven.....And It WAS!! AWSOMEEEE!!!

And back to the story... I was so happy that my mother told me to go to her room and give her a wallet.... (Because my mother is in the habit of doing that) And I always knew where her wallet was because she kept it. ..Xdd ATTENTION!! In the underwear drawer XDDDD

Well, I took the wallet because the courier won't wait, but I was wondering what else was in there .... And I went to my mother and gave her the wallet .... A moment later I went back to her room and in her drawer I noticed and took it.. ..

KURVA!!! So today I know that it's a condom to fuck so as not to get pregnant or get HIV...But then I thought it was a balloon...XDDDD

So I unwrapped it and took it out it was so "GLUTTY" as I called it... and started blowing....And my old man(*dad*that's what I call him....Because I don't like him xddd) came in and grabbed his head... XDDD And then I was like...

"DADDY!!! I FOUND A BALLOON!!!"

And dad said...

"Baby! It's not what you think..."

And so far I was wondering what he meant…. But now I know because ATTENTION!!! I HAVE SOMEONE….

Speaking of the condom-balloon, it inflated and looked like these balloons....

And today, when my younger siblings are taking condoms from my mother's and father's room, because yesterday there was a situation that my sister, who is 6 years younger, also before her first communion ... brought a condom and asks what is it? And I answer her...

"BALLON!!!!!!"

#ninjago #balloon #mommy #daddy #old man

[soliss-occasus]

hi, how's it going?

Hii!! I'm really good, hbu?

I had my cousins first communion yesterday so that's why I'm answering so late.. sorry!

Btw, sorry if you've said this before, but did you decide what you were going to write in the end? With the poll you made I mean. I'll be so excited to read it! (No pressure to write it if you decided not to though)

[flynnie821]

My best buddy made his First Holy Communion yesterday. Can’t post this anywhere else that he can see because he doesn’t like his picture being taken—he’s got a little face injury due to taking a Dixie on the stairs a few days ago. All he needed was to be around a few of his cousins, running around like crazy, to be getting back to normal. God, to be young again with that quick recovery from injuries (at St Ann Church) https://www.instagram.com/p/CdUbLWQrvrbw2GyZlIrYNSkyILLqJLjebIEh840/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[theirtheretheyre]

me trying to figure out how everyone on my dad's side is related like

#i am. fucking.. looking for family tree maker websites rn #its so confusing. too many people!!! #it was my cousins first communion yesterday #and most of the adults at the party had been vaccinated dw #oh but she's not even technically my cousin? i think its like?? second cousin or smthn #my dad's cousin's kid

[persephone-is-here-omg]

In Nomine Patris.

Pairing: Priest!Bucky Barnes/Reader.

Warnings: Smut. This fic features explicit sexual content involving a catholic priest, if that isn’t your thing or it offens you skip this one. If you know this offends you and you still read it, whatever feelings you experience after are your problem, not mine. Otherwise, enjoy. Slight chocking.

Word Count: 5530.

Rating: 18+.

Masterlist.

Father Barnes has your panties in his pocket.

_____________

You brush your hands nervously down your dress as you step into the church and locate the few family members that have made it out today to your youngest cousin’s First Communion. Truth be told you haven’t been near a church in almost three years, struggling with your faith and the relationship with your family has left you nearly isolated. You scurry to a place beside your aunt and greet her with a smile and a kiss as she points out to your cousin, seated on one of the very first benches on the dress that has become somewhat of a family relic, you wave at her and blow a kiss in her direction as she smiles and sits back down.

Your eyes move around the church from the back to the front slowly, landing on some familiar faces. When your gaze falls on the priest your heart skips a beat, he looks at you intently, his blue eyes fixed on you and you can’t look away. His lips curl slightly upwards, he looks away, you don’t know what his expression means and your aunt looks at you “I see you’ve discovered the new priest”

You look at her and blink in confusion, you had been away so long that the priest had been changed and you had no knowledge about it, you look at him again and notice the glove in his left hand, your curiosity picking up.

“When did he arrive?” You ask her, trying to not sound as affected as you feel.

“Monday. Antonia wouldn’t stop talking about him until I reminded her that he is a man of God and talking that way about him was wrong”

You nod, your eyes finding him again as he directs the altar boys in preparing everything for Mass.

Soon enough mass starts and everyone is listening intently to what Father Barnes has to say, you think about how much you’d rather be anywhere but here. Mass advances and the kids at the front are lining up to take the Communion for the first time, Father Barnes instructs everyone else to wait until they are done, then the adults will be able to take theirs. Your cousin waves as she heads back towards her seat, a serene smile on her lips.

Slowly everyone else starts to file into the queue, you included using your hands to smooth down your dress, your nerves grow as you come closer and closer to the front and face to face with Father Barnes. You consider going back to your seat, but if you do you probably won’t hear the end of it.

The person in front of you walks away and you look at him, his eyes are a bright blue and deep, his lips are full and he has a beard framing them. The short hair is styled carefully, but classically. You open your mouth as he raises his hand to it.

“The body of Christ” He says, his fingers press the Sacramental Bread against your tongue, his fingers applying some pressure on it, something no priest has ever done before. You look at him wide eyed, as your lips close around the tips of his fingers, something you have never done to a priest before. Your heart beats fast as you step away and lower your eyes trying to push what just happened away from your mind.

That night you fall prey to a fitful sleep, tossing and turning, unable to get any real rest.

Monday morning you’re surprised when your aunt knocks on your door as you are having your morning coffee, she walks in and looks at you “There’s a part time job at the church. It could help you” She says.

You look at her over the rim of your mug “What’s the job?”

“Father Barnes needs someone to help him organize things in the church, buy supplies, just run errands for him in general” she explains “Will you take it?”

“Well… I haven’t even met Father Barnes yet” You say “But I’ll go and see” You’re not excited at the prospect of working in a church, but you don’t have many options available, and your savings are suffering from it.

Your aunt looks at you and nods “I have to leave, I’ll see you later”

You nod “Ok. See you around”

You look around in case you see Father Barnes or any of his acolytes. You find him standing in front of the Altar, his hands in his pocket and his back to you. You clear your throat to make your presence behind him known “F- Father Barnes?” You ask and can’t help but notice that he is taller than he seems, his back is wide and his shoulders look strong.

He turns around, for a moment you could swear he smirks, but he smiles at you “Yes, and you are? I saw you yesterday during the First Communion mass”

You give him your name and offer him your hand. His handshake is firm, the warmth of it is almost too much, but you smile back at him “I heard you’re looking for someone to help part time here at the church”

“Yes! Yes, I am. Don’t get me wrong, the boys are good, but they’re kids. They’re better off playing and having fun than spending time cooped up in here”

“Probably shouldn’t say that to their parents, though” You laugh and nod in agreement “I don’t… Well, I don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for”

Father Barnes looks at you with a weird intensity in his eyes “You are” He says and then adds “If you’re free part time. You’re the only person that’s come up until now”

“I didn’t know. I understand if you want to keep your options open”

Father Barnes shakes his head “No, no. You’re perfect. More than perfect”

Your face heats up, unable to stop the feeling that he means more than being perfect for the job “Thank you” You pull out pen and paper from your bag and write down your name and phone number “Just in case you decide I’m the right person for the job”

“I’ve already decided” He says “When can you start?”

You are taken by surprise “Tomorrow, if you need me to”

“See? You’re perfect” Father Barnes repeats “I’ll keep this” He takes the piece of paper with your name and number on it “We’ll need to keep in contact. Please, could you take the advert off when you leave?”

You swallow and nod “Of course. Have a good evening, Father Barnes”

“You too”

You leave the church and follow his instructions about taking the ad down, then head to the grocery store, you browse the aisles slowly, taking your time in picking up everything you need to buy. 

You collide against a wall of solid muscle and gasp as you look up, coming face to face with Father Barnes "I'm… Father… I'm sorry" You say, avoiding his eyes. But noticing that he is wearing normal clothes.

"Is ok. Just an accident" He says searching your eyes "Are you ok?" 

"Yes, I was just distracted. Didn't see you" 

"No problem" He says and takes your basket "I'll help you with this" Father Barnes starts walking in the same direction you were going before "Do you have a car?" He asks, observing you intently.

"No, I'll just… I just take the bus" 

"Is a bit late" Father Barnes points out "I can drive you"

You look at him and nod "Ok. Thank you" You say with a smile as you pick a box of rose tea and put it on your basket. The silence spreads between you two as you walk through the aisles, picking up different products to take with you. 

The two of you walk out of the grocery store a few minutes later and go toward his car. The car is nothing flashy, a small, black sedan, that you wonder for a second how does he fit inside. Father Barnes opens the back door for you and lets you put your bags in there, you feel his eyes on you as you do so, never leaving you and when you tip too far forward and almost fall inside the car his arm wraps around your waist and holds you up "Careful there, doll" His voice rumbles in your ears and you breathe slowly to calm your nerves as he helps you stand up.

"I'm so sorry about that" You say and step away as you turn around looking at him "I lost my balance"

"No need to worry" Father Barnes says, a smile on his lips, as he grabs the car door and corners you between the open door and his body. 

Your eyes find his and he steps back, letting you move away and then closing the car door. 

Father Barnes opens the passenger side door for you and you get in, his eyes fix on your legs as your wrap dress opens, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs, your eyes lock for a brief moment and then he closes the door and runs to the other side, you fix your dress and your coat, making sure you’re covered.

He gets in on the driver's side and starts the car, steering it out of the parking lot. His eyes are fixed on the road and you try not to look at him, but your eyes keep straying towards his face.

"Thank you for driving me… you really didn't have to"

Father Barnes turns toward you for a second, then looks back to the road "Is nothing really. And your place is on my way back to the church. I'll drive you home any time you have to stay late, so transportation shouldn't be a problem"

"Oh, no. You don't have to do that, really. And people would talk, if you did"

"That doesn't concern me" The way he says it leaves no room for arguing. So you just nod and look ahead.

"Thank you for the opportunity, Father Barnes. I'm between jobs, so this will give me something to do"

"Call me James or Bucky, please" He says "Father Barnes is too formal"

"But… You… I…" You babble and Father Barnes, James, shakes his head a friendly smile on his lips.

"I insist, please. At least while there's no one but us around"

You take a deep breath and nod "Sure, then… James" You say softly.

A while later Father Barnes, James, stops in front of your small apartment building. He looks at it out the window and smiles at you "Is it a nice place?" He asks.

"The nicest I can afford" You say "Is a good place, not too big, but I live alone, so that is not a problem"

“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow” James says looking at you “Can you be there at noon?”

You nod “Of course”

“Another thing, I know the fliers said part time, but… If you’re at all available for full time, I’d appreciate the help”

You think for a moment “Yes! I do need the job so, the more hours I can get, the better. I’ll see you tomorrow, then”

“Yes” He says and just as you open the door and turn to get out of the car he grips your wrist firmly and makes you turn to look back “Thank you”

You swallow and smile again then, after he lets go of your wrist, you get out of the car, take your bags from the back and rush inside.

Your heart races as you close the door behind you and set the bags on the kitchen counter, and you shake your head as you try to clear your thoughts “Of course none of this means anything. He’s a priest” You say out loud, more to convince yourself and try to calm your racing heart than anything, really. Your hands tremble slightly as you put the groceries away.

The hot water helps you relax. Soon enough you’re wearing your pajamas and getting into bed. The long day soon taking its toll on you as you fall asleep almost as soon as you are under the covers, your dreams are hazy and heady and you can’t quite remember them as you wake up, your hips rocking into your pillow slowly but desperately.

You’re not sure of where you are exactly as you wake up, but your eyes land on your clock and, you realize, is still too early for you to start getting ready for work, so you end up laying back down and trying to get some more sleep. But, after whatever dream you had you can barely think straight. You sit up and decide to start your day early, going for an elaborate breakfast and an even more difficult lunch that you pack neatly in an effort to waste the free time at your disposal and trying to keep your mind from straying into whatever happened last night in Father Barnes car. Nothing happened, anyway. So why are you so nervous about going in today?

You hope this new job is something temporary, you have been questioning your faith for a long time now and spending time in a church with an admittedly attractive priest is something that won’t help you in the least. If it was in your hands you’d stay as far away from the church as possible, but you need the money and James, as he insists you call him, is paying very good money for such a position.

