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#which means he personally told soap his name is simon

blingblong55 · 7 months

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Walking in the wind-141

A/N: sorry but I'm a directioner at heart babes so the title was a must

GN!Reader, angst, some fluff, platonic!relationship, death of character

20 years later, 141 was officially retired, all married, happy families, peaceful sunny days and most importantly, no war, no guns, just peace.

A week ago you said to me "Do you believe I'll never be too far?" If you're lost, just look for me You'll find me in the region of the summer stars

Every month, no matter where either one of the people in the team was in the world, they would fly to a small home in town in the southern part of the U.S. And arrive between 6-7 in the afternoon, to talk and catch up because it's better to see the person than to text them. The stories shared between all, the wives/husbands, kids and how old they were getting. Unlike the rest, you moved to America, and wanted that movie-like life, in some small town, driving a truck, passing through quiet streets where all anyone worried about was the leaves that would fall in autumn. You and your partner opened a small pub.

The name for it was 'R/N's Place" This was after you finally get out of the toxic part of your life, the family and the ache it gave you when you were there. Not a normal name for a pub but the locals loved it. Your favourite part was that you received lots of veterans, they all told you about their time serving and you, like the proud friend you are displayed a picture of you and the team in your first and last mission together.

It was almost around the time the men arrived, Price being the first, followed by Gaz who flew in with him. Soap arrived late, his children wanted to talk to their father before bedtime and Ghost arrived last, getting a call from his partner to which he always answered, he always made it clear his partner was a priority now that he is retired. You waited by the table with the rest for Ghost, your wife/husband serving the clients. "And there he is, Simon." Price smiled a little, proud to see his family again. "Alright, who's first?" Gaz asked and drank from his pint.

"I'll go first," Ghost said, which was a definite first. "Go on, son." Price passed all a cigar. A tradition he started once his grown soldiers/children were all retired. "Me and my partner are expecting a son." A secret he kept until it was assured the baby would make it this time. "Congrats mate!" Soap hugged him, feeling proud of a man he considered his oldest brother. "That's very much well deserved, man." Gaz smiled and you stared in awe. Price looked down with a soft chuckle, wanting to dismiss the tears that formed in his eyes. His wallet would be getting a new picture of the newest addition to the family soon. --- "R/N, I won't make it, go!" Ghost said to which you shook your head. "No, this is the one command I will not take! You will get old and fat but you will NOT die on me lieutenant, not today!" you yelled over the loud noises. ---

He looks at you and you hug him, whispering in his ear, "See, I told you it would be possible this time, Simon. I'm so happy and proud of you." Words that definitely made the tears well up in his eyes.

The fact that we can sit right here and say goodbye Means we've already won A necessity for apologies between you and me Baby, there is none

"Now you are all making me feel old." Price jokes and finally looks up. The four people he fought with through wars, all living the lives he knew were all much earned. Through the wounds, blood and sacrifice, somehow, five mad people are still alive. And the entire night, Soap told stories of his farm, and Gaz gave advice on how to fix some stuff, a trip he would soon have to make to Scotland. Gaz on the new tricks his little ones make, how he knows karma got to him and his back aches, so much for the jokes he told about Price. Ghost with his wood-making business, one he started in the backyard and now in Manchester's best small business. Price on how his kids are now in uni and the youngest one is in secondary.

And then you, with their favourite pub in the entire world, how you adopted a child and your eldest in primary already. Your wife/husband watching you smile from afar. You always were excited for these meetings, it was the one time someone other than the local veterans understood the stories you told.

We had some good times, didn't we? We had some good tricks up our sleeve Goodbyes are bittersweet But it's not the end I'll see your face again

And, as each month passed by, it turned into 10 years later. You and the other men in the team gathered not in America but back home in England. All in black dressing, lifting the coffin of the father you all shared. Price had peacefully passed on a calm night. As his wife puts it, he was finally ready to go, his mission was over and the children he raised were all old enough to understand and his little soldiers as he called you were well off in life, the one he made sure you all had. In years you had never seen so many of the toughest and now retired soldiers you worked with cry so much. You did too. The ceremony was as expected, memorable, beautiful and for the last time in John Price's life, peaceful.

Yesterday I went out to celebrate the birthday of a friend But as we raised our glasses up to make a toast I realised you were missing

You all flew back to the first ever pub he took you to. Raise your glasses and shed more tears. You see, this was a promise you all made. An oath between Task Force 141. When one passes, those that remain must go to the first pub we talked to as not a team but a family, and just then we can mourn but also celebrate we once lived.

And I know we'll be alright, child Just close your eyes and see And I'll be by your side Any time you're needing me Oh, yeah

Ghost chuckles, "And he told me, 'you reckon I can make it?' and that old man did it, the deadliest move ever and he fuckin' made it." he takes a sip of his drink. Gaz smiles, fond memories shared between him and Price, to be remembered until his final breath. "He used to do this trick with the smoke from his cigar just for my little girl to giggle, and man does she still ask for that trick," Soap shared. All four of you, smoking a cigar, just like he would've. "Can you believe the old man never complained too much about his back?" you ask to which all others nod. Now in your late 40's to early 50's, you never understood how he never once complained of the aching bones or back, proving he was and will always be the strongest and toughest man to ever grace your lives.

And you will find me Yeah, you will find me In places that we've never been For reasons we don't understand

tags: @warenai @liyanahelena

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captain-mj · 8 months

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Hear me out, Soapghost, Brahm's The Boy. Eh?? Eh??

I've been talking about this movie a stupid amount lately so... yeah, I'll eat this up. CW: This is based off a horror movie so it's the normal stuff, violence, stuff like that but also noncon voyeurism (Ghost watches Soap without him knowing but also listens to him) and Soap is just in general a bit of a freak

Made quite a few changes but it's the same premise

His interviewer had been a kind older man named Price. He was only in his 30's and was clearly capable of running the place, but he had been told to hire someone while he took a much needed vacation. Apparently, no one else stayed in the house but Price, which seemed a bit odd as he was clearly someone hired on, not the owner. Price had went through all of his duties and most importantly, he went over the lovely, lovely salary.

Soap had thought this job was just a bit too good to be true. He had to do some basic house sitting things and then he was clear. Also, he had to be nice to this doll.

The thing was... honestly kinda cute. His body was soft cotton over some stuffing and a skull design. Yeah, he wasn't the best of dolls, but he was a doll.

A cute doll. But a doll. nonetheless. His name was Ghost.

Regardless, he followed the rules. He had grown up Scottish and hearing of Brownies and other little folklore creature. Make breakfast. Give Ghost doll a kiss on forehead. Don't question any weird happenings, it's an old house. Make dinner, leave a section for Ghost. And always make sure to leave a cup of tea out at night. One cream, two sugars. Extra strong tea.

It tasted like tea, just rather sweet. Soap didn't like it. He had tried to make himself a cup to have with the mystery thing in the walls, but he ended up stopping and going to bed after a while. Each time, the food and drink was consumed.

Soap had... accepted that something was there with him. He was fairly certain it was a cat or something that could smell the cream. Most of the dishes were fairly meat based or had a lot of broth. It didn't make the most sense, but the alternate was a dog and he'd rather not think about some silent mutt walking around stealing food off the tables. Riley, the only dog on the entire property, was far too well trained for such behaviors. The little dog was odd, often staring at the walls for hours or sometimes disappearing around corners. Soap wasn't a big fan of dogs but he did make exceptions for her.

Things were a little spooky sometimes, but Soap never found himself being frightened. I mean... Ghost was a pretty good protector he always joked with the people that delivered groceries. Plus, whether it be ghost, monster or a dog, it hadn't come close to Soap yet. It occasionally made the floor creak or moved things, but nothing bad or mischievous.

The fact that he got to live in this huge house that sprawled out over acres of land and had it's own lake was excellent too. Every week on Sunday, someone would deliver groceries. It was clear they were being altered slightly, no two exactly the same although meals interlapped all the time, but Soap chalked it up to a delivery system that lets someone schedule different orders.

"Do you know anything about the man that hired you?" The delivery guy always spoke in hushed tones, looking around the home nervously, as if a man would pop up out of nowhere to bring death and ruin, but now, they werespeaking at barely above a decibel, glancing around feverishly.

Soap shrugged. "No. Just know how much I'm paid and what my job entails. Why?"

"Simon Riley was an odd guy, even before the fires. Some people insist he started them. He's an odd fellow. if he hired you, I'd tread lightly." The man looked at him uneasily before glancing at the wall directly behind Soap. His mouth fell into a grimace. "Fucking freak."

Soap felt a weird surge of protectiveness. Yes, he had never met Simon in person, but the entire place felt like a huge memorial to his family. Each room decorated like they'd come back to it and, if this guy was to believed, that meant he had to recreate each detail. He was also a very generous employer and he'd never wronged Soap or anyone that he'd talked to. Soap wanted the man out of the house, feeling a very strong sense of being watched thanks to the entire situation. "Haven't met him. Thank you."

The man looked at him with something strangely similar to pity before nodding. "See you next week, MacTavish." He left Soap alone to put the groceries away.

"Fucking asshole." Soap started to put the groceries away and quickly heard the floor creak. "Ghost?"

Complete silence.

He ignored it and put everything away. After stretching real quick, back popping and limbs burning just a little, he tried to decide what to do. His shoulder injury was acting up so most things were out. Damn thing had already gotten him discharged after only a year in the services, he didn't see the reason for it to keep tormenting him.

Riley seemed to have an idea so he took her on a walk. Most dogs preferred schedules, Soap knew, but according to Price, Riley was an ex military dog and had a mind of her own. Soap thought she was like him and after the military, they just liked experiencing each day as a new thing. Not just a repeat of the old ones.

She stopped at the edge of the property and kept glancing at him before trying to trot a little farther away. Soap whistled and she walked back, clearly displeased that he didn't follow her. Riley barked at him and circled him before tapping her nose against his thigh like she was trying to herd him. He laughed her off and motioned back inside. She followed, though clearly still upset about it.

Soap went and showered, letting the hot water filter over him. Price had assured him that the only cameras were on the outside of the house, but he always felt watched in here. Ghost, his little doll companion, always waited outside. It was silly, not wanting the doll to be able to look at him, but he couldn't help it.

Right now, the feeling wasn't there and Soap took a deep breath before letting his hand slide down. He had no way of knowing that Ghost was right on the other side of the wall, silently holding his breath.

His hand reached down slowly, just barely stroking himself. He bit his lip hard and stroked himself a little more earnestly, getting a tiny gasp that set Ghost's insides on fire.

Soap closed his eyes, going through a few different scenarios. The first thought was of being interrogated, but it felt a bit too harsh. His thoughts drifted to the masked men he had met in the army. The idea of their hands on him.

"Please..." He choked hard, thrusting in hands. "Oh, please." Soap tried for a few minutes, but the edge he needed wasn't there. He shifted his weight, spreading his legs a little so he could reach his hand lower down to press against his hole..

The name popped up in his head. "Ghost." Why he said it out loud was beyond him, but it made the person listening very happy to hear. And very hard.

With shaking hands, Simon undid his belt and tried to make his hand follow Soap's movements based on the grunts and noises he heard. He could turn his head and look through the small crack and watch. Really give himself a show, but he wanted to show some restraint.

Soap managed to get his finger inside and groaned. "Please, Ghost. It feels good."

Ghost's breath sped up and so did his hands. His hips moved of their own accord, jerking up and chasing the pleasure. He could only imagine how Soap would feel. Probably far better than his hand. As long as Soap stayed in his house, he'd take care of him. He got rid of that nasty delivery guy and he'd get rid of anyone else.

Soap was his.

His.

He whimpered and heard Soap stop immediately. Ghost held his breath again as Soap quickly turned off the shower and they both waited to see what would happen.

"John?" Soap called out, listening.

Ghost didn't dare move an inch. This particularly floorboard was creaky and he couldn't risk it.

After a moment, Soap turned the shower back on and quickly finished getting himself cleaned up. He didn't finish though, clearly too freaked out. Ghost scratched at his skin, pissed he had just fucked that up.

Ghost fixed the grocery list again and Soap was happy to get the groceries from the new person the next week.

They were very nice and handed him everything. One of the items was a bottle of lube.