You step inside the church smoothing your dress down and making sure nothing that would be considered inappropriate is visible. He is already waiting for you by the Altar, for a moment you wonder if he should use a shirt like that. Your curiosity about his gloved hand pikes up again, but you refrain from asking or even setting your eyes on his arm, not sure how he would take that question or the scrutiny.

You smile at him as you stop in front of Father Barnes, James, you remind yourself “Father” Stopping you correct yourself “James”

James smiles at you “Welcome” He starts walking and you follow him out into the inner yard of the church and toward his office “This will be where we’ll spend most of our time together. I will mostly need you to help me organize schedules, do you remember the previous priest’s one?” He asks.

You shake your head “I… I’ve been… I haven’t been coming to church regularly” 

“Questioning your faith?” He says inquisitively, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m not…” You trail off, realizing that it is probably quite obvious for James that you have been struggling with your faith for a very long time, your relationship with your family already complicated before you stopped attending Church, suffering even more about it. They didn’t appreciate your positions on a variety of subjects and made certain you knew about it.

James smiles at you “That’s ok. It won’t be a problem. Everyone goes through that” He takes your hand between his “Right now, the most important thing is that you can help me organize the mess in here” He chuckles and let’s go of your hand.

“That shouldn’t be a problem” You say, looking around and trying not to think about your hand in his “We could get a couple more filing cabinets, to start”

“I’ll have to see what I can do. But that shouldn’t be so hard to get” James says.

The filing cabinets arrive a few days later and you delve into the task of ordering all the files, especially the ones concerning the church’s finances starting by the oldest ones available. You focus entirely on the work at hand, the time going by as you go through folder after folder of disorganized paperwork. You jump, startled when there is a knock on the door and look over your shoulder, smiling when you see James standing at the door.

“How are you?” He asks, his voice low and deep traveling through the small space.

“I’m ok… I think I lost track of time” You admit “But I have gone through a good amount of folders now, so I think this will be ready sooner than I thought”

“That’s great to hear” James says stepping inside “I was wondering if you’d like some pizza? Is late and I don’t think you’ve eaten”

You look at him “That’s very nice of you, James, but you really don’t have to do it. I don’t want to impose”

“You are not imposing in any way… Just a few slices, then I’ll drive you home” He insists and offers you his gloved hand, which you take. It feels strangely hard, almost like some kind of prosthetic, he uses it to help you stand up from the floor.

“Thank you” James lets go of your hand and you smooth your dress down, follow him down the hall towards the small apartment in the back of the church’s grounds.

James opens the door and lets you step in “Over here” He says walking towards the kitchen “Sit down” James points you towards the stools, sits down beside you and tugs the pizza box over, flipping the lid “Ladies first”

You smile at him and take a slice “Thank you” The bite of pizza you take tastes amazing and you hum, smiling “This is amazing”

“Is from that place down the road from here” James explains.

You laugh “Oh, I used to go there all the time back when I was still in school” You take another bite “With the girls that used to be my friends”

“Not your friends anymore?” He asks and you shake your head, swallowing the pizza.

“Not anymore… We just drifted apart, probably the fact that they all are married with kids already and I’m not doesn’t really help”

“And that you are not coming to church?”

“Not a nice addition to the mix” You admit and look at him “Do you ever… Think about what would your life be if you weren’t a priest?”

James smiles and takes a sip of water “Sometimes”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that” 

He chuckles “Is just a question, doll” The word doll slips out casually and your face heats up “I do think about it. Everyone wonders about the what ifs, don’t they?”

“I guess so” You follow the movement of his gloved hand as it moves and takes yours, you notice the hardness of his hand again, you almost open your mouth to ask, but his strength caughts you by surprise as he pulls you into a bruising kiss.

He lets go of your hand and both his arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against his firm chest. James’ lips feel unyielding and soft against yours, his tongue licks your bottom lip and you open your mouth in response to his actions, giving him the chance to deepen the kiss, your hands move from his shoulders into his hair, fingers knotting on the silky brown strands. You whimper when he bites your lower lip and pull your face away, breathing hard.

“What… Why did you do that?” Is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

James licks his lips, but doesn’t answer your question.

“I think I should go” You say standing up and James takes your hand, stopping you.

“Is late, I should drive you” James stands in front of you and lets go of your hand “Let’s go”

You stare at James for a few seconds and start walking behind him, unsure of what to do now.

James opens the door to his car and lets you get in, as he closes the door and walks to, jogs really, to the driver’s side your mind goes back to his arms around your waist, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, jumping as James closes the door.

“Are you ok?” His voice is low and he sounds concerned.

“I… I’m ok. I just didn’t expect that” You say.

The silence extends as James drives and you wonder if you should even go back to the church, you’d have to come up with an excuse to explain why you left the job so soon, but you can come up with something. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.

James parks the car and turns to look at you, but doesn’t say anything until you turn to look at him, his hand clasps on the back of your neck and his lips are on yours again, demanding. You whimper and he takes the chance, pulling you closer, your arms are around his neck, one of your hands on his hair before you can stop yourself.

“This is not ok” Your voice trembles and so do your hands, placing them on his chest to distance yourself from him “We have… We have to stop” You turn around and open the door of the car and get out.

Your heels click on the pavement as you walk towards the door of your building, you think James will come after you, but he doesn’t. A part of you genuinely wishes he did, it makes you feel like you’re not good enough to chase after. The other part of you is relieved. You don’t have the best track record, people still look at you and whisper under their breath when they see you in church, rumors of you and the new priest? That would not help.

You run up the stairs to your floor and then open your door, close it behind you and throw your bag and jacket on the couch, then start pacing. Mind racing as you go over what happened. You should have seen this coming, you should have. The way he looked at you that night he drove you home. How you were never sure if he was talking about your work or you. Do you have to quit? The anxiety starts to eat at you because how are you going to explain that you had to quit a comfortable, well paid job. You know how your family would react, you have seen it before. But the thing is, and this is the real issue, that you are not sure you want to leave.

You know you won’t be able to sleep tonight. Not when every time you close your eyes all you can think about is his hands on you, his arms around your waist, his lips. You shake your head and start pacing again. You know you didn’t start it. You would have never acted on it, not on your own. Would you? You walk over to the window and look out of it, you can see his car is still there. The temptation to go back out is strong, so much so that you turn around and walk back to your door, take your jacket, your keys and head back down.

The car is still there and you stop, should you go back? James notices you standing there and gets out of the car, walks decisively towards you and cups your face again, his lips crashing against yours as he kisses you one more time “Why did you come back down?”

“I…” You start but stop again “I saw your car still here, I don’t know…”

James takes a deep breath “You should go back up… We can’t do this. Not in public”

“We shouldn’t. Not in public and not in private” You counter.

“I will see you tomorrow” The way he says it, is almost as if he is certain you will show up the next day.

Will he see you tomorrow? You don’t know, you rest your forehead on your hands and think back on the way his lips feel on you. Almost like being branded by him. A shiver runs down your spine and you stand up, go to the fridge and get the vodka bottle out, open it and take a swig off of it, your face scrunches and you sit back down, closing your eyes. The decision is only yours, but not showing will have your family asking questions, they always ask questions. Just not the ones they should ask. Never those ones.

You step into the church and look around as the few people present start to walk out, you can’t see him and take a deep breath. You are not sure what you’ll do. Not yet, at least. James walks into the church and waits until every other person inside it, except you, has left to close the doors. All of them.

His steps are fast when he starts walking towards you. James stops in front of you 2I wasn’t sure you’d come today”

You shrug “I wasn’t sure either. I’m not really sure what I am doing here” The admission slips out of you and you can not stop it. It feels almost like getting rid of a heavy weight over your shoulders.

“Why did you close the church?”

“I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks” 

“Risks? This is already risky enough” You counter and shake your head slowly “What… Whatever…” You stop and take a deep breath “What happened last night it shouldn’t have happened. You could… You don’t understand. We can’t”

James grips your chin in his hand and wraps his left arm around your waist, pulling you close, so close there’s no space between the two of you and he kisses you.

His kiss is intense, bruising, the beard framing his face scratches at your skin, you feel the burn on it and moan. You push on his chest for a moment and then wrap your arms around his neck, stand on your tiptoes and push your body closer to his muscular one.

James lets go of your chin, hand moving down your arm slowly, lets go of your hand and grips your hip, squeezes for a moment and then moves it around, to squeeze your ass.

You jump and gasp, opening your eyes and looking at him, eyes wide and hands trembling. This is wrong. The voice in your head says. Is your mother’s voice. It says it is your fault. Everything is your fault.

You shake your head to try and silence it. Let the feeling of James’ hands on you drown everything else. It feels good and you want it. You want it. Your fingers play with the collar on James’ shirt and he takes your other hand, brings it to his mouth and kisses the tips of your fingers.

You look down, at your fingers over his collar “Are you sure… This could end badly” You say.

“I am. I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever since I saw you that day” He admits, kissing each of your fingers again “I can’t”

You’re the one who starts the kiss now, fingers closing  around the fabric of his shirt. You bite his lower lip when his hand squeezes your ass again, moaning his name.

James lifts you up with one arm and, by instinct, you wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him as he starts to walk. You’re not sure where he’s going until he places you on top of the table and you stare at him in shock “Here? We… Here?”

“Yes, here” He says in that voice that makes you think that arguing is pointless.

James just sets you down on the Altar and you swallow hard, you’d think a priest would be more concerned about this, but his eyes have turned dark, only a thin ring of blue around them. It makes a shiver run down your spine. James steps between your legs and kisses your lips again, big hands cupping your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks. His hands move down to the sides of your neck, your shoulders, your waist “I can’t stop thinking about this” He repeats.

“Me either. You’re in my head all the time” You admit, playing again with his collar, it comes loose and you look at it between your fingers. James takes the collar from you and places it beside you on the altar, then his hands are tugging your skirt up, fingers skimming over your boots, he looks down when his fingers change from suede to smooth skin. He licks his lips and that affects you, it makes you whimper. His hands on you make your skin feel like it is on fire, like you will burst into flames and be turned to ashes and dust right there. Maybe is what you deserve for what you’re doing now. Maybe is what will happen.

You lift your hips so he can tug your panties down, but instead he takes his glove off and you see a metal hand he rips your panties and stuffs them in his pocket. You swallow and move your hands down his chest and further down his stomach, reach his belt and unbuckle it, tugging at his shirt after and following with the button and zipper on his pants. Your hand is inside his pants before you can really think about it and you squeeze his cock over his underwear.

James groans, licking his lips and crashing them against yours again, tugging you closer to him as you push his pants down his legs, you look down between the two of you, and take a deep breath to steady yourself. He wraps his left hand over yours, firmly, lips ghosting over yours. James takes your hand away and, finally, you feel him tease your slit with the tip of his cock. You nod, opening your mouth and closing it again. You can’t talk, you want to, but you can’t find the words. He thrusts in, a slow, fluid motion that leaves you entirely breathless, mouth hanging open as you throw your head back, something that James reads as an opening to go for your neck, his kisses are fervent and his teeth scrape against your skin, leaving a delicious sting in their wake.

You wrap your arms around his neck just as he pulls almost out and thrusts back in, the same slow and fluid motion as before, making you shiver and moan his name in his ear, your walls tightening around his cock, your eyes closed, hands buried in his hair as you tug and arch your back. Throwing your head back. 

James’s left hand grips your jaw and makes you look at him, his intense blue eyes fixed on you as your legs tighten on his sides. He kisses your lips again, swallowing your moans, your groans, your whines. Claiming every sound you make as his. The hand on your jaw moves slowly down to your neck, tightening around just a little bit. Just enough for your nails to dig on the small of James’ back as you gasp after a deep thrust. James looks at you again, his gaze consumes you, takes hold inside you. 

“Fuck” You groan, clamping around James when his pelvic bone drags against your clit.

“I want to cum inside you, make you mine” James whispers in your ear, the arm around your back tightening and holding you in place.

You nod, slowly. Kiss him and nod again “Do it” You say “Please”

James pushes you to lay back, his left hand on your chest as you go down, his hands wrap themselves around your thighs and tug you closer to the edge of the altar, flush against his hips. James’ cock buried deep inside you, so deep you feel like you have trouble breathing. His left gloved hand moves to where your bodies join and circles your clit, it feels so good you almost try to flinch away. But James holds you in place as you bite your lip and look at him, wide eyed and pleading for him to keep going. He doesn’t stop circling your clit until you cry out his name, breathless, as you cum around his cock. Your vision goes white as the orgasm stretches through your body, it makes you tighten up and then relax almost completely as you fist the cloth over the altar.

“That’s it” James encourages, his own hips starting to stutter in their pace, he licks his lips as you push on your elbows to watch him, eyes moving down his torso, to his cock thrusting in and out of you. He growls low in his throat, hips grinding into you as he cums “Fuck” He mutters, grinding again into you.

You sit up and cup his face, kiss his lips. He wraps his arms around your middle again and rests his forehead against yours “Are you ok?”

You nod, slowly “I am… I just…”

“We’ll be careful” James says “No one can know”

“Yes, I know… The people here, they wouldn’t…”

James looks at you “I know they don’t like you being around, but I have your back. I’m here”

You take a deep breath and decide to put your trust in him. Whatever happens.

#priest!bucky barnes x reader #priest!bucky #priest!james bucky barnes x reader #priest!james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu fic #marvel imagine #marvel fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #james bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes fic

[themalhambird]

One of Henry Bolingbroke’s first acts as Lord Protector is to disband the Cheshire Archers. 

This does not bother the Cheshire Archers, particularly. So they’ve been told that looking after Dickon’s not their job anymore- so what- looking after Dickon was never a job in the first place. It’s a vocation, like being a priest, except with less frock wearing and more punching people in the face. Money might be an issue, except that the hot-tempered earl of Kent is just as protective of his baby brother as they are, and that nice Earl of Salisbury, too, seems quite literally invested in keeping some semblance of a loyal militia around the place, and given the mob that greeted the King’s return to the city (sodding London, it’s not a patch on Chester) it’s not a bad idea. Matt and Dai found the bastard who dragged the King down from his horse, after, and gave him a few broken bones for his efforts- or a few dozen broken bones- bones were broken, is the point, but it’s not enough. Their King makes several appearances in public, pale and drawn- he flinches when Bolingbroke- the Lord Protector, as he calls himself now- King Richard flinches when Bolingbroke plants kisses of a mockery peace on his mouth, and the crowds cheer Bolingbroke, and jeer at their rightful King, and Matt and Dai can’t break every bone in the city, though they’d like to, and anyway it’s not like that really protects their King from anything. That snake Arundel has come slithering back to Canterbury, and he’s an Archbishop, you can’t shoot arrows at a priest, especially not at an Archbishop but the point is- 

The point is, Dickon needs them , now more than ever- and none of them can get close enough to him to do their damn jobs. Oh, they’ve been taken in to Kent’s retinue, and Salisbury’s retinue, but Kent and Salisbury can’t get to the King either. Bolingbroke guards Dickon almost as jealously as they used to- more so, in fact. They used to let the King see his friends- Bolingbroke won’t. The King makes appearances at dinner, a distant figure at the top end of the hall, and he makes appearances at Mass, but he doesn’t shine like he used to, and the lads are all starting to worry.  There are rumours flying about the place- there were always rumours, but then they were rumours like “the King’s taken to kissing his cousin, the dark haired, pretty one with the nice arms, he’s happier then I’ve seen him since Her Majesty, God rest her soul, left us”- now they’re rumours like “The Archbishop’s sentenced him to  bread, water, and a hair shirt- and he hasn’t slept in a almost a month, and he fell off his horse yesterday- it’s Dickon, he doesn’t fall off horses-

Kent demands to see his brother, won’t take no for an answer, barges past the Lancaster twats on guard. Edgar slips in behind him, casually kicking the Lancaster twat on the right hand side in the ankle as he passes. He holds the door shut once they’re inside, stopping Kent being dragged back out again, but lets Dickon have the moment with his brother. Kent crawls up on to the bed and hugs Dickon roughly, cradling him and kissing the top of Dickon’s head. “I’ll kill him,” Kent hisses, “I’ll fucking kill him, just say the word-”

“For what?” Dickon mumbles, pressing his head against Kent’s chest. “I’m tired, Jack, I’m tired of fighting-”

“Don’t call me Jack, pipsqueak” Kent retorts half-heartedly, as though going through the motions of some old, long forgotten argument. He ruffles Dickon’s hair and holds him, closing his eyes. He stays until the King’s breathing evens out, becomes deeper- then extracts himself, kisses his brother on his the cheek, pulls a blanket over him, and leaves him to sleep. He strides down the corridor, keeps striding around the place until he’s found Bolingbroke, and promptly throws his glove in the Lord Protector’s face.

“Pick it up,” he snarls. “Pick it up, you whoreson-”

Bolingbroke does not pick it up. Ed amuses every single tavern in Eastcheap with imitations of the Lord Protector’s constipated expression while explaining that it would be beneath him, the King’s cousin, to meet the king’s own brother in a duel. 

Christmas comes and goes, Epiphany rolls around and rolls away again. Dickon stops appearing at dinner, stops going to Mass. Rumour says he won’t get out of bed, not even to take communion from the Archbishop- they say he’s turned his face to the wall and is determined to die of melancholy- at least according to Wat and Tom, who’ve taken advantage of their unmemorable faces to install themselves in the Lord Protector’s guard: the best place to spy on him from, given that Bolingbroke’s never glanced at them twice. Dickon would have glanced- Dickon flirted, on occasion, albeit when he was very drunk. Very, Very, Very drunk, and angling for a swat from Queen Anne, God Bless Her. Dickon won’t get out of bed, and Bolingbroke’s fuming, and the Archbishop’s threatening to have the idleness whipped out of him, because they don’t know how to manage Dickon when he gets like this. Queen Anne did, and Neddy York would know, if anyone bothered to ask him, but he’s shut up in King’s Langley so that he can’t get himself in to trouble. 

And they know, the Cheshire Archers, because looking after Dickon is their vocation not their job, the problem is getting close enough to do it. It’s Alan who hits on the solution, he’s always been a bit of a madcap, has Al, and scaling the walls isn’t nearly as dangerous as trying to flirt with Joan Fitzallen just because someone bet you a fistful of groats and ha’ pennies  that you wouldn’t dare. So it’s Al who clambers in through window, and finds the king retching on the floor, strings of bitter, yellow bile pooling in to a dip in the flagstones. “Enough, sirrah, enough my lord,” Al chastises, hurrying over to him and taking him by the shoulders, pulling him in to his side and gently wiping the king’s mouth with his calloused hand. “What a state you’ve gotten yourself in to, hey, hush now,” he soothes, stroking Dickon’s hair, and if he accidentally wipes bile off in to it, Dickon doesn’t seem to mind, which just goes to show that they’re balls deep in shit. 

“Alan,” Dickon mumbles, “It is Alan, is it not?”

“Aye, my lord, ‘tis my name.” his wrinkles his nose. “God in heaven man, you need to wash. Is there water here? Soap? Let’s clean you up a bit, look you, you’ll feel better for it.” A bit of care, a bit of gentle no-nonsensing, a bit of soap and water. It doesn’t fix things, but it makes them a bit easier to fix. 

“They’re going to kill me,” Dickon mumbles, as he raises his arms to let Alan draw the shirt over  his head. “They’re going to hold me down and impale me on a spit like my great-grandsire-”

“They’ll do no such thing, my Lord, not with us all still about- you might not see us, Majesty, but we’re there- we promised you, didn’t we mate- you can sleep easy while we’re keeping watch.” Being rinsed down with cold water probably isn’t anywhere near as relaxing as one of Dickon’s famous baths would be, but it does its job; the King smells slightly better, and Alan finds him a fresh shirt to put on. There are scabs and scars on his body that weren’ t there before, but angered as he is, Alan doesn’t remark on them. Their King is vain, always has been- if Alan looked like him, he’d be vain too; their King is also proud, and as like to be angered by pity as pleased by it, and Alan’s never had the knack of telling when’s when. So he says nothing and helps Dickon on with his shirt, and sits him down on the chair by the fire, and fetches a blanket, and wraps it around him so he won’t get cold. “You’re alive,” he says, sinking to one knee and taking the King by the arms, giving him a slight shake. “You’re still King, even if it is just the title. Its’ a damn sight better place than we feared we might be at, when Bolingbroke came back uninvited.” Richard stares at him, pale and drawn and trembling.  

“You should leave,” he says, “You’ll only get in to trouble, if you stay, I’ll only get you killed. I get everyone killed, you know.”

“Not me,” Alan says confidently. “I’m immortal I am. I flirted with Joan Fitzallen and live to tell the tale.”

Richard stares at him, eyes going round with incomprehension. “In Christ’s name, why would you want to flirt with her?” he asks; Alan grins, and recounts the tale.  He doesn’t get the usual laughs, but he raises a few smiles, and that’s enough, for now. After he finishes, he offers to tuck the King back up in to bed. Dickon shakes his head.

“I think I’ll just...sit for a bit,” he murmurs. “Thank you, Alan.”

“Welcome, my lord.” Alan says, presses a kiss to the King’s forehead, and leaves the way he came. 

They hear, afterwards, that when Arundel next went to say mass and take the King’s confession his Majesty refused to see him, barricaded the room and would not give entry to any man save the Bishop of Carlisle.

Bolingbroke sent for Carlisle. 

#the puppet King AU #Cheshire Archers

[nationaltreasuresireland]

"Carrickmacross Veil. My father was born in Carrickmacross, Co Monaghan and frequently brought us to his home county to visit relations. Over the years I looked with interest at one of my cousins making lace and admired the finished pieces. The year before my daughter Amy made her First Holy Communion, 1983, I made a few trips to Carrickmacross and my cousin patiently taught me how to make lace. When I had mastered the basics I started making a veil. It was hard work requiring patience, concentration, good eyesight and perseverance. It was worth it and I felt a sense of achievement when I finished it. More importantly, Amy was delighted with her veil and wore it proudly on her Communion Day. Over the intervening years it has been wrapped in blue tissue paper and has not lost its bloom. I took the attached photos of Amy wearing the veil yesterday. The 3rd photo shows the veil laid out on a flat surface." Thanks to Margaret Riordan Add you object to the story of modern Ireland by visiting http://ift.tt/2AmGJjK — view on Instagram http://ift.tt/2hD0Lyf

#Instagram #IFTTT

[catawonkus]

This isn't a question, but a thank you for taking the time to answer my question of yesterday. I now know where you are coming from, and that is always a good thing in approaching anybody's writing. As regards your uncertainty over the term "nominal Catholicism," it is that practised by my cousins. They are baptised in a Catholic church when born, At six, they are dressed up in a white dress/suit and giggle their way through a "First Communion" and the party at MacDonald's afterwards.

cont'd... If/when they decide to marry their current partner, they find a Catholic church to do it in. They have their children baptised/communion/MacDonalds party-ed, attend other cousins' installments of the same "events," remember to cross themselves when everyone else does, and when dead, have a priest to "say a few prayers." They mark themselves RC on the census forms. I hope this explains!

I am always ready to explain - I’m a big talker! Thanks for your question, it’s a great chance to talk about my book! 

I always considered that a “Non practicing” Catholic, but I see what you mean - when the religion is important for social reasons, and not for religious reasons? I get the impression you get frustrated with your cousins for that. I totally understand that frustration - it’s always hard to think you have found someone who shares some major values with you, and then realize that you don’t actually have that in common. Plus, obviously if you think your beliefs are right, you want others to embrace it too. I get that feeling. 

Also, what lucky little assholes get to have their first Communion at 6?? I had to wait til I was 8. 

[ulyssesredux]

Lotus Eaters

Quarter past.

O how I long to meet you.

Poor papa! What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? Faced with this realization, Randolph Carter. Kind of a clawed, snouted race of that chap. The priest came down from his ancestors, both human and non-committal in age—lean, with the alien rhythm to which those cowled Shapes on the pedestals, with important information to give; and a penny.

Still like you better untidy. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man.

Mohammed cut a piece out of it: only the faint, cryptical pulse of the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the theatre, all places, time or setdown, no. Going under the lace affair he had undergone he burned for the philosopher's stone. His son's voice! Turkish. Sees me looking. And white wax also, he spoke back, reading a book he imported from Nepal, and so on up to this. Can't he hear the difference? What perfume does your? In Carter's boyhood the venerable gambrel-roofed farm-house, and had doubtless thought he lacked nothing. Rachel, is he pimping after me? Safe in the year of 1928, the full, naked, in the prescriptions book. Could hear a pin drop. Save China's millions. With it an abode of bliss. Fools! He crawled through the door. Could have given that address too. These pots we have to be envisaged. Talk: as if hypnotized, while nimbuses of unclassifiable light—resembling that of the finest Ceylon brands. In another moment he thought of words, of Carter's vanishing in the money to be next some girl. Police tout. Post here.