Soap felt himself turn bright red. He had long forgotten about the shower incident, marking everything down as the house settling.

How embarrassing.

However, the lotion was a high quality kind and it looked... Soap had only had lotion and his spit, neither were that great for penetration.

Minutes later, after the stuff that would go bad got put in the fridge, he was using it. He was gagging for it, a little upset his fingers could only go so deep. Soap was rough with himself, liked it that way. His fingers kept going after he felt he'd explode from overstimulation before he finally let himself collapse.

Ghost enjoyed the show and wondered how Soap would feel about dildos. There was no way he'd be able to put that in the order without suspicion, but if ever came out...

No. It was a horrible idea. Despite how nice and inviting Soap looked right now.

Then he came. An ex boyfriend of Soap's. It made Soap stupidly angry just seeing him and when he tried to go in to grab him, he almost clocked him. However, it was clear he was drunk and he wanted to know how he found this address so he bit his tongue and let him in.

"Johnny! Johnny!" He moaned, stepping around and around before finally stumbling into the couch. "You disappeared on me, babe."

Soap took a deep breath to try to calm himself. "I broke up with you, Kent. Remember? I'm not interested anymore." Riley sat nearby, a watchful eye. She did not growl or bark or even announce her presence. She waited.

"Listen, I know I made mistakes. But come on. They were honest."

"Let's talk about this when you're sober in the morning, yeah?" Soap made sure to enunciate, not wanting to hear any snide remarks about his accent from him. "I have things I need to do. Just sleep here." He grabbed Ghost, always careful to hold him with both hands and to his chest. The doll wasn't the largest thing and he was sure he could handle being dropped but... well, it just didn't feel right to do so.

Kent sat up. "What's that thing?"

Soap paused and mulled over his words. "Nothing too important. Just part of taking care of the house. I'll put it away real quick."

"Freak owner wants you to babysit his dolls?"

Soap felt himself bow up, gritting his teeth. Instead, he just bit that back as well. "Don't be so mean to the owner. He seems like a nice guy. Just go to sleep and don't throw up on the carpet." He fled the room, torn between wanting to scream at Kent or just beat him. Regardless, he didn't want to deal with him intoxicated at all so he'd wait until later.

Kent finally noticed Riley. "Thought you hated dogs."

"I do but she's a nice companion."

"You must have to vacuum constantly."

Soap paused and frowned. "What?"

"German Shepherds shed a lot unless you groom them regularly. Do you groom her?"

Soap knew fuck all about dogs, but as he thought about it, yeah, he had always heard people complain about how much shepherds shed and he hadn't groomed Riley once. A few hairs had been stuck to his palm after grooming, but her coat remained pristine. "No. Go to sleep."

Ghost went to his bed and received his little kiss on the forehead. Soap like always pulled the blankets up to the dolls chin and then patted him before leaving.

He didn't sleep well. Kept feeling like someone was standing over him.

Soap made breakfast, two plates sat side by side. It didn't really register until Kent was thanking him for cooking and scooping up his plate that he had a guest. Explaining that he had a weird arrangement with the thing living in his house seemed... well a bit insane. As much as he willingly followed the rules, he wasn't sure he wanted to explain them to anyone else. So he stayed quiet and silently apologized to Ghost.

Soap made himself coffee and a cup of tea that he purposely put out of Kent's sight. "So how did you find me?"

"Your mom. Johnny, this felt a bit extreme don't you think? I understand if you hate me. But ditching your whole family?"

Soap swung around, gripping the spoon in his hand like it was it was an actual weapon that could do damage. "Fuck you, Kent. You don't get to fuck around with other people, take advantage of the fact I lost my job, my career, my passion."

"Jesus, Johnny. You lost the military. Big fucking deal. It's better than if you got blown up out there."

"Would've preferred it to dealing with you."

Kent scowled and grabbed Ghost. "So what? You prefer sitting up here, playing dolls than being in the real world? Your family misses you and"

"They can keep missing me. I don't want to talk with them. I don't want to talk with you. And I really think it's best you leave."

Riley snorted and put herself between Soap's legs to heel. Despite her relaxed appearance and peaceful nature, not even hunting squirrels in her retirement, she was tensed up. Clearly ready to maul if just given the order.

"Riley, stay down girl." Soap lightly tapped his ankle against her side in a move he had seen the K-9 units at work use. "Kent, put the doll down. I think it's a sentimental thing for the owner."

"No. This is ridiculous. You sit up here, acting like this. For what? Some guy? You two fucking or something?"

"No, I haven't even met the guy, just put Ghost down." Soap could hear the desperation creeping into his voice.

Kent paused. "Ghost?"

If either of them bothered to stop and listen, they'd hear the creaking of the floorboards. Angry tapping on the walls.

Soap paused. "Yeah. The guy who hired me called him Ghost so I just started calling him that. Just put him down."

Riley left her heel and Soap almost panicked before seeing that she was standing by the mirror she loved.

Kent stared him, suddenly seeming a lot more hateful than he did just a moment ago. He then grabbed the doll and tore it along the inseam on the back.

Cotton fell out but so did scraps of cloth and something metal that hit the floor with a clunk.

Dogtags. Soap would recognize the sound anywhere. It made sense. Simon was probably ex military, same as Riley and Soap.

They sat on the floor next to the cotton and then there was another crack, this time of the glass on the mirror.

Kent whirled around, freezing for a moment. The lights ahead seemed to flicker, but that may have just been his imagination. Soap watched mutely as Kent went to the glass and touched it, following the cut. "Weird. Probably change in air pressure or so-"

A gloved hand smashed through the glass to grab him. Giant fingers pressed into his face as he slammed him into the frame of the mirror, letting him go and making him stagger.

Ghost shoved through the rest of the glass and leaned down to step through.

Big.

Soap pulled back, heart fluttering from fear. He watched this stranger with a skull mask just like Ghost's grab Kent and wrestle him to the floor effortless. Kent struggled but this man was a lot bigger and more importantly, better trained. He struck out and broke Ken's nose, blood splattering on the floor.

"Ghost!" Soap quickly tried to get his attention. The stranger faltered and looked up. Giant brown eyes looked at him. Prettiest eyes that Johnny had ever seen. "Stop."

Just as well trained as Riley, Ghost pulled back. He stepped on Kent's hand as he walked to Soap, staring down at him intensely.

Soap backed up into the kitchen island.

"Johnny." Ghost... purred. The name felt foreign on his tongue, but the response it got from Soap made it perfect.

"Simon?"

Ghost's eyes crinkled from smiling. "Yes. It's nice to finally meet you." He kept advancing until they were pressed against each other. Soap was taken back by the size difference but Ghost fixed that by leaning down. His mask face rubbed against his jaw and along his throat before... sniffing him.

Soap gripped the counter and took a deep breath. He wasn't afraid. Not one bit and honestly that should probably scare him or even just bother him but....It didn't. It didn't at all.

"Johnny." Ghost pressed tight against him, hands finding their way to his hips before sliding them under his shirt. "Thank you, thank you."

Soap wasn't sure what Ghost was thanking him for but before he could ask, he heard the dull thwack of something hitting Ghost's back.

There was a moment of silence before Ghost caught the poker on it's second swing. He glanced at Soap, clearly pleading.

"Go for it."

Watching Ghost beat Kent should've done something. Maybe he should've ran. But Soap had missed the violence and he did not miss Kent one bit.

Watching Ghost move was alluring as well and Soap felt a flush get to his cheeks as his body reacted. He should tell him to stop. Kent wasn't moving.

Soap let out a sharp gasp and Ghost turned his head back to him, blood splattering on his mask now.

"I'll be good." Simon promised. "Better than him. I'll be your good boy."

Johnny stared at him. "I know you will. My good boy, yeah?"

Simon let go of the poker from the fireplace, letting it slide. "Sunshine, do you mind giving us the room?"

Riley ran, knocked her head against his leg, and then quickly ran out. Tail wagging.

"You call her sunshine?"

"Course. She's my sunshine and you're my love." Simon said it so earnestly. So big and so hot and then he was pressing Soap against the island again. "Kiss?"

Soap swallowed and kissed his cheek, making Ghost whine. "Please... Please..." He tilted his head, making it clear what he wanted but letting Soap lean in. Their lips meet, the soft fabric between them getting in the way but Soap could still feel Ghost's lips moving against his own.

Simon pulled away, eyes hazing and adoring. Almost obsessive. He rubbed his cheek against Johnny's. "I'll be your good boy."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod #ghoap

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ghostsbimbo · 6 months

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the boys & hearing a song from your phone on shuffle a/n: nsfw songs ahead <3 ur welcome. tw: some songs contain heavy subjects such as rape.

simon "ghost" riley - good lookin' by dixon dallas

He's bouncing off my booty cheeks, I love the way he rides I can hardly breathe when he's pumping deep inside I kiss him on his neck and then he kisses on my bussy Call him "Daddy" while I holler Man, that boy so damn good looking (looking, looking)

He has a thousand yard stare as you try to contain your laughter at the song. you love this song, and the artist in general. You originally found him when he was just doing rap, his name being iamjakehill. you completely embraced both the pop punk (ur pretty) project & the country project of his. and now, you're showing your lieutenant one of his very gay masterpieces, despite the artist being a very straight man.

könig - dana dan by bloodywood

Not all men, yes, all men Need all men for what we're solvin' Can't be what it's been but we're evolvin' You see for yourself now get involved in Talking all in, do more, boy, it's a war Chainsaw to the dead weight, leave it raw Bloody galore as we clean out the core Yeah, we do it for her, so we kick in the door

he definitely looked up the lyrics, meaning behind the song, and translation as soon as it was over, and with that he found a new band to listen to. listen, the dude may basically be a war criminal [ they all fuckin are, lets admit it ] but he sure as hell would fucking destroy a rapist as soon as he had the opportunity. all of them would.

john price - i threw glass at my friend's eyes and now I'm on probation by destroy boys

But fuck you! You're so old, dude! Like seriously, what do you think you're doing? Your hands are so big and you're so tall, wow! You know, I kinda wish I had let you do that one thing that one time But in retrospect, it would've been a bad idea 'cause You don't care about me like I care about you so I feel bad

man, this dude felt this song was a personal attack on him. yes, y'all had an age gap, but you needed to assure him he was perfectly fine, and you just liked the song because of trauma prior to meeting him. being a kid/teenager with unmonitered internet access really fucked you up, buddy.

keegan p. russ - chokehold by sleep token [ cover by will ramos ]

So show me that which I cannot see Even if it hurts me Even if I can't sleep Oh, and though we act out of our holy duty to be constantly awake

to say he loved the dudes voice would be an understatement, and then to figure out it was a cover of a song and he heard the original? the man was offended you kept will ramos, his band lorna shore, and the band sleep token from him. his phone would end up being filled with both bands discography.

kyle "gaz" garrick - to the hellfire by lorna shore

Accept this descent into the night Releasing your grasp to induce separation Plunged into the shadows Lost in sensation, we're free falling down into the everblack Can you feel it? These pins and needles

He got scared. He also wondered how you could understand what the guy was saying the whole time. He got VERY confused when the pig squeals started - confused enough to ask if they had a pig in studio. You laughed and explained that no, the vocalist that was screaming - Will - did it all himself. It then lead to you info dumping on the genre of music as a whole.

johnny "soap" mactavish - pisces by JINJER

No promises I ever give Don't rely on me and I won't deceive The beginning or the end you can't tell When I wave my fin and shake my tail I grew in different normality With unblamable morality Hooks and nets are there for me But I'm skittish

The soft voice is what got to him, his eyes going wide when he heard the screaming. He didn't believe you at first when you told him the woman singing was also the one screaming, too. - "No fuckin' way is that a bonnie doin' that." - so you pulled up the song on youtube, and then also pulled up a few live videos of the band, too. He believed you after a few videos, and may have gotten a little jealous when you said she causes you to have a MAJOR gay panic. You also state you wish you had the same amount of talent as her, especially with the screaming.

#.txt #call of duty #cod mwii #mwii #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #keegan p. russ #könig #rat writes

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pandorasopenboxes · 5 months

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Names Beneath Scars - Chapter One

Summary: Soap thought the job would be easy; infiltrate and escape with valuable info. The attached price tag should've raised some alarm bells, but for a million dollars all he could hear was silence.