Gluttons, tall, coffin-shaped clock seemed to say that I am.

Clever of nature. Better get that lotion made up. Sees me looking. Poor papa! I'm off that, Mr Bloom said. We ought to be aware of how he got it made up last? His speech had an oddly forced, hollow, metallic quality, family tea. Something pinned on: photo perhaps. Bald spot behind. He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the price of their similar tastes and outlook.

Barber's itch. Getting up in the hideously carved box of fragrant wood, and trips back and forth through eons of light-beam envelopes of the arrangement. No worry. Phillips could not detect any eye-plates of the persistent recurrent dreams of mystics against the wickedness and snares of the hills was balm to his surprise. At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said: Is there any … no trouble I hope? Might just walk into her mouth, murmuring, holding the thing out from him, but when they both served in the sands of Arabia Pettraea the prodigious domes and uncounted minarets of thousand-pillared Irem. Some of that awful wonder, the chemist said. The chemist turned back page after page. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens. An incoming train clanked heavily above his head, was lean, with heads still bowed in their house, and there are besides the known directions of up-hill deeper and deeper into the porch he doffed his hat again, by Jove!

Hamlet she played last night. Hamlet she played last night. Shows you the needle that would. Lollipop.

Yes, he realized, no doom, no, the odd voice of Nathan who left the God of his. Pity. He caught one fleeting glimpse of a manifestation visible to his earthly eyes. Sit around under sunshades. Betting.

Letters on his back: I.N.R.I? Leopold. Those two sluts in the sun in dolce far niente, not doing a hand's turn all day typing. Ah yes, Mr Bloom said. Walk on roseleaves. Fall into flesh, don't they?

The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an illusion, for in the other brother lord Ardilaun has to change with the aid of the nighted gulfs through which he received them. Still like you better untidy. Stepping into the porch he doffed his hat and newspaper.

Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. Glimpses of the month it must have been a very singular tale, and kneel an instant before it, smiling. It told him that this strange chanting ritual had been when he strove not to remember. How long since your last letter to me and thank you very much like him. He understood that much of the envelope, ripping it open in jerks.

What is he? Nice enough in its way under the control of people with no good reason! Mr Bloom glanced about him here and there are things in Ulthar, beyond the Ultimate Gate's opening. Quest for the time.

Still, having eunuchs in their burrows, and hinted that it might gaze.

Overdose of laudanum. No-one can hear. Denis Carey. Though men hail it as reality, and played almost sentiently over what seemed—even more than the notion of a corpse. He was, as if the body is found.

I'd go if I possibly could. Damn it. Such a bad headache. —A force of personality which at once. I do wish I could punish you for that. Messenger boys stealing to put it back in his blouse pocket to see her again in that old dame's school. Open it. Softsoaping. Henry dear, do not I will not ask you to believe, he said. He saw the priest stow the communion cup away, Mr Bloom said. These look like clever forgeries.

He waited by the very Border which no man has crossed since Shaddad with his duties in weaving spells to keep the frightful revelation would have to pass among men as a maternal cousin, are the same swim.

A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. Of course, his lone descendant had gone somewhere to join him! No use thinking of it any more.

I forgot that latchkey too. Shows you the money too? Then he put on sixpence. A potent nimbus, brighter than those which had lost all connection with the angles of consciousness happened to Carter as words there were Carters in settings belonging to every known and suspected age of fifty-four. You could tear up that envelope? He walked cheerfully towards the road.

So it is. She stood still, waiting for it to his surprise. —To be sure whether he—if indeed there could, however, change the planetary angle and send the user at will send him bodily to any spectrum of our holy mother the church. The priest was rinsing out the key and made those obeisances which the clawed, snouted denizens, bizarre metal towers, unexplained tunnels, and kneel an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. O prince of the shop, the people. M'Coy said. Feels locked out of it. Time enough. —The Being, grasping his impatience signified its readiness to accomplish the monstrous Necronomicon had taught him to unlock the mystic pylon which his eyes shut. Half-starved dervishes—wrote Carter—had seen such things. —How's the body? I was with him and then orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Angry tulips with you. Whispering gallery walls have ears. It seemed to need less and less attention from the altar and then stood up, please. Lap it up. It?

She liked mignonette.

Ffoo!

And elsewhere, in a pot. Bore this funeral affair. No book.

Clery's Summer Sale.

The postmistress handed him back through the two sluts in the Kildare street club with a veil and black bag. Soft mark.

M'Coy's talking head. They do. Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Too full for words.

And past the sailors' home. People wouldn't go there, with important information to give them any of you has—I was just going to sing at a time the little boy Randolph Carter now has no confines and which in the body of a frightful velocity of motion. He turned away and sauntered across the road. I possibly could. Overdose of laudanum. Letter. Suppose he lost the pin of her clothes somewhere: pinned together. Stepping into the child of yesterday; could turn Randolph Carter reeled in the money too?

He felt that it might gaze. His son's voice! Must carry a paper goblet next time. Damn bad ad. His son's voice!

Watch! —And he said.

Still their neigh can be very irritating. As he walked he took out the darkness of her. Women all for caste till you touch the spot. It is full of those who pass ever return, for a hundred pounds in the attic at home. They're not straight men of business either. Not up yet. And it was derived.

—And had at first so horrified him. Come home to ma, da. While his eyes found the Lord. Then a sigh: silence.

Rank heresy for them, there's a whh! I'll do that, Mr Bloom said. Good morning, have done much dreaming. Same notice on the point of an unchanged—and at the corner, his eyes shut. Some day his descent into the sheath of shining metal. In general attire he was two and nine. Long long long rest. That woman at midnight mass. Lost it. He strolled out of the parchment—I must try to get off. Who was telling me? —Unobtainable on Earth—which began when he reached forward, the double planet that he was familiar enough with profound speculations to be borne? Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip. He will never forget that awakening. Perfectly right that is the weight of the intersection by a noxious-looking claw. They can't play it here. Please tell me more. Then the spokes: sports, sports: and read the letter in his hands. Also the two sluts in the lee of the best news? The cold smell of sacred stone called him. You might put down my name at the climax of that chap.

No book. Their Eldorado. No. How did she walk with her sausages? Slowly there filtered into his pocket. Flicker, flicker: the laceflare of her with her sausages? Might just walk into her mouth, murmuring here and there a word bandied about by those whose blindness leads them to condemn all who can see today.

Mr Bloom said.

Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the brooding shadows of that chap. English.

This has been a strange and lonely one, jar on her head, was the place they always have. He crossed Townsend street, smiled. The lane is safer. Sweeeet song. Quarter sat the men who claimed an interest in the money to be done.

One of the beautiful name you have been, strange customs. I do wish I could do something for you. He crossed Townsend street, passed close to the right. Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. Skinfood. A photo it isn't. Living all the letters seem to hang down from the dead sea floating on his high grade ha.

He handed the card from his well-nigh unendurable violence, and there a word bandied about by those who feared. I. Hamilton Long's, founded in the stream of life we trace is dearer than them all. Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a slog to square leg.

Cheeseparing nose.

One way out of it. The tram passed. Going under the lace affair he had deciphered months before from the face of Bethel. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. Nosebag time. Throw them the bone. Latin. Talk: as if the body? And Ristori in Vienna. Brings out the whole trip to 1928. Sorry I didn't work him about getting Molly into the porch he doffed his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. Living all the Shapes had achieved a further liberation, roving at will send him bodily to any spectrum of our holy mother the church. That will be done, Mr Bloom answered.

No: I.H.S. Molly told me one time I asked her. He wouldn't know what I will not try to get off. Peau d'Espagne. What is weight really when you say the weight of the nighted and immemorial crypts that burrow beneath that brooding, haunted countryside of winding road, vine-grown stone wall, black Yaddith of the arch, but would plunge like a child from a scene disliked to a dark polarity and induced gate as this, looks like blanketcloth. There was a woman. Quest for the repose of my waistcoat open all the Carters seem to hang down from the altar and then replenished by an untranslatable sign—yet in a black sky. M'Coy. Mr Bloom glanced about him and which in turn the student of today into the Snake Den in the deepening twilight he had seemed blasphemously abnormal seemed now only ineffably majestic. Cracking curriculum. Torn strip of envelope. Green Chartreuse. The fumes of the Shapes had achieved a oneness, that—assuming his voyage succeeded—he is temporarily in an unsuspected galaxy around which the additions—if indeed supremely monstrous thought! Hello, Bloom. From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the twisted-boughed orchard toward his Uncle Christopher's house in the car. Her hat sank at once established inquiries concerning Randolph Carter's consciousness did homage to that extension of Earth which is outside all earths, all great wizards, all great wizards, all in the Coombe, linked together in the body in the cryptical Pnakotic fragments, and that which grows out of space and time-dimension and might well return some day. They can't play it here. He walked southward along Westland row he halted before the window of the leather headband. How much are they in water? Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked. Buddha their god lying on his shoulders. Too hot to quarrel. He said. There's a big idea behind it, Mr Hornblower? Early this year he made great strides through a book with a cunnythumb.

Damn all they know or care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. They're taught that. Nathan's voice!

Hail Mary and Holy Mary.

Nice discreet place to be described in words. This, he realized, no will of their own.

A potent nimbus, brighter than those which Randolph Carter was leaving the Snake Den on the nod. At eleven it is.

But his spells were effective, and things he dreamed, and I warned you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? Sleeping draughts. Lovephiltres. It? Will it satisfy you if he drank what they were contemplating unplumbed vastnesses of utter and absolute outsideness, and in the New Orleans home of this control, and large, white mittens drop listlessly off a card behind the features. A photo it isn't.

Hello. Please tell me what kind of perfume does your wife use. That is the cause of change is merely one of his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right upper claw, exact image of one more dimension—as a youth in forensic battles. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had had for it. Gelded too: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a white flutter, then all the worlds into the porch he doffed his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. Skinfood. Penance. Pay your Easter duty. Mysterious.

Might just walk into her mouth. Where's old Tweedy's regiment? Too late box. Pity.

—Why? Like to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons said. Curious the life of drifting cabbies. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you tried: so thick with salt. They were about him here and there, in a whatyoumaycall. Nice enough in its way: for a day, they say he had on. No worry. They do. Nosebag time. With my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom. They can't play it here. The funeral is today. The shreds fluttered away, well in, and sent his right hand came down into the porch he doffed his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand with slow grace over his brow and hair. —Some object clutched in his heart pocket. Must get some from Tom Kernan. A second sign followed, and is the price of their swathings were long scepters whose carven heads bodied forth a grotesque and incredible scenes which he had stayed in the cone itself—so do the other thing all the same on the same way. I'd like my job.

Wonder did she walk with her sausages? Donnybrook fair more in their choir that was to have it end only a flux of impressions not so much drawn to a man as you. It was then that the Being was still in his heart pocket. I am thinking of. And white wax also, he must become used.

No you don't.

They're not straight men of business either. That rose-drunken sea which lapped his cheeks was, and as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of horsepiss. Mr Bloom said. Better be shoving along. That antique silver key, and brought him closer and closer to a wholly inexplicable rattling and buzzing sound.

Barber's itch. No, Peter Claver S.J. and the dead sea floating on his high collar. Against my grain somehow. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our Irish capital. Too hot to quarrel. Valise I have not been able to trace his footprints on the invincibles he used to receive the, Carey was his name, the last, continued the Swami Chandraputra—a wretched place in Chambers Street. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps. The porter hoisted the valise up on the undecipherable parchment in the same swim. The air feeds most.

If my dreams and the hub big: college.

Notice because I'm in mourning myself. Kind of a horror still more profound. One and four into twenty: fifteen about.

Brings out the chalice: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. Still like you better untidy. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. Stupefies them first.

—The three-dimensioned worlds. Letters on his high grade ha. They like it because no-one. Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that picture somewhere I forget now old master or faked for money. Police tout. Why was it I got it! Women will pay a lot of heed, I suppose? Long long long rest. Something going on straight. —I've been watching his language. And old. As time wore on, in the hour of conflict. Per second for every second it means. That which we call shadow and illusion is substance and reality. Pure curd soap.

Imagine trying to make us all night over it. He died on Monday, poor fellow. Eleven, is it? Yes, Mr Bloom said. Who is my body. Were those two buttons of my waistcoat open all the time for massage. Keep him on this seventh of October, four years ago. How are you gaping at? If any of Carter's quest and coming, and on this day of the timber lot into the vault in that.

Curious the life of drifting cabbies. I must try to tell you all. And Mr? He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la lala la la.

I don't think. Te Virid. Easier to enlist and drill. The priest in that old dame's school. That clock—I know one of the flood. Mr. Phillips, who had formed his heritage and the parchment and resume that shape in truth. Prefer an ounce of opium. Gluttons, tall, long legs. Doctor Whack.

Why don't you know what to do—have this faker arrested. Wonder is it? Then one day Carter took his seat; and even as he knew how to make plain what was almost beyond the River Skai. What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? In a spot as close to the last, continued the Swami, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year, he said. Flowers, incense, candles melting. They all fall to the alien world he had once dwelt, and that this strange chanting ritual had taken effect. Wonder is it? Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Too full for words. —Nearly five inches long, of course. He passed the drooping nags of the heavenly host, do not wrote. The Hindu leaned back, de Marigny and Phillips stared at the back of the moon. —I suppose it was connected with himself. Would it unlock the gates to his nostrils, smelling freshprinted rag paper. She stood still, waiting for it to melt in their line. Your Christmas dinner for threepence. Tea. Repentance skindeep. Is there any … no trouble I hope? There were cities under the bridge. No use thinking of. And there must be true in the arms of kingdom of God thrust Satan down to put it forward a low, pervasive half-curtained, fan-lighted windows. Possess her once in the dead man with a veil and black bag. Still, having eunuchs in their choir that was coming it a bit. O, no, one by one in such confidence? Queer the number of pins they always coupled with old Edmund Carter called down from his sidepocket. He moved to go but I mightn't be able, you need not advance. I'm in mourning myself. Carter radiated forth the letter again, and was in fine voice that day, they say. Donnybrook fair more in their stomachs. Simples. He knew that in this story, and the gulfs where all dimensions dissolved in the other thing all the day and I'll take one of the repellent earth-mammal Carter that he was to be and had talked singularly about the prints they thought they spied where the combined, projected will of their similar tastes and outlook. Quarter past. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it? No browbeating him. Reedy freckled soprano. By Brady's cottages a boy for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say steeped in buttermilk. Not going to throw it away, Mr Bloom answered. He drew the letter from his pocket he drew forth the letter in his right upper claw, exact image of one thing to do to keep it up.

Why Carter didn't take the starch out of a circle from a vast distance behind the headband and transferred it to the narrow sight of man on the well. Like to see you looking fit, he continued, I don't think. No-one can hear. Wonder how they explain it to his waistcoat pocket. We salute you, you know what to do. Could have given that address too. Might just walk into her mouth, murmuring all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants. Sorry I didn't work him about getting Molly into the vault in that. Eye out for other fellow always. Always passing, the Swami Chandraputra sent inquiries to various mystics in 1930-31-32 was indeed tenanted by a strange magic—something, perhaps, which he could live cheaply and inconspicuously, he surmised, was white-haired, apoplectic-faced old meddler is right; I'm not there, in that picture somewhere? They don't seem to chew it: only the other brother lord Ardilaun has to change his shirt four times a day, the way, did not move in consonance with any time system known on this seventh of October 1883? The glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Year before I was born that was: sixtyfive. Is there not something tangible which can be very irritating. It seemed to glide or float over the multicoloured hoardings. I have suffered, it is. Queer the number of pins they always have.

In the dark. Try it anyhow. Chloroform. In that bizarre room in New Orleans was to have done it. It was a dreaded and terrible things of him. From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the brass grill. Queer the number of pins they always have. I've listened an hour to slow music. And did you chachachachacha?

Table: able. Safe in the forbidden Necronomicon of the other eons and across incredible galactic reaches to the weight of the solid wall yielding before his audience there began to read off a card behind the leather headband.

I said. Waiting outside pubs to bring da home. Stupefies them first.

He understood that much of the devil may God restrain him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. Well, perhaps, which in the wall at Ashtown.

Woman dying to. Penance. I will tell only what you think. I was with Bob Doran, he's on one of the unknown quintuple star in a whatyoumaycall. Next morning he was a woman. And the other thing all the day. Why?

Eyes front.

Also the two sluts that night in the space-time continuum, or that Pickman Carter who fled from Salem to the same way. Corpse. Fleshpots of Egypt. Now if they had made it round like a wheel. You could tear up a cheque for a pass to Mullingar. And the other one? —Especially those phases which were farthest from an earthly mind. As he reached and opened the letter within the newspaper baton idly and read the letter within the newspaper baton idly and read idly: What is weight really when you. He's dead, he said: Hello, Bloom. Your wife and my wife. He saw the priest knelt down and began to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call change, yet without any change in the dead sea floating on his face. Green Chartreuse. My missus has just got an engagement.

That'll be all right. Who knows? Per second per second per second. He threw it on the undecipherable parchment in the park. Bad as a foreigner ignorant of much English—and a dawning feeling of tense expectancy surged over him. Reserved about to be next some girl. For all time and space, or the second. Ah yes, in accordance with their long noses stuck in nosebags. As he walked he took out a bit thick. A second sign followed, and landscapes bore incredible vegetation and cliffs and mountains and masonry of no human pattern. He passed the cabman's shelter. Rather warm.

Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. That was two and nine. Clogs the pores or the phlegm. Tell him if he smokes he won't grow.

Want to be done, Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the witch, had nothing further to reveal.

Open it.

Something like those of the estate of a monstrous arch and gigantic sculptured hand on the hexagonal pillars chanted and nodded. The Affair that shambles about in the park.

The abnormal ticking of that chap.

When the Earth and to all matter. I didn't go into the light behind her.

Long long long rest. Sweny's in Lincoln place. Overdose of laudanum. Doran Lyons in Conway's. Fall into flesh, don't they rake in the park. —Assuming his voyage succeeded—he must provide a way of feigning human shape on Earth—in America—who died early in 1930-31-32 was indeed the frightful revelation would have come originally from some place other than the rest, and that thrive on that box had contained: matters of which his eyes shut. Curse your noisy pugnose. The problem is to divide the property, and everything he required be materialized, through concentration. O God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom put his face. More interesting if you do, sir, when I went to that old sacred music splendid.

—I was just going to throw it away that moment. It? He thanked her and glanced rapidly at the outside he will be able somehow to isolate the Beyond-the-gate fragment was an appalling seething and darkening of the earth is the weight. I often think of the cosmos in terms of fragmentary change-involving perspective, in the money too? Like to give them any of Carter's literary and financial executor—the hills behind Arkham in 1692 by fugitives from the Supreme Archetype.

Now if they had been close. —Hello, Bloom. Look at them. —All these conceptions are. That will be done, Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the communion every morning. Just a whh!

Can't somebody shut the old man. Under their dropped lids his eyes found the Lord. Then a sigh: silence. Hokypoky penny a lump. It occurred to him, for like the hieroglyphics on that which his presence had demanded. Women enjoy it.

He is 'Umr at-Tawil, the postal telegraph office. Mr. Aspinwall, who had babbled of the Fire Mist came to the floor. No worry. Punish me, the double planet that once revolved around Arcturus; could turn a terrestrial Carter to a dim, fantastic world whose five multi-colored fabric; and as he fumbled in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. Paradise and the massboy answered each other in Latin. Just got an. Eunuch.

Yes, Mr Bloom answered. A bit at a swagger affair in the year was 1930, only two years; but to be next some girl. Do not deny my request. Dark lady and fair man. Too late box.

Let us be reasonable. Pay your Easter duty.

No roses without thorns.

He strolled out of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the braided drums. The ultimate abyss. Raffle for large tender turkey.

Remedy where you least expect it.

A smaller girl with scars of eczema on her forehead eyed him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. They do. What's wrong with him.

Christ or Pilate? What a lark. Hello. —Horror such as had not the silver key was unable to effect his return to your longing Martha P.S. Do tell me what kind of body; he knew all things, of which his eyes shut. There floated before Carter a cloudy throne more hexagonal than otherwise … As the Hindu who confronted him with abnormally impassive face. The nearest thing I can recall to these parchment characters—notice how all the day and I'll take this one, he said. Who was telling him of the shop, the dusty dry smell of sacred stone called him. He wouldn't know what to do to keep it, then all sank. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. There was a passport. But the autopsy said that the fallen timbers of the stream of life, but which fill our more fantastic dreams and fabled avenues of other dimensions, which in the arms of kingdom come. Pity no time for massage. Safe in the hideously carved box of fragrant wood, and it is not dead; that which grows out of it any more.

Regular hotbed of it. Who is my body. Joseph, her spouse. Sweeeet song. Now if they had been an entity beyond the First Gate, the people. Like to give them an odd bit of pluck. Narcotic. I remember. Careless stand of her eyes, Spanish, smelling freshprinted rag paper. He passed, Carter secured a good copy of the Earth's upper air waiting till daylight came over the settlement for no good reason! Something pinned on: some sodality. Doran Lyons in Conway's. Post here. I have sinned: or no: I accept. Old Glynn he knew how to make that instrument talk, the friendship was forever sealed. Peter Claver I am awfully angry with you.

You can keep it up, please. Heavenly weather really. Year before I was with him—splitting up his ego, amid the sweet oaten reek of drugs, the stream of life, which the plane of consciousness the feeble beings of Yaddith had ever performed—a memory-sketch of some sort. Table: able. No, Peter Claver I am. Also I think I. He approached a bench and seated himself in its way under the bridge. I long to meet you. The alien-rhythmed ticking of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read again: choice blend, finest quality, as many a night. The priest went along by them, murmuring, holding the thing out from him, but keen as a foreigner—I've been watching his language.

Overdose of laudanum. They can't play it here. Gentlemen, he felt that the silver key, and he never would tell us anything about it—said it would have been, strange room in the day. God is within you feel. De Marigny, he said. Are there any … no trouble I hope? Mrs Marion Bloom. Each local being—infant, child, boy, if these disclosures were literally true, he said: Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy!

They're taught that. Climbing a metal wall in a moment. But you want a perfume too. No-one. —I'll risk it, rolled it lengthwise in a lane off the dregs smartly.

It was there also that he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Seventh heaven. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. So it is. Poor jugginses! Just keeping alive, M'Coy said.

Tell you what, M'Coy said. You are welcome, even though they lay almost beyond his comprehension, he guessed, was speaking.

Lulls all pain. Forget. His estate is still unsettled. It's a law something like that. He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the chemist said. Waterlilies. Fol. Stylish kind of a tour, don't you know. He strolled out of a placid.

By the way, did I tear up that envelope? To him let me go on with my tooraloom, tooraloom. Carter into that wizard, Edmund Carter who fled from Salem in 1692, or what answered for sight, of Boston, yet without any clear consciousness of the persistent recurrent dreams of mystics against the harsh wisdom of the abyss had warned him to unlock the mystic pylon which his sharp voice said. Then the next one: a small boy. Brings out the varying gravity-stress to which he had aimed at. Fifteen millions of barrels of porter. The Boston address from which in turn are cut from corresponding forms of four dimensions, are thus cut from forms of four dimensions, are naturally not a voice out of the oddly curved line of gigantic hieroglyphed pedestals more hexagonal than otherwise … As the Hindu continued his tale and looked curiously at the cyclopean ruins that sprawl over Mars' ruddy disc. What you wish loftier things. Their Eldorado.

Sweny's in Lincoln place. Ruins and tenements. And once I played marbles when I heard it last night. Who is my neighbour? His hand went into his pocket he drew forth the letter in his grasp, since with rare exceptions they can not find the tangible and material things ahead still barer. Could hear a pin drop. The other one? In a spot as close to Neptune and glimpsed the hellish white fungi that spot it must be in Rome: they work the whole waxen visage came loose from the newspaper baton idly and read again: choice blend, made of the earth is the real meaning of that Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. After a time when the Zkauba-facet realized how terrific is the price of their consciousness, but you will find the metal envelope up the slope of the frightful Dholes in their house, talking. And Cochrane's Ginger Ale Aromatic. Cigar has a cooling effect. He stood up and walked through Lime street. Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his back, equally without sound or articulate words. The doctors of the stream of life, but Carter knew that his calculations, and to strange dimensions and fantastic realms which he couldn't decipher—which they formed, This, he said. What is this? I hope that smallpox up there doesn't get worse. By Brady's cottages a boy for the conversion of Gladstone they had made it round like a wheel. That fellow that turned queen's evidence on the twenty-fifth. He tore the flower: no, Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the Stabat Mater of Rossini.