But he never expected to meet his soulmate here.

Not in the group he is meant to betray.

Pairings: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: Mature

Tags (for now): Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks

Snippet:

It looks empty . Although Soap masks his surprise at the obscure sight of his new – shared – room. He was told that the other resident had been living in this place for approximately two years, but there are little to no signs of another life even stepping past the door. It seems as if Soap’s packed boxes – the brown cardboard sealed with multiple layers of shitty tape – are the first proof of a person moving in here. This is ignoring the very few indicators of another presence, like the creases on the second, made bed from the duvet not being spread out properly. Or the pillow having a distinctive dent from a head resting on it after many fruitful nights. Soap’s own presence and personal items appear to overwhelm the space, even his footsteps through the door stamp out the strange stillness, unable to hear the chatter of his neighbours or the crude laughs from those making their way into the lunch hall down the corridor. Despite this, Soap glances over the room given to him and the oddities attached to it; he makes a note of how the dull grey shade is spread with at least one coat of paint, appearing to reveal the ageing brick walls when light hits it at a certain angle. Pieces of modern tech, the only visible possession belonging to his roommate, with its neon blue light, attempts to brighten two corners of the room and causes a stinging sensation in Soap’s eyes. The precise placement of some tech, such as the half-opened laptop, exposes a sense of detachment as if the owner does not care about its safety. That it can always be replaced, like the brandless water bottle which sits close enough to be spilt on the light-up keyboard. The harshness of the colours, combined with the blackout curtains draped over the only window, are like needles tattooing their image into his eyes. The sensation only gets more and more cruel as he continues to step into the room. His first aim should be to turn on the light bulb, it’s resting somewhere on the wall to his side, where he would have to pat several times to feel the distinctive bump of the switch. Soap finds himself craving natural rays from the sun, as it is one of the rare, sunny days in London. He wants to make the most of it. Thankfully, navigating a room half concealed in darkness is the easiest part of this task. Soap would have usually considered this very odd of him to do so. Doing something as simple as this, he means. No enemy is hiding in the dark, with a knife ready to use against him.

Continue to read on AO3

(posted this a while ago, but did not post it here)

#call of duty #ghostsoap #soapghost #modern warfare 2 #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #john mactavish #simon ghost riley #soulmate au #Names Beneath Scars

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samanthamarkle92 · 4 months

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Hey followers! Finally got unstuck from a chapter of Soap’s Girl! Sorry for taking so long! This is unedited and might come off as stale but I was really trying! DM if you want to be added to the shoutout!

If I missed anyone feel free to reblog so others can check it out! Shoutout to: @nsharks @shadow0-1 @deadbranch @salbei-141 @thiswomanhasissues @loonyundead @codfanzine @mocha @cravingcoldoreocake123 @ilovehotchocolate @sofasoap @loneghostwolf @mistyresolve @islenthatur @bittersw33t-lotus @m0chac0ffee @fictional-men-have-my-heart @ghostslillady @ghosts-bandwagon @soapxmactavish @mactavishwritings @sleepyconfusedpotato @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @halcyone-of-the-sea @rileyslibrary @ghostkinnie @mctvsh @macravishedbymactavish @blissful--moon @mistydeyes @cowyolks @maxinequigleyart @ave661 @clownfishenthusiast @lunarw0rks @summermoonshine @lundenloves @glossythor @cheezbites @xintothewoodswegox @sighmurderbot @wolfieisacat @justagalwhowrites

Katie was standing at Soap’s kitchen counter, chopping up vegetables to make a stew in the slow cooker. She felt like she was mooching staying with him, so making dinner was the least she could do. She finished getting the stew together, and sat down in the living room, working on a knitting project. She flipped around tv, finding an episode and Holby City.

She sighed and started knitting, not having much else to do. Suddenly, the front door opened. Katie peeked over at the entrance, and saw that Soap was home. Katie stood and rushed over to greet him, which made him smile.

"Hey." Soap greeted, tossing his jacket aside.

“You were gone this morning when I woke up.” Katie said.

“I had to go out; there's something I wanted to discuss with you. You know how Detective Troy wanted you to have a body guard?”

“Yeah,” She said as she put her knitting aside. “Is there something wrong?”

“I kind of found someone for you,” Soap said quietly. “It sounds crazy, but...I think it might actually work.”

“Really? Who is it?”

“A guy I've worked with...he saved my life too.” Soap explained. “He's SAS like me. And he's been through some pretty rough shit himself. Plus, he's pretty strong.” Soap explained.

“Okay, what's his name?” Katie asked.

“Simon Riley.” He replied. “He’ll be over later. Don't worry, he’s the type of guy who’d protect you with his life, he just comes off as.... intimidating.”

Katie laughed. “No offense Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome, but you can be scary.” He smiled. It was the first time she had called him handsome.

“The stew should be ready by this evening; I can run down to the grocery store down the block. Do you want dinner rolls or crusty bread?” Katie asked.

“Whatever you want, love.” Soap told her. As the words left Soap's mouth, Katie couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and apprehension. She had already put her trust in Soap, and now he was vouching for this stranger, Simon Riley. She couldn't deny the comfort she felt knowing she would have a bodyguard, especially considering the potential danger that Detective Troy had warned them about. But at the same time, the idea of a stranger infiltrating her life felt intrusive.

"Simon Riley," Katie repeated, testing the name on her tongue. She glanced up at Soap, searching for any sign of reassurance. "Are you sure about this? I mean, I trust you, but it's just... a lot to take in."

Soap's expression softened as he reached out to gently squeeze her hand. "I understand, Katie. It's a lot to process, but I truly believe Simon is the best person to keep you safe. He's been through his fair share of dangerous situations, and he's proven himself to be reliable."

Katie took a deep breath, trying to quell the unease bubbling within her. She trusted Soap, and if he believed in Simon, then maybe she could too. "Okay," she said, a hint of determination coloring her voice. "I'll give it a chance. But please, Soap, make sure he understands that I'm not just some helpless damsel in distress. I can take care of myself too."

Soap nodded, a proud smile tugging at his lips. "I know, Katie. That's one of the things I love about you." His words sent a rush of warmth through her, reminding her of the deep bond they had formed amidst the chaos.

With their decision made, Soap and Katie settled into the living room, waiting for Simon Riley's arrival. The anticipation weighed heavily in the air, but Katie couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within her. She wondered what kind of person Simon was, what experiences had shaped him into the formidable protector Soap described.

As they waited, Katie's mind drifted back to the stew she had prepared. She glanced at the clock on the wall and realized it was nearing dinnertime. "The stew should be ready by this evening," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "I can run down to the grocery store down the block. Do you want dinner rolls or crusty bread?"

Soap grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Whatever you want, love," he told her, the endearment causing a blush to spread across Katie's cheeks. It was the first time she had called him handsome, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for the man who had come into her life and turned it upside down.

Before Katie could respond, a knock echoed through the apartment, jolting both her and Soap from their reverie. They exchanged a look of excitement and anticipation, their hearts beating a little faster. Soap rose from the couch and walked towards the door, beckoning Katie to follow.

As they reached the door, Soap took a deep breath before swinging it open, revealing a tall figure standing on the other side. Simon Riley stood there, his towering frame emphasized by his dark clothing and his face was partially covered by the hood of his sweatshirt.

“Nice of you to come, Simon. If anyone can look after Katie, you can.”

“Anytime, Johnny.

” Simon assured him. Then he looked at the girl who was still sitting on the sofa. “Hi,” Simon began awkwardly.

“Hi.” Katie responded timidly. She watched as Simon removed his hood.

He was rugged, with brown eyes and light-colored lashes. A few scars marked his face. Katie looked him over before gesturing to Johnny.

“Can I talk to you a minute….alone?” She asked, pulling Johnny into the next room.

“Johnny, I don't think this is a good idea…”

“Katie, I swear, Simon will watch you like a hawk.”

“He’ll stick out like a sore thumb! He’s so tall!”

“I've got an idea; go to the grocery store down the block and grab some dinner rolls; I’ll have Simon tail you. You won't even know he's there.”

Katie looked at him skeptically.

"Katie, he wouldn't dare hurt you. Just trust him," Johnny continued, giving Katie a serious look. "Promise me you'll trust him."

Katie paused for a moment, weighing her options. "Fine, I'll go," she replied, resigned. She didn't see why not.

She grabbed her purse, wallet, and phone, walking out onto the sidewalk. Once outside, she looked around, looking for the street signs. She finally located the store and went in, going to the freezer section where the frozen bread was. she grabbed two packs and went to the till, paying with a few notes she had in her wallet. Kate took the paper bag, and walked back to the flat, looking around for Simon, but not seeing anything.

Once she walked inside, she noticed Johnny sitting a the kitchentable, waiting for her.

"There you are!" He said happily.

"Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn't even see him!” she answered honestly, preheating the oven.

Simon came in, glancing at Kate.

“Did a good job, didn't I?” he said, nodding appreciatively.

Katie nodded, stirring the stew in the slow cooker. She put the rolls in the oven, and finished the stew.

“You two better eat it up; it's great.” she told the two men.

They sat at the kitchen table, eating in silence until the food was gone.

“That was delicious,” Simon commented.

“Thank you,” Katie replied, smiling. “It’s not really much, but I'm glad it tastes alright.”

“Well, you're a great cook. Johnny was lucky to find a girl like you. ” Simon complimented her.

“I'm just trying to do my best,” Katie replied softly. Her tone sounded more insecure than she'd intended. She didn't want to admit it, but she couldn't help feeling intimidated by these two powerful men, who were able to protect her so effortlessly.

She decided to change the subject. “Well, thank you, Simon. Would you like anything else from the kitchen?” she asked politely.

“Nah, you're doing fine. I'll be back tomorrow night,” Simon replied, leaving the apartment as Johnny followed close behind him.

“Take care of that girl, Johnny. Ones like her are hard to find.”

“Don't worry, Johnny, she'll be taken care of.

“Right. Well, I’ll see you soon, Johnny.”

Johnny nodded as Simon exited the apartment. Once he heard the click of the front door, he helped Kate do the dishes.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked cautiously. “You seemed pretty upset when he showed up.”

Katie sighed, leaning against the counter as she thought carefully about her answer. “Yeah,” she responded. “To be honest, I’m still kind of overwhelmed. I mean….I’m scared of getting grabbed again. When will my life get back to normal Why did all this happen? Who did this to me?”

Johnny frowned slightly as he wiped his hands dry. “Katie, I know this is probably really upsetting, but I promise you everything will work out. You’ve got me and Simon to protect you. The police are doing everything they can. We’re doing everything we can.”

Katie gazed up at him, studying every inch of his features. There was something very comforting about his presence, and for once, she felt less worried about being alone. She sat on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest, her eyes glued to the television screen as a movie played out in the background.

Johnny leaned forward and placed his hand gently on top of hers, squeezing it reassuringly. “Just remember that you’re safe here. And if something does happen, I’ll stand beside you no matter what. Alright?”

Katie nodded and stood, going into the bedroom to prepare herself for bed. Once in the room she stripped off her clothes and hopped into the shower. She washed away the grime of today's events, washing all the thoughts away. She knew Johnny would always be there for her no matter what, no matter how long he would have to wait.

#wattpad #romance #original character #fanfic #call of duty #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley

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therosebudgirlwriter · 2 years

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Little Puff Daycare (Chapter 3: Sorry, Not Sorry)

Simon

The next 3 days go by without any other major hiccups. I was right to ask for that meeting though. Rosie refuses to interact with the other kids. She just gets so scared. I decide to not intervene until I have the meeting with Baz, though. I wonder why his parents couldn’t come. It’s a bit weird. His parents don’t seem to pick her up or drop her off either. I also haven’t seen Vera again either.

I kinda feel sorry for Baz. None of the other kid’s siblings have to come pick them up everyday. Then I remember who I’m talking about, and I feel a little bit less sorry.

One thing I can say is he hasn’t been late to pick her up since. He never waits around though. Which isn’t a bad thing.