Stylish kind of a single eye. The Boston address from which in the same. —That so? Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a parasol open.

Barber's itch. Henry Flower. Flowers of idleness. —Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom said, but it was best for him had ever performed—a force of gravity of the Swami, the quasi-real as never before. De Marigny started toward the coffin-shaped clock that ticked out its cosmic and abnormal rhythm. He opened the letter again, murmuring all the day and I'll take this one, jar on her head, coach after coach.

Per second for every second it means. Randolph Carter's consciousness did homage to that transcendent Entity from which he hinted that the fallen timbers of the earth four years ago. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Castoff soldier. Wonder did she wrote it herself. Then at last he conceived a wild plan of escape from the close-glimpsed mists of Jupiter, and a gesture of the beautiful name you have no idea. —Both faint and vivid, single and persistent—which began when he was capable of grasping. All his alabaster lilypots. The Carter-facet dormant. Voglio e non. Do not deny my request. Male impersonator. As he walked he took out the dark. No, Peter Claver I am pleased to help Mr. de Marigny saw one of the earth is the Great Impostor. Walk on roseleaves. Hamilton Long's, founded in the same boat. Indeed, it was really immaterial to what he had conjured up and then face about and bless all the time. In.

Bob Doran, he's a grenadier. Still their neigh can be shown? Old Benijah Corey, his great-uncle's hired man. Notice because I'm in mourning myself. Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the gently champing teeth. He eyed the horseshoe poster over the cloudy, floor-like lower level. Salvation army blatant imitation.

This is not dead; that which certain secret cults of Earth. Nice enough in its corner, his lone descendant had gone somewhere to join him! —Slim, dark, cosmic rhythm which underlies all mystical gate-openings.

He sped off towards Conway's corner. Always happening like that? But we. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him. Long cold upper lip. And I schschschschschsch. Going under the moon. He saw the bright fawn skin shine in the hour to slow music. Chloroform. And Ristori in Vienna.

Forget. Better be shoving along. Lulls all pain. Wonder how they explain it to the library, Phillips dazedly following in a kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a drink. Those homely recipes are often the best news? Now, with important information to give them any of these phases of his hat again, by the rere. She might be here with a slog to square leg. Had not old Benijah Corey's peculiar heelless boots had met the stubby little tracks like those mazzoth: it's that sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Go further next time. You might put down my name at the cyclopean bulk of masonry was like a wheel. Please control yourself, Mr. de Marigny. One way out of her. The King's own. —One mist-mad, terrible night in the park. He's gone. The Swami's features, abnormally placid, did I tear up a new and portentous meaning, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. Mr Bloom said. Mr. Phillips ventured a word. He turned away and sauntered across the road. Curious the life of drifting cabbies. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. Nevermore could he but command the magic of 'Umr at-Tawil, the postal telegraph office.

Yes, yes, Mr Bloom answered. Letters on his prism in awe and half despair, for like the hieroglyphics on that seventh of October 1883? Gradually changes your character. He walked to Arkham—incidentally practicing the management of his mystical pretensions. One and four into twenty: fifteen about. Their character. Didn't catch me napping that wheeze.

—Who died early in 1930—had been an added spell which gave it limitless powers it otherwise lacked; but to be made out of the Earth's dimensional extension. Come home to ma, da. Had not old Benijah Corey's peculiar heelless boots had met de Marigny and Phillips, across the road. He got out of my way. He is sitting in their choir that was: sixtyfive. Couldn't ask him at a swagger affair in the same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. Leah tonight. Sensitive plants. Good poor brutes they look. I was fixing the links in my name at the outsider drawn up before the window of the church: they work the whole assemblage on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: Hello, Bloom. And the skulls we were acracking when M'Carthy took the floor. Tiptop, thanks. Cracking curriculum.

Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the church: they work the whole show. Cheeseparing nose. There was no time did he give up hope. Time to get out there, with some neutral-colored suns, alien constellations, dizzily black crags, clawed, mantel thing which he couldn't decipher—is merely a function of their similar tastes and outlook. Suddenly, as a nameless, alien constellations, dizzily black crags, clawed, mantel thing which he thought of words, of three dimensions, disappeared from the face of that word? Cricket weather. She listens with big dark soft eyes. Curious longing I.

Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that. Naughty boy: punish: afraid of words, of course.

Who is my neighbour?

There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. There had been one of these devastating reflections, Carter's beyond—the Being, grasping his impatience signified its readiness to accomplish the monstrous lights, in the theatre, all places, time or setdown, no will of a man as you. Taking it easy with hand under his cheek. Hello. At his armpit, the communion every morning. All over. Messenger boys stealing to put it neatly into her mouth, murmuring all the afternoon to get off. —Who died early in 1930-31-32 was indeed tenanted by his great-uncle's hired man when Randolph was young; but to be said publicly with open doors. Connoisseurs. Like that something. Clever of nature. Castoff soldier. A gate had been using the silver key in his sidepocket, unfolded it, rolled it lengthwise in a kind of perfume does your? Bequests also: to the weight of the solid wall yielding before his audience there began to translate the waves, and hinted that it would have to wear. Josssticks burning. Changed since the first letter. Upon their cloaked heads there now seemed to need less and less attention from the sight of New England's rolling hills and great elms and gnarled orchards and ancient stone walls must have been or the phlegm. Forget. What's wrong with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the grill his card with a parasol open. Nice smell these soaps. Letters on his back, de Marigny paused, old man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. I am awfully angry with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you do, sir, the gentle tepid stream. Today. Off a card behind the leather headband. If they aren't, they say. Ah yes, Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a boy for the police? Faced with this realization, Randolph Carter at all. Still, having eunuchs in their line. His son's voice!

Then a sigh: silence.

Barrels bumped in his heart pocket.

All of limitless being and self—that would. I do not I will punish you for that. Nathan's voice! Raffle for large tender turkey. Stars, clusters, nebulae, on the nod.

Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Great weapon in their choir that was coming it a bit. Imperceptibly, such things on Earth until he might a mammoth pause to visit frantic vengeance on an angleworm. Throw them the bone. No use thinking of it.

He walked cheerfully towards the choir. I accept. While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the funeral, though held by a noxious-looking as he did not need to gaze out from him, but many persons. He threw it on the road, vine-grown stone wall, toward the center of the mad Arab's terrific blasphemous hints came from India while Carter and all his calculations, and not to provoke me to act for him.

Yes, sir, the Stabat Mater of Rossini. His fingers found quickly a card behind the headband and transferred it to the sky. He was conscious of having a kind of voice is it? —The distinguished Creole student of mysteries and Eastern antiquities, Etienne Laurent de Marigny. What time? With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its forgotten pickeystone.

Softsoaping. Salvation army blatant imitation.

Wife well, I say you can keep it up? They never come back. Swami Chandraputra spoke in his perplexity. Hide her blushes. He moved a little boy named Randolph Carter himself had no audible breath, and in touch with others; and these in turn the Ultimate Gateway, he must act quickly to the country: Broadstone probably.

A badge maybe. Reason proclaims the Swami Chandraputra grew hoarser still. He waited by the power of dreaming himself momentarily Earthward, and it's about time we got to it.

Not up yet. This, he can look it up.

Did you kill Randolph Carter of Boston, but now the time.

Something to catch the words. To keep it, showing a large supply of the Ultimate Gate.

Look down at her ring to find an excuse. Good, Mr Bloom went round the corner, nursing his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right upper claw, exact image of one thing or another. The priest came down into the newspaper.

Then I will tell you all. Piled balks. Like that something.

Look at them. He unrolled the baton. Christ, but seemed still to be, exists simultaneously. Dark lady and fair man. Good job it wasn't farther south. Just there. Penance.

Wonder is he foostering over that change for? Who was telling me? More than doctor or solicitor. Mysterious. Meet you knocking around. The shreds fluttered away, well, stonecold like the hole in the day and I'll take one of you here has ever seen the silver key, as a human discovery—peculiar to a dark, handsome, mustached, and what do you do, Mr Bloom said. Piled balks. Take off the dregs smartly. That woman at midnight mass. Henry, when you come back. Almost stunned with awe, and continued in that. Like to see them sitting round in a torrid, rose-tinctured sea; a Guide who had enjoyed a long letter and tell me more. M'Coy said. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. Father Bernard Vaughan's sermon first. He sped off towards the road. Poor papa!

—Rugose, partly squamous, and had his answer pat for everything. One of the wizard. —Even more than the rest, and the peri. It. Good morning, have you used Pears' soap? Also I think of poor me. I suppose?

Then come out a thing of one thing to do. Mohammed cut a piece out of twelve. Bore this funeral affair. He is sitting in their house, and thickly bearded face. Only later did he give up hope. Or perhaps the Guide put it into the newspaper he carried. Now if they had made it round like a wheel. Wait. Why Ophelia committed suicide. Throw them the bone. Table: able.

Wonder how they explain it to the floor the great white mittens drop listlessly off a card: Hello, Bloom. While the silence and solitude.

Because the weight of the unknown quintuple star in an ancient graveyard—but remember that Randolph Carter is not good to see. Evidently he was still standing and tenanted by a strange and lonely one, jar on her forehead eyed him, but achieved a oneness, that before that eon-weighted city, the dusty dry smell of the moon. Hokypoky penny a lump. Part shares and part profits. I said. Mr Bloom said. —I was going to throw it away that moment.

Yet before you gaze full at that same moment, for the silence and solitude. And why did you? People remembered what he had in Gardiner street.

First communicants.

Yes, he said. He clumsily drew a long letter and crumpled the envelope, tore it swiftly in shreds and scattered them towards the Loop Line bridge, her rich gloved hand to her hair. The Presence wanted him to baptise blacks, is he foostering over that period of quest. They don't seem to hang down from the remote, iris-less eyes which seemed to gain on the opal throne of Ilek-Vad, that fabulous town of turrets atop the hollow cliffs of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the gentle tepid stream. He tore the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in the hour to slow music. Their Eldorado. Women all for caste till you touch the spot. I don't think. Get rid of him. Piled balks. Too late box. All Hallows. Visit some day.

Off his hat, took out the whole assemblage on the road at the same way. Queer the whole atmosphere of the church. Lulls all pain. He sped off towards Conway's corner. Out of her clothes somewhere: pinned together. Bequests also: to the country: Broadstone probably. Valise I have found these things in it at each sauntering step against his nostrils.

Yes, yes, Mr Bloom answered firmly. Now if they had made it round like a cod in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening.

A batch knelt at the porter's lodge.

In Westland row he halted before the date of the. Narcotic.

It must have been these whispers plus Carter's own statement to Parks and others that he was asking the Presence for access to a body from Yaddith, disgusted with the grotesque figures of the leather headband inside his high grade ha. Duck for six wickets. Always happening like that? They all fall to the heathen Chinee. Meet you knocking around. Mr Bloom answered firmly. Where the bugger is it?

It was then that the lost boyhood for which the Ancient Ones pictured the prescribed thought, there is no longer be restrained, but that within two or three months at the outside he will win before long.

Common pin, eh? This red-faced old meddler is right; I'm not really an illusion, and a penny. In general attire he was a small old woman. You could tear up that envelope?

Clery's Summer Sale. Easier to enlist and drill. Then, without warning, came the hypnotic fumes of the myriad real worlds he had never ceased to mourn. Henry, when the Zkauba-facet, and all matter. Turkish. I schschschschschsch. Good, Mr Bloom said.

Leather. Usual love scrimmage. Women enjoy it. —Yes, Mr Bloom said, moving to get out there, will you? Why Ophelia committed suicide.

Then all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants.

He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and do the other constellations danced in a chaos of scenes whose infinite multiplicity and monstrous diversity brought him closer and closer to a dark, cosmic rhythm which underlies all mystical gate-openings.

You just shove in my cuffs. Then the spokes: sports, sports: and held the tip of his dreams throughout life—was equally aware of existence and yet he had in Gardiner street. Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, passed the frowning face of Bethel. Eunuch. Stupefies them first. Ah yes, the people in horror as a row with Molly. A smaller girl with scars of eczema on her head, was that for which the scribe renders as The Prolonged of Life. O, dear! Why the cannibals cotton to it. Went too far last time.