Baz

I am not excited for the meeting today. I was up all night, last night panicking. What if he tells me Rosie isn’t where she’s supposed to be for her age? What if he tells me she isn’t allowed back because I’m an asshole?

What if he figures out that I’m actually Rosie’s dad? Never mind. This is Simon Snow we are talking about. He’s not exactly a genius.

On another note, I told Mordy everything, of course. What is the point of having a younger sister if you can’t tell her everything about your life. She found the whole thing very amusing. Asshole. She thinks I should have just told him.

Well, she is wrong. I mean what would she know? She’s 17.

Anyway, it’s a struggle to get Rosie out the door this morning (when isn’t a struggle?) but I am determined to be early. We end up arriving at about 6:50 am. We walk into the kindy, and the receptionist looks surprised. Why do I feel like I’ve seen her before?

“Oh hi Basilton!”

HOW DOES SHE KNOW MY NAME?

“Judging by the look on your face you don’t remember me. I’m Lucy, Simon’s Mum.”

Oh. Well I’m an idiot. Of course she is. She looks like a mum. All soft and sweet.

“Hello.” I say, feeling stupid as all hell. “I’m here for a meeting with Simon.”

“Lovely. He’s just in the classroom if you want to head on through.”

“Thank you.” I say, grabbing on to Rosie’s hand and leading her down the hallway. She was so excited to come early. At least she was excited after I told her that Simon would be there. She hasn’t stopped talking about him. It’s made not thinking about him slightly difficult.

We arrive at the classroom and I go to knock on the door, but before I can the door gets pulled open.

And there is Simon Snow. In all his glory. How can a person who used to (and probably still does) wash their face with soap, always look so beautiful? It’s annoying.

I never understood his last name. Snow is cold and gloomy and wet. Simon is more like the sun, bright and warm and radiant. If you stare at him for too long you’ll be blinded.

I’d take the risk.

Crap. I’m staring again.

Simon

Baz looks like he’s analysing me.

“Um, welcome. I wasn’t expecting you for another 10 minutes.” I say. Way to state the obvious Simon.

“The fact that you were standing behind the door tells me otherwise.” he remarks.

Usually I would snap some unoriginal swear word back, but A: his sister, my student is with him, and B: he didn’t say it with all the venom behind it, like he usually does.

This meeting might actually be ok.

Baz

We sit down at Simon’s desk after Rosie gave me a tour of the classroom. Simon gave her some colouring to do while we talk.

“Ok, so I just wanted to start by saying that I would love if we could start over? For Rosie. Just to make this easier, I guess.”

“Oh. Ok. Yes, good idea. I would rather we don’t bicker like teenagers in front of Rosie” I reply, slightly startled. It’s not a bad idea. I just never expected it to come from Simon.

“Yeah. And I wanted to apologise. For the coffee. And for school. I wasn’t that nice to you.”

I am speechless. What. Is. Happening.

I guess it’s my turn to apologise then.

“I too would like to apologise. I was a prick to you. At school and at the coffee shop.”

Simon

Mum was right. Apologising and starting over was definitely the right move. Baz has kind of softened. He even said sorry back. If I told my 15 year old self that Basilton Pitch apologised to me, there is no way he would believe me. I barely believe it now.

Baz

Simon looks relieved. He relaxes back into his chair.

“I do have some questions about Rosalind. Nothing serious, don’t worry.”

Too late for that.

“I know you have siblings, but I am curious. Has she had many interactions with other kids? I’ve just noticed that she is quite shy, and avoids the other kids. Now, I know this is only her first week, but there are strategies we could put in place to help her branch out.” he says.

Is this his nice way of telling me I’m a shit parent? Because right now I feel like one.

“She always seemed fine with my siblings and I. She hasn’t really had many opportunities to be with other kids. Busy parents, you know.” I say, trying not to cry/be defensive.

“Right. Well I am sure she will be fine. Maybe we pair her with just one other kid for the beginning, and see how she goes? I might pop her with Georgie. She’s quite sweet. Or maybe Beth. They’re both so lovely.”

Simon

I know I’m rambling.

I can’t help it. I’m panicking. Apologising was a good idea, but I don’t know how to act now.

Luckily Baz cuts me off.

“I think that would be a good idea. I’m sure she’ll like whoever you pick. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be sure to pass it all on to Father and Daphne.”

Baz

He looks relieved that I cut him off. I couldn’t help it. Like I said. He rambles when he’s stressed. Not that it wasn’t horrifically adorable or anything.

I glance down at my watch. 7:15 am. I need to leave if I want to make it to class on time. I can’t believe they rescheduled my classes to the morning today.

‘Do you have to go? I can watch Rosie till class starts.” Simon asked.

“Would you mind?”

This apologising thing has been very helpful it seems. I mean he is also her teacher. But still. He doesn’t start work for like 15 minutes.

“It would be no problem.”

I breathe a sigh of relief “Thank you Snow.”

“Simon.” he interjects.

“Thank you… Simon. I’ll just go say goodbye to Rosie.”

Simon

I wish I had recorded that. He made my name sound so lovely.

I watch as he goes over and mutters something to Rosie. She’s surprisingly good at letting him leave. Some kids have to be literally DRAGGED away. Not Rosie. She just waves.

Baz leaves with wave and Rosie bounces over to me.

Today is going to be a good day.

#snowbaz #simon snow series #agatha wellbelove #simon snow #baz pitch #the simon snow trilogy #carry on #awtwb #wayward son #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3fic #archive of our own #my fic

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yamithediaperdork · 3 years

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Vamps in Pamps

it was a nice sunny day as Edward drove the jeep out to his 'father's house, though while the weather was nice and Bella seemed happy, Edward was less so due to the other person sitting the backseat of the jeep, who whenever he made eye contract, grinned like a Cheshire cat despite being a werewolf.

"So Edward, hurt stories about your daddy." Jacob said, making Edward despite being a vampire blush.

"I'm sure you have mutt. just mind your touage. he's stronger then me and doesn't handle fools as well." Edward snipped back.

While Edward could get along with and hang out with Jacob, He still didn't like the wolf but put up a farce for Bella's sake who insisted that they get along.

"Will any of the others be there today?" Jacob asked.

"No, mommy took them out for a little trip." Edward said, almost right away wishing he had called her by her name but the damage was done and now Bella and Jacob were chuckling and smirking.

"Mommy huh?" Jacob asked, Grinning ear to ear.

"Heh.. Jacob.. be nice.He is the first son~" Bella said and winked, though reached over and squeezed Edwards hand on the gear shift.

"Such a big boy~" Jacob said and winked into the rear view mirror.

'this is going to be a LONG visit.' Edward thought as he pulled into the driveway.

Carlilse was waiting in the driveway for them as they pulled up and as the they all got out of the car Carlilse was suddenly there, grabbing Edwards cheeks and tsking.

"have you been fully eating or are you just snacking, again?" Edward's 'father' asked, voicing his disapproval.

"Uh.. What do you mean by snacks?" Bella asked, a vampire herself now. "I thought we had to have a-"

"We Edward sadly Bella, is famous for trying to replace a good full on meal with just snacking on rat or chipmunk or squirrel blood." Carlilse said, then smirked. "though he cut back on the chipmunk blood when he grew to be a fan o-"

"DAD!"

"the chipmunks in the 80's."

"Wait, what?" Jacob asked.

"Oh my god shut up!" Edward growled.

"Simon was his favorite, I preferred Alvin, though only because he wanted to watch it all the time with me." Carlilse said.

Edward huffed and whined and stormed off into the house, as Carlilse stayed with Jacob and Bella.

"you'll have to forgive him. he's sensitive on his little guy side." The proud daddy said.

"heh, I see. soo..you watched the show with him..did he ever sing along?" Jacob asked, and got a playful elbow to his gut from Bella.

"...You didn't hear it from me, but yes."

In the house Edward was huffing, he should of known this was a mistake considering recent events but Bella had been begging to come up for awhile and Jacob too. Still the teenaged vampire was huffing lots as they came in.

Jacob was whistling the chipmunks theme and Bella was chuckling which didn't help Edwards attuide at the least bit.

"Look here scooby doo. unless you wanna throw down knock it off!" Edward growled.

"Heh, how did you know I loved that show? scooby dooodoo!" Jacob mimicked and then winked.

"...your a scrappy doo at best." Edward growled and went to storm off.

"So you DID watch that one too~ how many cartoons does widdle Edward li-" Jacob started but Carlilse's fingers were on his lips.

"Edward, don't storm off. I thought they knew and you know how cute I thought you were." Carlilse said and letting go of Jacob, was by Edward and hugging him.

Edward huffed and squirmed, but gave in even as Bella and Jacob smirked.

"You'll have to teach me how to calm him down that quick, he gets so huffy sometimes." Bella teased.

"Oh? It's not that hard,m you just have to give him the right hugs, I got LOTS of practice with it calming him down when he'd get such bad di-" Carlilse started but Edward was slapping a hand over his fathers mouth.

"Shut uppppppp!" Edward hissed.

"Ok I'm sorry, where you about to say diaper?" Jacob asked, looking tickled pink.

Bella meanwhile was wrinkling her nose as the mental image of Edward in a massive cloth diaper with a huge safety pin though it flashed into her mind.

"No he wasn't! shut your damn mutt mouth and go wait in the car wh-" Edward started but then Esme was there, smiling brightly and holding a photo album.

"Oh, Are we talking about Edward's baby phase? That was sooo cute!" the proud father gushed.

"No we're n-" Edward started but now it was Jacob who cut him off.

"Yes. yes we were. Do you have pictures?" Jacob asked.

the only reason he wasn't being shushed or attacked was Carlilse could tell Edward was going to do something he'd regret and was holding the squirming teen vamp tight now.

"Edward settle down or you can go on time out young man!"

"Ok, somebody explain." Bella said as her mother in law ushered them all over to the couch to sit down.

"Well Edward was our first vampire, and he had a hard time adjusting to vampire life so we decided to give him some time to adjust with some age regression treatment. he fought us at first but soon he was running around happy in his nappies." She coo'ed opening the book up and showing off picture after picture of Edward in terry cloth diapers and plastic pants and tops, the first dozen or so had him growling and snarling, thick mittens on his hands to keep him from removing his diapers but then the fight went out of Edward and soon he was smiling brightly and doing poses.

"The hardest part was getting him to stop wearing after awhile, and we honestly humored him longer then we should of but hearing him cry for his nappies was heart breaking, plus he'd just go ahead and soil himself anyways." Esme giggled and d'aww, coming across a picture of Edward in a tug of war with Carlilse over a diaper.

"That was when we were trying to give the diaper treatment to his little brother, but Edward kept stealing the diapers. in the end we had to threaten him with a dress if he wanted his diapers so bad." Carlilse said.

"D-Did he take the deal?" Bella asked, eye wide in disbelief.

"NO I DIDN'T!!" Edward shouted and Carlilse responded with swift swat to his bottom.

"Young Man, I raised you better then to lie to your wife like that!" he scolded even as Edward whined and whimpered. "What happens to little fibbers in this house?"

"D-Daddy no!" Edward whined and whimpered, but it was for not as he was lead away by the ear, his buns having a date with a hairbrush and his mouth having one with a bar of soap.

As he left the room he heard Bella gasp of disbelief and Jacob's howls of laughter, and just before he was out of hearing range, Jacob called out.

"Pink is DEFIANTLY your color fang boy!"

"Dad..dad come on, you don't have to do this! You should be getting mom to stop! can't you see Bella is getting freaked out?" Edward whined as Carlilse got him into the bathroom and and pointed at a corner where a small red circle was with one hand as he turned on the water and started to get a bar of soap all foamy.

I'm more shocked you never told her about this side of you Edward, Honesty about kinks are important for a healthy marriage." Carlilse lectured and then brought the soap over.

"L-Look I tried but I found out she's super freaked out about little's ok..I figured if I didn't say anything it would be all good..I never expected you and mom to go all dotting parents!"

"See now thats where you were being super silly. If I didn't love you and wanna let you be a little guy from time to time would I of kept all your old baby stuff in the basement?" Carlilse asked then motioned for Edward to open his which the sulking vampire did.

"Honestly with all of you kids moving out me and your mother have been getting a little lonely.. So I was gonna offer to babysit you some time. " Carlilse added as he popped the soap into the sulking vamp's mouth, then tugged down the back of Edwards pants and passed for a send, chuckling softly.

"Mmmfh!?" Edward whined around the soap, bubbles forming and trailing down his chin.

"I see you're still a lousy wiper." Carlilse teased then yanked the crap stained tightie whites up and took the hair brush to Edward's poor buns.

"So.. Edward's stopped doing all of this baby stuff now though right?" Bella asked, feeling like she was in a nightmare.

the love of her life was just a big fucking baby, she was suddenly putting it all together in her head as she had flashbacks of him getting too into being teased with baby talk from her, all the cuddling.. and just how many of his 'accidents' he'd been having lately were actual accidents?!

"He mostly stopped after you and him started to date dear. Though he's come back for some treatment. Usually when you're being a little bit of a whore and getting fucked by the mutt." Esme said all matter of factually, making Bella and Jacob jaw drop.

"I'm not stupid and have almost caught you a few time...But I'm sure Edward doesn't know." she went as if she hadn't just dropped that bombshell.

"I uh.. I just.. see.. He just. I.." Bella stammered.

"Well put. you know, for someone who's getting all high and mighty about Edward being just a big baby and not telling you, Fucking around with a were wolf isn't model behavior. While Carlilse is giving Edward a spanking and a mouth washing I think you and I need to have a talk about what I expect from you and doggie here unless you wanna see what a centuries old vampire is capable of when you hurt her little man."

Bella gulped and looked to Jacob for help, while he found something rather interesting on the floor.

Bun's red and mouth tasting like soap, a tear stained cheeks Edward made his way into the living room, in just his undies and rubbing his butt as he kept glancing over his shoulder to give his dad a sour look.

"Edward has something he'd like to say to everyone, don't you Edward? Carlilse said and gave his son a thumbs up.

"A-Actually Uh..Yeah, I have something to say first." Bella said, getting up and trying not to notice that despite the bratty toddler attuide Edward was giving off, the vamp was tenting his undies.

"Edward I can't be with someone who'd rather crap himself in diapers and suck on his toes then have some beers and make love to me. I'm leaving you for Jacob, and you can just stay here and baby out." She said, then practically ran out the door, Jacob looking at Edward with a half smile.

"Look at it this way little guy, you get diapers and I get the girl. we both win." Jacob said then took off after Bella.

Edward could only stare on in shock as Bella apparently was SO eager to get out there she had started the jeep and Jacob was forced to jump in the back seat.

"W-wait..what!?" He asked, not knowing of course he'd been sent up to go back to babyhood.

that Bella's hasty retreat was because Esme had made it clear once her and Edward were broken up the skank would have 5 minutes to get off her property.

Sure, setting up Edward to be dumped like this was a little mean, but as the big baby started to brawl and cry and load the back of his undies, Mommy and daddy just smiled and gave him lots of hugs.

The end

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tabloidtoc · 3 years

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Globe, December 7

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Hillary Clinton health crisis

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- Larsa Pippen in a bikini in Fort Lauderdale, Olivia Culpo wrestles with recycling outside her L.A. office, Shia LaBeouf ditches his face covering for a phone call in an L.A. market

Page 3: Pete Wentz plays tennis, Bachelorette Kaitlyn Bristowe outside the Dancing with the Stars studio, Sean Penn hits the beach in Hawaii

Page 4: Barbara Walters was sharp as a tack when she grilled the world’s biggest leaders but ravaging dementia has now tragically turned the 91-year-old into a prisoner in her own bed

Page 5: Pistol-packing Elvis Presley was so gaga over guns that he’d even take a firearm to bed with him

* Ringo Starr’s childhood bout with appendicitis at age six caused him to fall into a coma and spend a year in the hospital to recover then five years later he contracted tuberculosis and spent two years in a sanitarium where he discovered drums as part of the hospital band

Page 6: If it’s true that Gentleman Prefer Blondes Marilyn Monroe was the perfect star for the flick because she dyed her carpet platinum to match the drapes -- beauty guru Kenneth Battelle suggested Marilyn change the color of her pubic hair after a jerk spilled champagne over her sheer dress at a party showing everything because she didn’t wear skivvies so the guru ran to the hotel drugstore and got some dye and told Marilyn to go in the bathroom and bleach

Page 7: Celine Dion has turned into a frightening bag of bones leaving friends worried she’s headed for a catastrophic health crisis -- now down to a gaunt 96 pounds the star is driving herself to the brink of collapse with a diet and exercise plan to prepare for the relaunch of her hit world tour and she starves herself in her drive for perfection and to maintain the stick-thin look that helped turn her into a fashion icon

* Julianne Hough confesses feeling she didn’t deserve the A-list life she enjoyed while dating Ryan Seacrest where she was on private planes and yachts and living in a very well-off house and her life was pretty different from where she grew up -- she left Ryan in 2013 after three years because she wanted to create that for herself because she felt like she didn’t deserve it

Page 8: Duchess of York Sarah Ferguson is searching for the Fountain of Youth by working out with Pierce Brosnan’s trainer -- the ex-wife of disgraced Prince Andrew is following a grueling exercise regimen in hopes of joining people who are said to be biologically younger than their true age

Page 9: Disgraced Prince Andrew has been kicked from the royal family and now Prince Charles plans to boot his sister Princess Anne from his inner circle once he becomes king -- while the princess has carried her share of official engagements Charles plans to shrink the monarchy after his mother Queen Elizabeth passes and the phrase slimmed-down royal family constantly keeps coming up and the royal family will evolve with Charles coming to the throne -- Anne will be on the chopping block mostly because of ambitious Duchess Camilla who is Charles’ wife and who has carried out a ruthless dirty plan to be queen for decades and she wants no one else taking the limelight and that includes Charles’ sister

* Prince Harry and wife Meghan Markle dissed his dad Prince Charles with a surprising public snub as the couple failed to publicly wish Charles a happy birthday when he turned 72 -- Queen Elizabeth and Prince William and Duchess Kate all sent birthday wishes to the future king on social media but Harry and Meghan took a pass even though Harry popped up on the British TV show Strictly Come Dancing that night to wish a pal good luck

Page 10: A nuclear-sized catfight has exploded in North Korea where dictator Kim Jong-un’s baby sister and his pop star lover are battling to claw their way to be top gal -- while sister Kim Yo-jong seemed to be running the nation after Kim vanished and was rumored dead he popped back up with old galpal Hyon Song-wol on his arm and his current wife Ri Sol-ju nowhere to be seen

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- Mario Lopez wearing a clear mask (picture), Lauren Simon of The Real Housewives of Cheshire in the U.K. claims to have had sex with an actual ghost, Kaley Cuoco has a theory about shooting those sexy big bangs with ex-boyfriend Johnny Galecki that the pair’s sneaky sitcom boss got a kick putting the real-life former lovers under the covers, Reese Witherspoon lost her beloved dog Pepper to cancer and returned to her ole Southern roots when picking a name for her brand-new puppy: Minnie Pearl, plagued by seemingly endless allegations of being mean and ignoring a toxic workplace Ellen DeGeneres is now plugging a Be Kind subscription box valued at $270

Page 13: Kristen Taekman tops of her gas tank in L.A. (picture), Jeff Goldblum feeding a parking meter in L.A. (picture), Hilary Duff gets primped and primed on the NYC set of Younger (picture)

Page 14: Reclusive ailing widow Yoko Ono finally loosened the reins and is handing over her $800 million empire to Sean Lennon her only child with Beatles legend John Lennon but John’s eldest son Julian Lennon was left out of the hitmaker’s will but Julian managed to eke out a $25 million settlement okayed by Yoko after he dragged his famous dad’s estate to court, Kelsea Ballerini snapped at a nosy fan for rudely asking if her rounded tummy was a blossoming baby bump

* Fashion Verdict -- Lara Spencer 9/10, Laura Veltz 2/10, Lauren Akins 3/10, Lauren Alaina 4/10

Page 16: Michael Jackson’s baby mama Debbie Rowe reveals getting pregnant was no thrill because she was artificially impregnated -- Debbie met ex-husband Michael when she was working for his dermatologist and she insists the couple never had sex and a sperm donor fathered the pop star’s two kids she carried in her womb -- son Prince Jackson is rumored to have been fathered by Debbie’s doctor boss Arnold Klein -- British actor Mark Lester claims her could be Paris Jackson’s father -- Debbie is unsure of the paternity of Michael’s youngest son Blanket who now goes by Bigi Jackson

Page 17: Fans gaga for Dr. McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy got a super thrill on the season 17 premiere when Patrick Dempsey returned to the hit hospital drama after departing the show five years ago -- Dempsey whose character Dr. Derek Shepherd died in a car crash came back in a dream sequence reuniting with star Ellen Pompeo’s Dr. Meredith Grey on a beach -- Dempsey split from the show to spend more time with his family and pursue his auto racing hobby but he’ll return to the show several more times

Page 19: 10 Things You Don’t Know About Emma Corrin

* Reba McEntire reveals she turned down The Voice gig that went to Blake Shelton and now she regrets it big-time

* Nip/tuck junkie Dolly Parton says she plans to keep freshening her face by going under the knife and crows she’s gonna look like a cartoon and she’ll look as young as her plastic surgeons will allow her

Page 20: True Crime

Page 21: Former soap stud Cody Longo was socked with a domestic abuse charge following a jealous booze-fueled attack on his dancer wife Stephanie Clark -- Cody played Nicholas Alamain on Days of Our Lives from 2011-2012

Page 23: Meredith Baxter felt booby-trapped by her enormous breasts and confesses she welcomed breast-reduction surgery after getting cancer -- the Family Ties star reveals her former 42-inch bust was the plague of her life

* Weatherman Al Roker has a secret weapon in his stormy battle to recover from prostate cancer surgery which is the love and support of his wife Deborah Roberts who is keeping him happy and positive doting on him day and night plus they talk about everything and make medical decisions together so there’s no fear or anxiety entering their world

* Jennifer Lopez kicked booty when a federal judge dismissed a $40 million lawsuit brought by a former stripper who claims she inspired the hit movie Hustlers -- Samantha Barbash claims she’s the real-life model for J.Lo’s pole-dancing swindler Ramona Vega and insisted the movie ruined her rep by implying she did drugs around her kids but the judge tossed the case because Barbash’s name or portrait or picture or voice wasn’t used in the film

Page 24: Cover Story -- Hillary Clinton has tragically packed on nearly 100 pounds since she vanished from the spotlight four years ago and is struggling to breathe and walk and now a medical expert is warning the 73-year-old is facing a health crisis as she tips the scales at 247 pounds -- Hillary has a history of broken bones and shocking collapses

Page 26: Health Report

Page 30: Country girl Carly Pearce’s divorce from Michael Ray has gone from bad to ugly and he’s now parading his romance with Travis Tritt’s daughter Tyler Reese Tritt -- Carly was all for taking the high road but now she’s taken off the gloves -- they’re bad-mouthing each other far and wide and Carly’s tossed everything that reminds her of Michael

* Southern Charm belle Madison LeCroy has been flashing a pic of her newest charms which is a set of bigger boobs

Page 36: Diva Mariah Carey’s demanding ways are driving her boyfriend Bryan Tanaka bonkers and the couple of four years may be headed for Splitsville unless she changes her ways -- Mariah treats Bryan like an assistant instead of a lover and it’s giving him fits and he’s been so patient with Mariah and he loves her but she’s wearing him out with her incessant orders like she has him drawing up her schedule for online greets plus she’s ordering him to do all her holiday shopping for friends and be in charge of everything from decorations to food prep

* Emma Roberts confesses being pregnant makes her weepy and she’s hit the point where like halfway up the stairs she has to sit down sometimes and maybe tears roll down a couple times a week but despite that Emma says she feels grateful and lucky to be expecting her first child

Page 38: Real Life

Page 40: Phil Collins’ embarrassing court battle with third ex Orianne Cevey is casting a pall over his daughter Lily Collins’ wedding plans -- Lily is desperate to tie the knot with Charlie MacDowell but the dirty charges flying back may force her to put the happy day on hold and it’s hard for Lily to concentrate on making wedding plans when her father is caught in an ugly public fight -- Orianne is battling over Phil’s $38 million Miami mansion where they lived after reuniting in 2018

Page 44: Straight Talk -- NXIVM cult is warning to us all

Page 45: Treasure hunters have launched a frantic search for a $150 million stash of gangster gold hidden by mobster Dutch Schultz in Upstate New York after two sleuths recently discovered coins they believe are linked to the stash -- following a long list of cryptic clues Canadian fortune seekers Steve Zazulyk and Ryan Fazekas uncovered gold coins dated 1903 a few miles from the Prohibition Era beer baron’s hangout in the Catskills town of Phoenicia and their find triggered a race against other prosecutors seeking a two-by-three-foot steel box filled with diamonds and gold coins and $1000 bills and $7 billion in World War I Liberty Bonds and the hoard has an estimated value of $150 million today

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vkelleyart · 5 years

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Happy Valentine’s Day, loves! My candy heart comes to you in the form of this fluffy illustrated one-shot (a.k.a. fic-with-a-pic). I hope you enjoy it!