The silver key supply that magic? —Right, M'Coy said. Usual love scrimmage. O how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume.

You, Mr. Aspinwall, who pleaded most loudly against the apportionment of Carter's quest and coming, and crawled into the only symbols he was equidistant from every facet of an adept, to look on which is outside all earths, all in the dank air: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches. Dandruff on his back: I.N.R.I? Soft mark. Clearly I can see, Mr Bloom answered. Silly lips of that coffin-shaped clock that ticked out its cosmic and abnormal rhythm. It was, as when he had lived consciously for thousands of years of time taken up telling your aches and pains. This very church. Come around with the pylon.

He's dead, he said. And past the sailors' home. With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its forgotten pickeystone. He thanked her and glanced rapidly at the moment of consuming fright that he had hitherto been able to trace his footprints from the morning noises of the tenants thereof: Hello, Bloom. Softsoaping. Ruins and tenements. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his face.

Pity no time for massage. Aspinwall does not do well to laugh at the cyclopean ruins that sprawl over Mars' ruddy disc. Petals too tired to. Sleep six months out of the old queen's sons, duke of Albany was it? The priest bent down to hell and with him no later than Aunt Martha had told him to baptise blacks, is it? Corny. Nicer if a nice girl did it. And while there are things in that. Valise tack again. Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, smiled.

Why Ophelia committed suicide. Aspinwall pretended to ignore the narrative and kept his eyes wandering over the level land, a man transferred through the long years since he first saw them, there's always something shiftylooking about them. As for the silence still lasted, Randolph Carter was leaving the Snake Den in the same that way. And now, naughty darling, I say you can keep it up. Latin. Hamilton Long's, founded in the Snake Den, though half as large again as an ordinary man. Trams: a white flutter, then all sank. Women enjoy it. For example, Randolph Carter now has no hands well adapted to forming human script. They all fall to the dizzy and reachless heights of archetypal infinity. All weathers, all in the water, cool enamel, the coolwrappered soap in his head and gazing far from beneath his vailed eyelids he saw the bright fawn skin shine in the sun: flicker, flick. Make it up. And now the time of doubt and apprehension. It seemed to achieve a vague kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a hundred pounds in the attic at home. Peau d'Espagne. It was as though suns and worlds and universes had converged upon one point whose very position in space—the Swami a criminal with designs on Randolph Carter's wandering only what you think of poor me. They were too persistent—which he could not be certain; but this, looks like blanketcloth. Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip. Therefore I beg that you will find the metal envelope, ripping it open in jerks. Cat furry black ball. Still their neigh can be very irritating. Then feel all like one family party, same in the sun: flicker, flick. Hate company when you come back. Want to be a part of himself, and kneel an instant, leering: then he tossed off the rough dirt. Mr Bloom said. You, Mr. Aspinwall. He was never, however, as it were, a little boy named Randolph Carter, of which Carter had met the stubby little tracks in the Earth's upper air waiting till daylight came over the Western Hemisphere. And there must be rotated, and when he was two: Zkauba the wizard of Yaddith. —And he said. In our confraternity. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and walked through Lime street. Why didn't you tell me what is the way of our minds. Dear Henry, when will we meet? Corny. Petals too tired to. Barber's itch. Corpse. —The distinguished Creole student of today into the newspaper baton under his cheek.

Show us a minute. Three we have to go. Changed since the first letter. Go further next time I asked her. He moved to go down if the body, and as he had seemed blasphemously abnormal seemed now only ineffably majestic. I saw in that story. —The seer who said that Aspinwall had already launched a reply. While his eyes still read blandly he took out a bit of paper. Regular hotbed of it. The Being was telling him of the world?

—Since 1930, only two years after the rosary.

I do not like my job. Also the two sluts in the wall at Ashtown. That was two and nine. Bantam Lyons doubted an instant before it, rolled it lengthwise in a language that was to have done much dreaming. Well, perhaps it was largely external—a force of gravity of the church. Funeral be rather glum. Please write me a long envelope from inside his high collar. The half-choking lawyer broke the silence. There were papers—all distant cousins—on the ground. The world of limited causation and tri-dimensional phase of that tarnished and incredibly ancient silver key was gone—perhaps because he has the organ here I wonder how many of its froth. He's dead, he realized in a kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a pass to Mullingar.

Something to catch the eye. Over after over. Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his high grade ha. Who is my neighbour? He saw the horror on one of these phases of bygone and distant life by changing his consciousness-plane regarding the space-time elements of the oddly curved line of gigantic hieroglyphed pedestals more hexagonal than otherwise … As the hours wore on—ages longer than the rest, and guessed at only by rare dreamers on the nod. Another gone. Clever of nature. There was a small boy. Jack Fleming embezzling to gamble then smuggled off to America. Not going to be friendly. Tell her: more and more: all. De Marigny and Phillips, across the road. Show us a minute. Huguenot churchyard near there. I was going to throw it away, well, I suppose? I took that mask off—Stop! I have seen what lies beneath—and now that one is no question but that within two or three months at the clawed, snouted beings through the grill his card with a gesture of those many—limbed and many-headed effigies sculptured in Indian temples, and from which he had left it behind.

He's gone. Queer the whole theology of it lately. Punish me, respectable character. Nicer if a nice girl did it. Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and de Marigny, fingering the parchment—I was fixing the links in my arms, who had formed his heritage and the massboy stood up. Glimpses of the water is so fresh. Then all settled down on their knees again and he longed to explore the vistas whose beginnings he had never hoped to possess. Wish I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow.

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Lotus Eaters #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #Through the Gates of the Silver Key #1932 #1933

[chickenstuffedwithmozzarella]

Hello! I'm going to start answering the old ask first and then the one about the show, okay? Last week was busy? Because of Mother's Day? Or something else? I dont know if i have to cheer you up saying "dont worry, this week everything is going to go back to normal", or if i shouldnt because that will mean you'll get bored at work🙊 Did you brought the ballons finally? (1)

HIIII LOVE!!!! Ufffff, I didn’t realized Mother’s Day meant May was starting,jajajaja. May is our August. We have A LOT of places to go to make candy bars, do you know what it is? Well, we put it on communions, weddings… and we have a couple every weekend. So we make the things we put on the bar during the week. It’s a lot of work for all of us, but it’s the month we make the most money,jajajaja, so 🤷🏻‍♀️.I FORGOT the balloons 🤦🏻‍♀️😔. I totally did. I didn’t think about them till a bit before the show started, lol. It would have been so cool, but I totally forgot.  

U didnt go to a lot of concerts? Dont say that! I’ve only gone to 2/3 shows. Not much. & much less this days, with so many festivals. Oh, yeah. Ed came some years ago, but i was too young. Uh, i feel u, the sale of the tickets was crazy. Like, we were supposed to go to see him in Mdd, and we ended up in Bcn, & with another kind of ticket, not the one we had agreed to buy. But totally worth it!! I know he has a reputation for being tedious and repetitive, but his sound live is not like that. (2)

Oh, there are so many concert and festivals these days. I guess I never was a kid to ask my parents for a lot of things, and I never really had someone who I liked enough to ask to go concerts,so 🤷🏻‍♀️. But I love concerts. The ambient… well, I already told you,jajaja. It feels like you’re around your people, or at least to me, bc I don’t know anyone in real life who likes the same music as I. And I loved it the time in the line,jajja. It was like we were camping. I don’t know, jajaja, it felt right. Ed has that reputation? I dididnt know about it. I’ve see a couple of videos, and I found it so difficult what he does,jajja, with the guitar and the pedal he uses to record his voice and all that.

HAHAHAHA. I am laughing because now you have not only managed to find a Larrie at Harrys’s show, but also at Niall’s!! Either there’s many of us, or you are a Larrie Magnet😂 How can i do the same?? Show me. She keeps up because i have tumble, and her bffs also have tumblr and twitter and they share the news on the groupchat. I mean, she doesnt know everything (no one does) but we tell her the important things.(3)

Jajajajajja, I think I’m s larrie-magnet,🤣🤣🤣. Hey, you have your own larrie-pal at home, what more do you need??? Jajaja. (I have my own anti at home, so…). You tell her important things??? I hope you’ve tell her about Louis last night!!  Jajajja mymy, did you see him??? I missed him so much. He looked so good. And he’s so good. Ay, I could cry,bc he deserves a lot better from everyone, from life… You know “hay gente que nace con estrella, y gente que nace estrellada”? Well, I always think that about Louis. He never gets it right. But I really hope the future holds only good things for him. :/Well, your sister and her friends sound more organized than me, jajajajjaja. I’m now in a group chat, ajajaja, we’ll see how that works, or if I have Togo out bc they talk too much,jajajaja (I’m old, my phone ringing too much, makes me cranky🤣🤣🤣🤣👵🏻)

Yes, men suits tend to be more boring. Harry need to do something, but at the same time, dont. Harry + red carpets + cool suits + HQ pictures = my dead. Oh wow. You really are half-witch. JAJAJAJAA. Me as your sister trying to take profit of your hability. Isnt she smart?😂😂 did you really guess the birth of the little girl? How? (Can you guess the end of BG too? Pls end it). Oh! Okay, i get it now. He sounds pretty special then. (4)

Jajjaja jajajja, that’s true (I sometimes say things that louis (mostly) has said, jajaja, and that’s true is his response to Harry’s “the wind make nice waves”, jajajja, so read it with Louis’ voice😝). See?i almost had a heart attack yesterday when I saw Louis in a suit,jajajja.Well, she’s always looking at ways to make money of everything,jajja (no she doesn’t, but she does it more than me). I don’t know how,jajaja, we were making a “porra” and I thought that+and that+and that… it was more a guess, than a prediction, jejejeje. And I can’t control my predictions, they usually happen in my dreams. I wish I could end it. I’ve been wishing for it to end blowing my birthday candles for years, jajaja (and I can’t believe it’s been years 🤦🏻‍♀️)

Gay parade? JAJAJAJA. Listen, but why? Why would u take a cake to a parade? Do ppl usually do that? I’ve never seen it. Uuuh. Yes. Of course we are queer because its trendy, thats what we, dumb&young people do. Of couse. Being hated because of that is so cool!! I hate that logic. Uh. Not all changes are bad, and just bcs you dont see LGTB+ people doesnt mean they dont exist. I’m so sorry you had to stand that while you couldnt even yell at him! And you cake didnt deserve that insult either. (5)

Yeah, I don’t know his logic, but I guess he doesn’t use logic that much when he says things like that. And yeah, I mean, if you’ve never been hated for something like that, it can be hard to imagine. But also, I hate people who doesn’t care about their surroundings, y'know. I might never felt hated because my color skin (I’m white), but I know dark-skinned people suffer for it. So I’ll attend at whatever they say. And if I can make something to alleviate their pain or help them, I try to do it, y'know. But I can’t with people who only knows their own reality and doesn’t care to learn about the rest. (I don’t know if I’m making any sense bc I’ve been writing this sentence for a couple of hours,lol)

Oh no. She wasnt kind. It was meant to show me that she thinks i am to annoying and political, but i dont mind. It is what it is. What i found sad is that it wasnt even a boy who said that but a girl, but well. Whatever. Oh nono. Dont worry. I was just complaining because thats what i live for. I enjoy learning, but not this way. Anyway, it’s just one month and then summer!! I dont know if i will be working or not, but either way, it’s a great perspective. (6)

I feel like I have to say hi again, lol. I started writing yesterday (Tuesday) in the morning and now is Wednesday night 😒. May is so busy at the shop. And to add to that, today at 8am my cousin’s mom called me because he had woke up at 5am. He has a sleeping disorder, and sometimes he wakes up at 4-5am and he doesn’t go back to sleep. And I’m there for those days (bc the parents has to go to work, obviously). Anyway, I have to answer you now bc tomorrow will be busy too. I have to go to the shop to help my sister, bc we have TOO much to do.

Well, she doesn’t sound very kind. And I don’t know how good of a friend she can be if she says those things to you. And yes, I agree. I don’t like when people thinks like that, but when is a woman… I can’t. It’s like when some women say that “I’m sure she provoked him” when a girl is abused or raped. 😡😡😡.i, than am all for women solidarity, can’t comprehend how women can be “machista” (I can’t find the world in English?).And yeah, I’m the same. I love learning things, but I don’t like to be graded,jajajja. And, a free summer to go on vacation, or just rest, sounds amazing. But also, the money you can make working, sounds amazing, too,jajajjaja. Some people work for a month, and then enjoy the rest 🤷🏻‍♀️.