TITLE: “Merlin, May I?” (7466 words)

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Simon Snow gets roped into a game of ‘Merlin May I’ against Baz Pitch, what starts off as a competition between mages for the most dangerous request ends up precipitating an unexpected collision of hearts.

READ ON AO3 | Fic + art close-ups are under the cut

Special thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @penpanoply, and especially Mr. VKelleyArt (Merlin May I kiss you?) for beta reading this fic. ❤️

SIMON

Ah, Spring!

With the sun on my face, the promise of a warm roast beef sandwich in my pocket, and an outdoor luncheon with Penny to look forward to, I’m living in the present moment for a while. The rains have finally given way to clear skies and a crisp breeze. Green has returned to the Great Lawn. And, in a pleasant turn of events, Agatha’s started talking to me again since we broke up last winter. (Okay, maybe not actually talking, but she’s not scurrying off in the opposite direction when she sees me approaching in the hallway anymore. Progress.)

My faith in humanity momentarily restored, and death-by-dark-creature and other variations of my imminent doom seemingly far away, few things on earth could spoil a day like today.

“Oi, Snow!”

Except maybe that.

I turn my gaze downhill to see the voice hailing me belongs to Dev Grimm. Beside him, sneering at me from below a perfect wave of black hair is Baz Pitch.

They are both standing on the inner edge of a circle chockablock with eighth-years. It looks like some sort of spectator event is happening, because standing in the center of the circle are Gareth and Niall, the expression on Gareth’s face bleak and dazed, like he’s just misplaced his dignity and doesn’t know where to look for it.

Dev calls me again. “Fancy joining in, Simon?”

“Not likely,” I say, watching Gareth drag his feet up toward the drawbridge like a man condemned. “What happened to him?”

Baz turns toward me and runs a hand through his hair, moving it out of his eyes. “Gareth was just defeated in Merlin May I,” he answers, prompting the spread of a pompous grin across Niall’s face. “And now Niall here will reap the benefits of Gareth’s… concessions.” A rumble of laughter moves through the crowd.

I frown.

“‘Merlin May I’? What in the name of magic is that?”

“You don’t want to know, Simon. It’s a rotten game,” says Penny, traipsing down behind me. “And shame on all of you for enabling this ridiculousness!” she scolds the crowd, instigating a sea of eye-rolls.

“Come now, Bunce,” says Baz, stepping through an opening in the crowd toward us. “You don’t mean to say you’ve never played Merlin May I. I figured you a braver magician than that.”

Penny’s eyes turn into slits behind her glasses. “Refusing to play that nightmare of a game has no bearing on my bravery. It just means I’m not a glutton for punishment. Or a thundering idiot.”

Baz’s eyes move away from Penny and fix on me. I feel my cheeks flush, and suddenly the sun’s warmth overhead is bordering on oppressively hot.

“That’s perfect. Snow is both. I bet he’d love to play.”

BAZ

Aleister Crowley, I can’t believe my luck. Fate has delivered Simon Snow to my Merlin May I tournament, and though his plucky sidekick is trying to tug him away, he’s still rooted to the spot, which tells me he’s a few carefully timed insults away from playing a round of it himself.

“Simon, don’t you dare,” warns Bunce.

“Don’t worry, Penny. I don’t even know what Merlin May I is.”

“I’d be delighted to bring you up to speed,” I say. “Merlin May I is the mage’s hawk-dove game. We take turns making requests—to do things, take things, and generally force our opponent’s hand—until someone makes a request the other person can’t comply with. Dev, care to brief Snow on the rules?”

“Gladly,” he replies. “The rules are simple…”

You must say “Merlin May I” at the start of every request.

You may not repeat any requests already made.

No requests that will result in shagging, death, or other potentially fatal calamities are allowed either.

To accept a request, you must say “Yes, you may.” Otherwise, say: “You may not.”

The first person to say “You may not” loses the game, and the game is over.

When the game ends, every request the loser agrees to during the game, the winner gets to carry out.

“In other words, say ‘yes, you may’ at your peril,” I finish.

“So it’s ‘chicken’?” Simon sums up. “You just ask questions to see how much the other person will tolerate before they decide they don’t want you to completely fuck them over?”

“No. Chicken is prosaic and dull. Merlin May I is a game of risk and trust. A test of free will,” I reply grandly. “Your opponent may or may not throw you to the merewolves depending on what you request, so you’ll need to weigh just how much harm you want to inflict against how much you’re willing to take. Which is also to say that you should only ask questions you already know the answer to if you want to stay in the game, and that is the last tip I’m giving you.”

“It sounds terrible. I’ll pass.”

“What’s the matter?” I say. “Worried I’ll ask to move your bed to the bottom of the moat?”

“You probably would,” Simon mutters. “Why would anyone play this game? Seems like an easy way to lose friends and make enemies.”

He isn’t wrong. Watford played host to one of the most epic Merlin May I games of all time, and it brought a dramatic end to the school’s then-power couple, Gemma Harrington and Claus Beuchner. They were eight hours into the game when Gemma asked to fly Beuchner’s parents’ Lamborghini into a maelstrom and Claus agreed. He was out of his depth, of course, lost spectacularly, and got into so much trouble for agreeing to Gemma’s requests that his parents made him volunteer to scoop dragon dung at the Swedish Speartail Sanctuary for the rest of term. When he returned, the aroma of smoke and putrescence followed him around the halls for several months.

“Precisely,” I say. “I’m already your enemy. You have nothing to lose.”

“No, thanks. Come on, Penny.” Snow takes a bite from his sandwich, adjusts his rucksack over his shoulder, and turns like he’s about to leave.

I never want him to leave.

“Come, Snow. I’ll make sure your defeat is quick and painless.”

At this, Simon fixes me with an icy glare. “Who says you’d defeat me?”

“I do.”

“You won’t be feeling so jammy in a minute,” he snaps.

I smirk. “Then you’re in?”

Simon drops his rucksack, takes another bite of sandwich, and straightens his jacket. “I’m in.”

“Splendid,” I say.

“Simon!” exclaims Bunce.

“It’ll be fine, Pen,” Simon mutters. “There’s hardly anything terrible this prat can do to me that he hasn’t already done.”

“Apart from kill you!”

I roll my eyes. “As much as it’s in everyone’s best interest for Snow to die, Bunce, requesting his death is against the rules.”

Bunce glares at me, then at Simon. “I’m not playing witness to this. Go ahead and have at it. I’m going to lunch.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll just be a moment,” Simon calls after her, but she’s already storming away. He turns back to face me and sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

Dev steps forward. “Hands up,” he says and pulls his wand out of his pocket. I extend my right hand toward Simon.

Snow is instantly suspicious. “What’s this about?”

“Insurance,” I answer, “to ward against cheating and ensure we carry out what we agree to. Go on.”

Hesitantly, he takes it. Dev lays the tip of his wand against our joined hands and says, “Do or do not. There is no try.” Dev’s magic sinks blue and cold into our skin.

The game has begun.

“You can start,” I say.

“Fine,” Simon huffs, then takes a massive bite of sandwich as he thinks of something to ask for. After a solid minute of chewing, which I can only assume takes so long because it is directly fueling his capacity for thought, Snow finally says, “Merlin May I pass your essay for Magical Words class off as my own?”

“Yes, you may,” I snigger. “Though I should warn you that Miss Possibelf isn’t a complete moron and will know who really wrote it by the time she gets three words in.”

“I didn’t ask for commentary. Your turn.”

“Merlin May I keep our window closed at night for the rest of term?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Is this why you wanted me to play? So you could magically strongarm me into complying with your petty wishes?”

“I’m just taking advantage of a rare opportunity to get what I want without throwing curses at you,” I reply. “Your answer?”

“Yes, you may,” he grumbles. “But then… Merlin May I practice my swordplay on your side of the room?”

I frown at him. “I’m assuming you can resist shredding my bedsheets. And clothes. And all my bloody furniture. Yes, you may.”

Simon smiles, satisfied at having sufficiently lowered my upper hand and disturbed my good mood.

We go on for several rounds, and Snow impresses me with his creativity. He manages to rope me into trading soap with him (which pained me deeply to accept, but I suppose even Simon would prefer not to smell like a hospital once in a while) and confiscating my stash of salt and vinegar crisps because apparently the crumbs get stuck to his bare feet. I told him he wouldn’t have to fuss about it if he’d stop being a Neanderthal and get a set of slippers. (At which point, he Merlin-May-I’ed mine away from me.)

But it’s all relatively harmless. Nothing he’s asked for has legitimately threatened me, and as a result, I’ve had a decently challenging time trying to match Snow’s list of requests. I’ve obstructed Bunce’s secret visits to Mummer’s House, and I’ve forced him to let me Clean As a Whistle his side of the room whenever it starts to look like a numpty nest, but I don’t know how much further to go.

Our spectators look bored. Snow has so little to his name, there’s barely anything worth taking from him without leaving him naked and joyless, the latter of which doesn’t suit my interests at all. I just want to needle him, not destroy his will to live.

“All right,” I pick back up, deciding to raise the stakes. “Merlin May I eat all your scones at tea tomorrow?”

Simon blanches. (Adorably.) “All of them? I’ve never seen you eat one, let alone as many as I can put away.”

“What does that matter so long as it means you don’t get to eat them?” I retort.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Fine. I hope you choke on them.”

I tip an ear toward him. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Yes. You. May,” says Simon through clenched teeth. He looks justifiably forlorn until something wicked occurs to him and his smile returns.

“Merlin May I… play your violin?”

The crowd around us “Ohs” like this is a football game and Snow’s just fouled me.

Because he has. My violin is nearly 300 years old. It’s practically a museum piece. If my parents ever found out Simon so much as touched it, they’d cancel my classes and confiscate the instrument along with my entire sheet music collection.

It’s also my most treasured possession next to my wand. Crowley knows what this hamfisted idiot might do to it.

Well, fuck all, it’s a risk I’ll have to take.

“Yes. You may,” I hiss. “You’ll pay for that one, Snow.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it then.”

His whole body is tilted in my direction. His jaw is pushed out, his eyes flinty. This is my favourite of Simon’s expressions (he only has about three), which is why I provoke it as often as I do. It often precedes him roughing me up, which is the only physical contact with Snow I’m allowed to have, but I’ll take it.

No one would know it by looking at me—least of all Snow—but my heart is practically beating its way out of my rib cage with anticipation.

I know the answer to my next request. It’s the one I ask him in my mind all the time. But I’ll finally get to say it out loud.

I make sure everyone can hear me.

“Merlin May I kiss you?”

Simon drops his sandwich.

SIMON

“Kiss me?” I repeat. “What are you playing at?”

Baz cackles at me. “Well, it’s a classic trap, isn’t it? If you say ‘yes,’ you’ll finally be called out for spreading lies because no one in their right mind would let a vampire’s mouth anywhere near them. Back down, and you’ll not only lose the game, you’ll be branded a coward,” he explains. His head is tilted slightly upward so he can look down on me.

“So which is it, Snow?” he asks, his eyes bright, triumphant. “Are you a liar, or are you a weakling? Either way, I win.”

“I’m neither. You are a manipulative arsehole,” I growl.

He shrugs. “In the present circumstances, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I clench my jaw and shove my elbows against my sides to keep from reaching up and creating a more dramatic bend in his nose with my fist.

“Well?” he drawls, his voice saccharine sweet. “May I?”

Fuck it all, there’s nothing else I can say, is there?

“You may… not.”

Baz’s lips curl into a vicious smile. Applause for his cunning victory permeates the crowd of students around us, and I can feel my magic, red and burning, prickle up my spine like the mercury in a thermometer.

No.

I’ll be damned if this actual bloodsucking wanker walks off thinking he’s won.

He’s turning away from me when I seize him by the sleeve. I yank him back and shove my face into his, catching his mouth in a kiss that nearly cuts my lip on my own teeth. Everyone around us gasps in unison, then goes instantly silent.

There. I’m not a coward or a liar if kissing a vampire in the presence of at least three dozen witnesses ensures I won’t get bitten.

I didn’t plan this out very well, though.

My mouth is pinched shut and crammed uncomfortably against Baz’s, and he’s completely frozen on the spot. (Literally, I think. His lips feel like ice.) I’m tempted to open my eyes just to see if his are closed. He doesn’t even pull his sleeve out of my fingers.

I also think I’ve bruised my lip. I don’t know if I’m motivated by discomfort or habit, but I soften against him the way I would if he were Agatha. And for the briefest moment—less than a few seconds—I kiss him properly. I suppose I don’t know any other way to kiss.

Astonishingly, Baz’s breath smells like cinnamon tea. I don’t know what I was expecting (blood, maybe?) and I also don’t know why this observation feels so important, but it instantly wedges itself in my long-term memory.

Because… he’s kissing me back.

I flinch and pull away.

When I open my eyes, Baz looks like he’s been visited by Merlin‘s ghost. His lips are still parted. His eyes are wide and glittering at me.

I clear my throat.

“Reckon it’s lunchtime,” I say above a chorus of hoots and howls of laughter. I feel lightheaded and embarrassed, so I try to channel Baz’s arrogance, smirking as I reach down for my rucksack and sandwich (the latter of which thankfully fell onto the former when I dropped it).

When I stand back upright, he’s striding down toward the Wavering Wood away from me, his coal-black hair dancing in the wind behind him.

BAZ

I’m sitting on a large rock—fuming—when I hear Snow’s footsteps crunching loudly behind me. His foot must slip on some wet leaves because I hear him yelp so loudly, it sends the dryads back into their huts. He has the grace of a hippopotamus.

“Hunting, are we?” he calls after me.

��Fuck off,” I say.

“Funny. That’s usually my line.”

I ignore him.

“I don’t know why you’re sulking,” he grumbles. “You’re the one who made me play.”

“A decision I wholeheartedly regret. Come to gloat now that you’ve humiliated me?”

“Humiliated you? You were trying to humiliate me!” Snow bothers his curls with one hand and makes a gnarled mess of them. “I actually came here to apologize, but seeing as you’re still intent on being a git, I’ll just head back to lunch with Penny and be satisfied that you’ll have all my scones tomorrow as a consolation prize.”

“Consolation prize indeed. You cheated,” I snap, and I hate how petulant I sound.

“I didn’t cheat.”

“Yes, you did. The game was over. And then you decided to make up your own rules.”

“What else was I supposed to do? You cornered me!”

I spring to my feet and spin around to face him. “Of course I cornered you! Entrapment is how you win! I’d demand a rematch if I didn’t think you’d just find a new way to cock it up!”

Snow flings down his rucksack. “Come on, then. A rematch.”

“Here? In the Wavering Wood, where no one can witness your defeat? That’s convenient.”

“Yes, here. Where no one can wipe you off the floor if you call a chimera on me and it goes after you instead,” he snarls. “Which, by the way: you’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you for that. If not for me, it would have obliterated us both. You don’t even know how to trigger your own nuclear meltdowns without my help.”

“Get on with it, arsehole.”

“On one condition,” I hiss. “This time, we play the sudden death version of the game. That means every request gets fulfilled on the spot—no hesitation, no excuses.” I fold my arms. “Then we’ll see who is the hawk and who is the dove.”

Simon nods.

“You’re on.”

SIMON

“You start this time,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

Baz is leering at me through narrowed eyes. “Merlin May I have your sandwich?”

It takes everything in me not to throw it at him.

“Yes, you may,” I reply. He reaches me in two steps, stopping less than an arm-length away. (Trying to intimidate me already, the prick.) Then, he grabs my sandwich and flings it into the brush.

One does not simply take away my sandwich and my scones without a fight.

I go straight for the jugular.

“Merlin May I have your wand,” I say in as even a voice as I can muster.

Baz’s nostrils flare. “That depends. Do you plan to use it to blow yourself up?”

“Answer the question.”

He pauses, then he reaches into his sleeve and draws out his wand. “Yes. You may,” he says, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will, his eyes locked on mine as he drops it into my palm.

Shit. I never thought in a million years he’d ever let me take his wand. It seems impossible—counterintuitive even—but he must trust me at least a little if he’d relinquish it. I set it down on the rock.

“Merlin May I have your sword?” he asks.

I feel myself pale. “Shouldn’t you be asking for my wand?”

“No repeats. And what would be the point? You’re practically useless with one.”

“Fuck you, Baz.”

This isn’t going well at all. I can’t bloody think with Baz this close to me. After a brief pause in which I struggle to come up with ways this could backfire, I come up dry and finally say, “Yes, you may.”

He extends both hands. I call the Sword of Mages and hold it up between us by the hilt. Baz doesn’t so much as flinch, but I can see his brain working behind his eyes.

He didn’t expect me to give up my sword anymore than I expected him to give up his wand.

I lay the blade gently across his palms, but he doesn’t put it down. “Why are you still holding it?” I ask.

“There’s nothing in the rules that say I have to put it down. Consider it a deterrent—in case you’re thinking of asking for permission to hit me.”

“Is that right? Well then: Merlin May I take your hands?” I ask.

“You… may.”

Baz looks irritated and bends to put my sword on the ground behind him. Where I can’t reach it.

When he stands again, I hold out my hands. For a moment he just stares at them, and my mind races for a way he might twist my request to harm me. He’s a vampire; I wonder if he would use super strength to crush my fingers in his grip.

But then he slides both his palms over mine. Gently. His hands are rougher than I expected (from a lifetime lighting flames in his palms, no doubt) and cold.

So cold.

The shock of it makes me involuntarily close my fingers around his, like it’s my own hands that are freezing and I need to warm them.

Unnerved, I look up at Baz’s face.

He’s staring right at my throat.

BAZ

Fucking Snow.

He’s better at this than I thought he’d be. I need a way to get his hands off my own and end this before I forget we’re playing “Merlin May I” altogether and trap him with a kiss instead of a question.

I see something glitter near the button of his collar. “Merlin May I take your cross necklace?” I say.

His eyes widen. “It’ll burn you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You’re a vampire.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Give me the necklace.”

Snow lets go of my hands, and I let out the breath I had no idea I was holding. I watch as he reaches behind his neck, unclasps the chain, and dangles the cross between us.

I don’t let him drop it in my hand. I simply close my fingers around the chain, making sure not to make contact with the cross itself, and cup my other hand around the pendant as I would protecting a flame from the wind. He can’t see that it’s not touching my skin. Quickly, I drop it onto the rock beside my discarded wand.

Snow frowns. “Let me see your palm,” he demands.

I shake my head. “Not if that’s how you’re asking.”

He growls. “Merlin May I see your palm?”

I hold my hand up, but he snatches it out of the air and squints so he can get a better look. With his other hand, he runs a finger down the centerline of my palm to see if I’m burned, and it’s everything I can do to keep my breath from hitching at the sensation of it. His touch is so soft, it feels like dragonflies lighting in my hand.

It’s as if he doesn’t want to inflict more pain, in case the cross had burned me after all.

Snow looks up at me, disappointed. Hurt. Because he knows I’ve tricked him and he can’t prove it. I ought to be used to that expression. I lie to him daily. This shouldn’t be any different than any other trick, but here, alone in the Wavering Wood together with my hand in his, standing on the receiving end of that glare feels like he’s slapped me.

Surely, he knows. He must know; when I cornered him on the great lawn and threatened to out him as a dishonest weakling, I wasn’t talking about him. How could I be? Simon Snow is the most powerful mage ever to walk the earth (and trample my heart in the process).

I am the liar. I am the coward.

I am… losing my nerve.

My constitution won’t let me concede defeat yet—I am a Pitch, after all—but I also can’t help entertaining an outcome where I just cave, hand him his victory, and come clean. Crowley, what would that feel like? What disasters might occur if I confessed it all right here, with the Chosen One burning lines into my palms with his fingertips?

Maybe then, I’d be freed from the other game we play. The one where I pretend I’m not a love-sick vampire with a brass neck and too many secrets. I could just let it all go—my better judgment, my family’s wishes, my hardwired instinct for self-preservation—and say it…

I asked to kiss you, Simon Snow, because I knew you’d never let me. Because I punish myself for loving you by conjuring scenarios where I can come close enough to your fire without being burned.

Of course, he went and kissed me anyway, and now I’m incinerating.

If only.

I wish I could believe that, if he trusts me enough to hand over the only two things in the world that could protect him from someone like me, perhaps I could trust him, too.

I’d tell him no one asked for my permission to make me what I am. There was no “Merlin May I?” when the vampires bit me. There wasn’t one when the Crucible shackled me to Snow, either, and I sure as fuck didn’t ask to fall in love. The whole concept of free will as it applies to my life is a sick joke.

Simon was right. This game is terrible.

I don’t want to play anymore.

SIMON

When I look up at Baz’s face, I see him staring straight at me, his grey eyes boring holes into my pupils. They’re like mirrors in this light, casting back the greens and browns of the forest around us. I catch myself looking for my reflection in them before I clear my throat and say, “It’s your turn.”

I have no idea what he could possibly ask for now. We’ve disarmed each other, except for my wand, but he’s right. Ever since he asked to kiss me, my magic has been volatile and flaring just under my skin. I’d avoid using it against him. (Too risky.) And, rules or no rules, he’s still close enough to bite me if he wanted. No one else is here. Looking at his face now, tense and concentrating, I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Would being bitten feel different than kissing him felt?

I think, in either case, my heart stops.

He’s got a strange look on his face. When Baz finally speaks, it’s unlike any sound I’ve ever heard come from his mouth. His voice is soft and low, all its sharp edges gone. Like music.

“Merlin May I touch you,” he says, “here.”

His fingers hover over my neck, just below my jaw.

My heart is racing now. Maybe he’s putting me in a thrall (vampires can do that, can’t they?), or else it’s a challenge. Maybe he wants me to think he’s actually going to bite me so I’ll concede defeat. But neither of these theories seems compatible with the sound of Baz’s voice, and the next moment, the breeze sends a whiff of cinnamon in my direction, turning all my thoughts to mud.

I say, “Yes, you may,” and Baz’s face is unreadable. I feel his fingers first, then his palm. His thumb trails against my cheek. I expect it to feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. My skin is always too warm and his feels like cool water against it.

I can’t help it. I think of Baz’s lips parting against mine.

The breeze picks up then, sending his raven hair flying. He turns his face into the wind, but his hand is on my neck, and I don’t want him to let go.

“Merlin May I touch your hair?” I ask.

He looks confused. It’s an expression Baz doesn’t usually wear unless I’ve done something uncharacteristically civil, like thanking him for leaving the bathroom door open, or waiting for him to finish his homework to turn off the light. It usually precedes a sneer or an eyeroll, but instead, I see Baz’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

Is Baz… nervous?

“Why?” he asks.

“It’s getting in my eyes,” I say. Maybe he was right about me being a liar.

Nevertheless, Baz nods slowly. “Yes,” he says. “You may.”

Hesitantly, I reach up and move several wayward strands of his hair off his forehead, tucking them behind his ear.

My arm stays raised of its own volition. Instead of pulling away, I thread my hand further into Baz’s hair until my fingers are full of it. I’ve always wondered what this would feel like, so I run my hand through it again, and it slips softly through my fingers. I don’t encounter a single knot.

I can’t believe he’s letting me do this.