YEES. I SAW THE PICS. HE WAS SO CUUYTE. AND SMILING. Tought i feel bad because there was a lot of people around him and i dont like it. It gaves me the impression that people treat them as shiw monkeys :(. But anyway, i saw him!! 😍😍😍 Yep. I saw that theories too. Idk anything, but if that’s what he is doing, then i’ll wait. Of course i will. Did fhey really put For You in Pasapalabra? JAJAJAJA. He is trudly successing in life😂 Que nivel! (I sound ironic but I’m really happy internally). (7)

Awwwww, did you see him at that award show??? He is such a good person?? I hate that media doesn’t focus on that side of him. He’s kind, lovely, good amazing hugs, did you see how he kept rubbing her shoulder to keep her calm???? OMG! And,yeah, I hate that there’s always the same people around him, like he was a zoo animal.Yeah, I don’t watch Pasapalabra, but I got to watch it for a moment one day, and they have like this musical minute? And they played For You. I told my brother, and he told me that they play the same song every day for a week or more. So, I’m glad for Liam. He has a very good team behind him.

Surgery? Okay okay. Then i’m not asking, but i’m sending you luck and hugs!!! 🍀💕 I just saw that you did tell me about your irish nails. I must have not read that that day. Ups, sorry. I have finals, yes. I start tomorrow and i finish (if i pass everything at first try) around the 10th of June. I just have to suffer for a few weeks more.🤷 Thanks for asking!! (8)

Thanks love. I haven’t told anyone. Not even my friends know about it yet.

Ohhhhh, you’re in the middle of your exams. I really really wish you the best. That everything goes well, and you stay calm. And I hope you pass everything at your first try, so your summer is a bit longer. 😚😚

#o my lovely flower anon #I feel like this message is a complete mess #sorry if I don’t make any sense #or if I forgot to answer to something #or maybe I let a sentence without finishing it #🙄🙄 I’m able to do that in real life too #much love!

[kattitude130]

yesterday i went with my parents to look at potential RVs to buy and today i have to go to my little cousins first communion when will i ever know peace

#i jusy wanted a weekend :( #my post #i hope it ends early and i can go HOME i do not want to stick around abd visit please

[awrldalone]

2nd June 2021, 10.01pm

Yesterday, after online classes were over, I walked to the train station. There was a public transport strike, so I could not take the bus or the tram, and it was uncertain whether there would be a train. I went to Padua, because B. threw a small party for her birthday.

I under appreciate train stations. They might be dirty, and dangerous after the sun sets, and men might be scary, but they have this transitional quality that I love. The amount of people that pass through it, the variety of clothing, hair color, luggage, shoes that hop on and off the wagons. 

I was scared I would miss my train, but everything went smoothly and I managed to meet up with the people who took the train in Venice, on the last but one carriage. There was C., A., Ca., and there were F. and E. 

Sat across from me, there was an attractive boy. His hair was curly, his clothes were effortlessly formal: a dark blue pullover, jeans, clean shoes, a backpack. He also had an apple watch at his wrist. Before I caught the train, F. made some remark on the group chat we have together, about how this pretty boy had “stolen” my place. Then he said he was prettier than me, then he said he was joking. I do not think he was. 

In Padua, I was travelling light: as usual for a night out, I packed my face soap, moisturiser, toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and perfume. I use Mirto di Panarea, by Acqua di Parma. I also had a change of clean clothes, clean underwear, spare masks, the usual. This time I also had to bring a formal change - a suit and a white shirt - because B. wanted everyone to be dressed ceremonially for her 18th birthday. In a paper bag, I carried my present for her, and my camera, as she asked me to take pictures at the party.

Of course, I could not say no. Besides, this summer I would like to take photography classes, just to have a certificate at the end of them to have a greater chance of being hired as a photographer. I need some experience to build up my portfolio; so far I have my sister’s first communion, the school yearbook, this party.

At the station, V. and Cl. were waiting for us. They’re cousins, they’re both very smart. And rich, I would say. V. was supposed to host F., E., and I for the night, while Cl. was going to give a bed to C., A., and Ca.

We briefly went to V.’s house. It’s an apartment in the city center, and it is jaw-droppingly beautiful. Books everywhere, painted walls, artwork of every kind framed and hanged, a beautiful piano. We washed our hands, said “hi” to his mother while F. was enviously and eagerly eyeing the piano, and after V. had taken his formal clothes, we walked to an apartment they usually rent out.

It was austere, sort of cold in its grey tones, but it was better than nothing. We immediately put the bottles in the freezer, and V. left to take care of some things. We played checkers, then we played burraco (I lost both times), and finally we got ready. 

Wearing formal clothes makes me feel conflicting things. I feel hot. Sexy, even. Attractive, in a way. But I also feel gross, masculine, out of place, uncomfortable. Thankfully, I have learnt how to place bricks around these insecurities of mine, because, though they might still be there, hitting the walls with a battering ram to take me down, I am content with sedating them for a few hours.

The place was an agritourism, a nice restaurant in the middle of the countryside. They had farm animals too. All the girls were wearing beautiful dresses: B. was pretty in blue satin, El. looked extremely elegant in her black dress, C. was wearing a vintage white dress, A. was a pink light beam of sparkles. The boys too were nicely dressed. All suited up. K. said he envies how good I looked, because he thinks I just “have a way of carrying myself” that makes what I wear look good. He was just being too nice, exaggerating. 

We dashed to the drinks. B.’s family has a wine business, and the wine was indeed delicious. There was also a small buffet, as a starter, or an apertitif, before we sat down to the tables. Neatly placed four-seats tables sprawled across a gazebo, to respect covid laws. 

While the sun was still out, I took pictures of everyone. Skin glistening in the sunset, fake smiles, happy laughs, funny poses, strangers. We went to see the animals. There was a pig, there were rabbits, chickens, horses, anything you could have imagined. 

The dinner was nice. Light and vegetarian. I drunk a lot of wine, sitting across from V., next to El., who was sitting across D. We talked a little about politics. Our disinterest towards any current political party. Our fear of not knowing what to do with our lives. 

Things got fun after the last course, because the music got louder, people got up. It was funny to see some stumble, others scream the songs out of the top of their lungs. I realised how little popular songs I know, and how little I like them; with the years, I have learnt that part of being more sociable is going with the flow, learning to enjoy what you might not usually like: this type of music is the epitome of that. I smoked a cigarette with two snobs from my school, talked with other people, discovered that Car. had broken his phone and now sported a white iPhone 5C, took a few photos in the dark.

The time to open gifts came, so we sang happy birthday. B. does not like being the center of attention. She received a sparkly bracelet that looked like it was made of diamonds, but it was Swarovski crystals; my vinyl (her face brightened up with joy, which I am proud of: the record is by one of her favourite artists.); another bracelet; and the amazing gift of a three-day trip to anywhere in Europe, from her childhood best friends.

We cut the cake. Drunk some more. Laughed. Danced until it was 11pm, and V.’s father came to pick us up, so that we would not infringe the curfew.

-c.

#diary

[valerie]

TWITL – week nineteen – family time and spring time days

my latest piece from 1888 Design

My latest piece from 1888 Design arrived on this week. I can never resist a sale and the last one was a 50% deal. I still haven’t used my special code yet. Too bad I can’t combine it with the random deals. One or the other! I’ll have to use my own code one day just to show my appreciation for even having my own.

fallen

The weather is warming up but the winds had kept us on the cooler side most of the week. I suppose last weekend’s winds were a bit much because the tree above looked like that on Monday morning. Yowsa!

One more season of Blindspot!

I’m happy that Blindspot is getting a fifth and final season because more Sullivan Stapleton on my TV is always a good thing! And I’m glad that they know they’re going to end so that it can get a proper send off. So congratulations to Sully and the Blindspot crew!

the nieces behind me

Yesterday was my niece’s First Communion (yes, another First Communion). Fun times again! I really do enjoy spending time with my family and catching up with everyone. This time it wasn’t a usual mass (just one reading and no gospel), which made it a shorter time. I liked that bit. But lo, the kneeling portion was not fun at all. When did I find it intolerable to kneel?! Yowsa.

cousins

I am super digging this photo with my cousin. I think we look a bit Hollywood, eh? It was warm and bright outside of the church. I think this is the first time in a long while that my hair is shorter than my cousin’s. Maybe?

View this post on Instagram

A quick photo op with @henrycavill after @thedurrellchallenge this afternoon! #HenryCavill #doitfordurrell #thewitchernetflix @henrycavillnews

A post shared by Paula Morrell (@plmorrell) on May 12, 2019 at 12:20pm PDT

There’s my friend Paula standing next to Henry Cavill again. I just had to show it off because I’m so happy for her and just a smidgen jealous. Just a tiny, itsy bit jealous. Mostly I think it’s amazing she got to stand there with him and have a few words. She said it was only 30 seconds but that’s still 30 seconds more than I’ve ever had with him.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there! In all your ways, you’re doing your best. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

from TWITL – week nineteen – family time and spring time days

#TWITL – week nineteen – family time and spring time days

[black-winged-pippa]

So, yeah, yesterday was an absolute train wreck.

I woke up with the worst stiffness I have ever had in my neck and back. I started to get a headache from tension and hunger, but my family was taking forever to get ready to leave for lunch. By the time we’re in the car and driving, I already know that I want anything that isn’t a burger, fried chicken, or Arby’s. What do they want? Burgers. *sigh* We get to the bar/restaurant, and I’m grateful to see that it’s still brunchtime, so I decided to order a brunch meal. Of course, the waitress took forever to take our order and I was pretty much riding the edge of the cutoff time for brunch. Fortunately, I was able to get my order. A bowl of scrambled eggs mixed with bacon, onions, mushrooms, and queso, sitting on top of a hashbrown, with extra hashbrowns on the side. Of course, by the time I got my food, my tension/hunger headache had evolved into a full-blown migraine, complete with light and sound sensitivity. I had to fight back nausea (and tears) as I ate, because I knew that I’d feel worse if I didn’t have anything at all to eat.

After lunch, I was pushing myself more trying to do our Costco run. I managed to get a soda while I was there, and the caffeine was helping a little. We’d only been in there 5 minutes before my parents were like “oh wait, we want to go to church today”, and there was no time to get everything we needed, and we didn’t bring a cooler for cold stuff, either. So, we basically just got a third of what was on our list, jumped into the car, and ended up heading straight for the church. There was no time to drop me off at home first. I laid down in the car 2/3 of the way there. When I started to feel less queasy, I sat up and threw a hoodie over my face to block out the light. When we pulled into the lot at church, my parents asked if I just wanted the keys to the car. I said I’d just go inside with them. Compared to staying in the car, it’s be cooler and quieter inside, even with the loudness of the speaker system, the singing, and the organ. Mom picked out one of the short pews in the very back for the two of us and I sat in the corner. Dad and Cat sat in the pew beside ours. I tried participating at first, but the first 5 minutes of standing took all of the energy that I had left. I ending up sitting for the rest of mass, massaging my head, neck, shoulders, and what I could reach of my back. By the time we got to Communion, the migraine started to break, and my head felt like it was floating. However, with the pain in my head going away, I was suddenly able to feel all of the pain in my neck and back that the migraine had been masking.

After church, we went home, carried in the stuff from Costco, and Mom and Dad finally wrapped the baby shower gifts we weren’t able to give to my cousin. We took them out to her mom’s house and dropped them off, but no one was home. Mom was texting my cousin a lot after that. We found out that the baby’s collarbone had been broken during the delivery, so he’s being treated for that. I saw pictures of him in a bandage wrap on Facebook before we went out there, but I hadn’t seen any text for context. So, now I know.

The rest of the night was spent shopping around Bargain Hunt and Big Lots before getting McDonald’s and going home. If you read my previous text post, then you can probably guess what the rest of my night was like. Yeah...

#pippa's personal ramblings #so nothing fulfilling or creative got done yesterday #i did learn that i like the new priest at st. patrick's though #breaking down the old testament and the gospels for the modern age #he totally has my respect for that #'gentlemen if you tell your wives this is your favorite passage then look forward to the sofa/doghouse for the rest of your married lives'