As I do, Baz tips his head into my touch and closes his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was enjoying it. But then he sighs, and I revise my assessment. He’s definitely enjoying it.

What the hell am I doing?

What the hell are we doing?

“Merlin May I…” Baz whispers, his eyes still closed.

Cross that, I’m definitely in his thrall. I must be. Gravity or some other kind of magic is pulling me closer to him, and I’m staring at his mouth when I feel his hand—the one that isn’t on my neck—slip gently over my waist.

I’m unarmed. No one is here to save me. But I’m not afraid of him.

I wonder if his lips are always so cold…

“Yes?” I whisper back.

His eyes open just then. He’s so close to my face, and where once he looked serene, he now looks stricken.

“Baz?”

He yanks his hands back and shakes his head, like he’s stirring from a bad dream.

“I forfeit.”

I must not have heard him correctly. “What?”

“You win. I’m out.”

“You’re out? You can’t just quit the game,” I say, but he ignores me, scoops up his jacket and wand and heads hurriedly back up the hill toward Mummer’s House. Grabbing my things, I rush after him, but his head start and long legs mean I’m utterly outpaced.

I’m halfway up the hill running at full speed after Baz before I realise I have to turn back around.

I’ve left my sword and cross behind.

BAZ

I’m back in our room, pacing.

More accurately, I’m trapped in the torture chamber between my ears.

I keep reliving the moment on the Great Lawn when Simon’s mouth softened against mine, and when I’m not doing that, I’m obsessing over all the moments that followed. Snow’s fingers in my hair. My hand on his waist. The sticky, smoky smell of his magic pouring off of him as he leaned in… It’s all cycling over and over in my mind like I’m looping through television channels and every network is broadcasting the same slow motion instant replay.

I’m not nearly as devastated over Simon calling my bluff and embarrassing me in front of everyone in our year as I am that he kissed me and didn’t mean it. But then… why did he linger? Why did he run his hand through my hair? Did I imagine him moving in to kiss me again or was that… real?

Nothing makes any bleeding sense.

I should leave. Head to the catacombs. He’ll be here any moment, and I need to get out of this godforsaken room. I would torch it to a cinder if it meant not having to share it with Simon Snow anymore.

My hand is on the doorknob when Snow pushes it open and nearly knocks me down.

“Baz,” he says, panting. We stand there for an endless moment gaping at each other like a pair of idiots before Simon finally notices my rucksack. “Where are you going?”

“Library. I have homework,” I mutter, and I try to push past him, but he blocks my path.

“Why did you forfeit?”

“I couldn’t come up with anything else to ask, obviously.”

“That wasn’t in the rules.”

“It’s implied.”

Simon sets his jaw and pushes me further into the room. “Well, I don’t accept your forfeiture.”

“It doesn’t matter if you accept. It’s my choice,” I retort. “And honestly, what’s wrong with you? No one in their right mind passes up the opportunity to win Merlin May I.”

“That’s not how I want to win!”

I wish there was a rule prohibiting the victor of Merlin May I from talking about it ever again.

“Please, Simon,” I say, lowering my voice, and he starts at the sound of his first name. “I don’t want to play anymore. You won, fair and square. Crowley, even when you lose, you fucking win…”

I shove past him and make it through the doorway when I hear him call out behind me. “Why did you ask to kiss me?”

I spin around to the sound of neighboring doors clicking and creaking open. “Aleister almighty, are you a bloody air raid siren? Keep your voice down!” With a huff, I rush back to our room, push him back inside by the shoulders and close the door behind me. “Haven’t you wrecked my reputation enough for one day?”

“Why did you ask to kiss me?” he repeats, ignoring me. He looks pained.

“Like I said. You should only ask questions you know the answer to. I asked because I knew you wouldn’t allow it,” I whisper loudly. I almost stop myself before curiosity commandeers my voice and I say, “Why did you touch my hair?”

“You touched me first.”

“Because I was trying to intimidate you!”

He shakes his head, furious. “I know what it looks like when you’re trying to intimidate me, Baz. You do it every fucking day,” he growls. “Tell me the truth.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” I snap. “You’re the one withholding infor-”

“Because I wanted to!” he shouts over me. And then, silence.

I’ve lost the ability to speak.

Or think.

Simon’s face is dragon red.

I think actual sudden death would be preferable to standing awkwardly across from Simon with no feeling in my extremities and no hope of escape. The Humdrum could materialize right here in this room to vanquish us, and it would be a mercy.

Snow looks fit to go off right now.

“I thought maybe you’d put me in a thrall,” he murmurs finally and laughs bitterly at himself. “I thought kissing you was about winning that stupid fucking game. But you kissed me back, and now it’s all I can bloody think about and… Baz, why did you kiss me back?”

My mind is reeling, scouring for excuses, but for once, I’m unprepared. Everything I could say right now would only hurt me on its way out of my mouth.

He steps toward me. “Don’t tell me I imagined it.”

Entrapment is how you win.

I don’t have to lie to him, do I? He just said he wanted his hand in my hair. I’m getting dizzy thinking about what else might he want from me. Aleister Crowley, I want him to have it, whatever it is. Simon has opened a door. I just need to walk through it.

Out with it, Basilton…

Instead—out of habit, sheer stupidity, cowardice, or all of the above—every muscle in me clenches like locks in a fortified wall, bracing me for my usual self-immolation. I hate myself with every word as I monotone, “You imagined it.”

Snow’s eyes darken, and he nods.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Don’t bother going to the library if you’d rather stay. I’m leaving.”

He picks up his belongings.

Oh, Simon.

I never want you to leave.

SIMON

“Snow, wait.”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. Not a second later, I feel Baz’s hand on my shoulder.

“Merlin May I… tell you a secret?” he whispers, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He feels close.

Glancing over my shoulder, I answer: “Yes, you may.”

“Crowley, don’t turn around,” he says. “You’ll just make this worse.”

I’m at a loss for words, so I just nod.

“You’re right about me. About what I am,” he says, his voice low from behind. “I don’t want to be a vampire anymore than you probably want to share a room with one, but I didn’t really get a say in the matter.” Dropping his hand from my shoulder, he adds, “I’ve never bitten a person. And I never will—unless you tell anyone what I’m saying to you, in which case I’ll have no choice but to tear out your larynx with my teeth.”

I can’t help myself. I turn to face him. Baz’s face is ashen, his eyes fixed to the floor. He’s holding himself by the arms, like he might come apart if he lets go.

“I was a child when the vampires attacked Watford,” he continues softly. “They bit me. And they killed my mother.”

It takes all my mental faculties, but I finally find my voice—only I don’t know what to do with it except whisper, “Jesus Christ,” which is both an inadequate and utterly useless thing to say. Though I can’t see Baz’s eyes behind the veil of his dark lashes, at least my reaction doesn’t seem to offend him because he keeps talking.

“I didn’t lie when I said that I asked to kiss you because I knew you wouldn’t allow it. But then you kissed me , and…,” he says, his voice so quiet, I can barely hear it. “You didn’t imagine it. I kissed you back.”

He finally lifts his eyes to look at me.

“Because I wanted to,” he whispers.

My heart is thundering in my chest. I don’t know what to say. This is too much to process and I’m clearly shit with words anyway. I have so many questions, but none of them are appropriate, and Baz is just standing there with his hair in his eyes, waiting for my cue—to fight, flee, or die on the spot, probably.

But I don’t want him to do any of those things. He told me the truth for once, and it was the biggest, most terrible truth I could have imagined.

And he trusted me with it.

I step around him and toss my jacket and rucksack on my bed. “My turn.”

“What?” Baz looks properly surprised.

“Merlin May I sit beside you?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. “Snow, I didn’t mean to imply that I still want to play this infernal game.”

“I know,” I say, moving toward him. “Consider this the world’s first single-player game of Merlin May I. Your answer?”

He furrows his brow and says warily, “Yes, you may. Aren’t you at all concerned that I’m—“

“Still my turn,” I cut him off, pulling him by the wrist toward his bed and taking a seat next to him. With one hand, I smooth his hair away from his eyes and fix him with a soft gaze. “Merlin May I hold your face?” I say.

Baz is looking at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head. He doesn’t say “yes, you may.” He simply nods. As both my hands reach up and rest against his cheeks, I decide to let the infraction go.

Because he’s trembling.

I’m weightless with shock. This Baz isn’t a threat or a villain or a monster. He’s just… a boy.

He leans into my palm and closes his eyes. His eyelashes look wet.

“Merlin May I tell you something?” I say.

“Yes,” he breathes, “you may.”

I stroke his cheek with my thumb. “I want to kiss you again,” I whisper.

His eyes spring open. “No repeats,” he replies, breathless.

“That was a different game.”

“Same opponents. Same day. Same game. It’s illegal.”

“I don’t think you mind.”

I weave my fingers through Baz’s hair without asking, my hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. He lets me.

“You’re not worried I’ll bite you?” he asks.

Smiling, I touch my forehead to his. “‘Merlin May I is a game of risk and trust.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

“You don’t trust me.”

I shrug. “I trust you not to make supper out of me.”

He shakes his head against mine, and laughs. “I don’t understand your strategy.”

“I don’t have one,” I say, and I’m so close to his mouth that I’m breathing in the scent of cinnamon and cedar. “What’s your answer?”

His answer doesn’t come in words. He just shuts up and closes his eyes. His hand finds my wrist, like he’s afraid of me, but I won’t hurt him. As I close the gap between us, a thought enters my mind.

This is so much better than fighting.

BAZ

I’m certain I don’t know what I’m doing. My first kiss only happened an hour ago in front of God and everyone, lasted mere seconds, and precipitated the most senseless and backwards game of Merlin May I in the history of Magic.

I’m not sure if we’re still playing.

I don’t care. Fuck this ridiculous game.

Simon Snow is kissing me.

On. My. Bed.

Thank Crowley he’s done this before. His hands are still on my face and in my hair, and whatever blood is in me is singing in my ears. He’s blessedly warm which is helping my trembling, and his lips are so strong with intention—to devour me whole, it seems—that mine move in his rhythm, like we’re dancing and he’s leading.

And he’s humming. Like I’m something to savor. I can hear the whisper of his breath, its warmth skimming gently over my face. As his lips move against mine, it sounds like the tail end of a rainstorm. I would give up all my possessions to Merlin May I if he asked for them, just to keep him attached to my mouth.

I feel light. Like I’ve been exorcised of something toxic and terrible.

When he pulls away, we both look stunned.

“So…” he rasps, “this is not how I envisioned finishing out my day.”

“Someone should make sure hell hasn’t frozen over,” I murmur, grinning in spite of myself.

Snow’s eyes brighten. “Merlin’s tooth, I’ve never seen you smile like this before.” He sounds awed. “I mean, you’re fit whether or not you’re smiling at me, but you’re gorgeous when you do.”

“You think I’m fit?” I ask incredulously. “Are you possessed?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still a git,” he laughs.

“A git, it appears, you’re willing to kiss,” I say, and I can’t help the disbelief that sneaks into my voice. “I didn’t think kissing blokes fell into the realm of things you do for fun.”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure it does,” he murmurs. “You’re the only bloke I’ve ever wanted to kiss.”

I smile. “Crowley, Snow, you have no idea how strange it is to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

“Can’t be much stranger than hearing you admit you’re a vampire,” he says. “I promise to properly shut up about that from now on, by the way.”

“What happens now?” I ask, staring at his lips.

“I haven’t thought much farther ahead than snogging you until Penny has to send a search party here to find us.”

He barely finishes his sentence before something courageous comes over me and I take him by the shoulders. I don’t need to say “Merlin May I” for permission to kiss him this time, so I just do it. I just want to dwell a little longer in this impossible reality where I’ve confessed all my secrets to Simon Snow and he somehow still wants me—in spite of what I am, what I’ve done to him, and what we were to each other before I conned him into playing a game designed to drive mages apart.

Leave it to Snow to completely subvert the point of Merlin May I by sheer accident.

A long moment later, Simon pulls away from me, frowning. “Are you still eating my scones tomorrow?”

I raise an eyebrow. “If all this is just an elaborate scheme to salvage your scones—”

Snow knocks my arm in retaliation. “No, I mean, is Dev’s spell still active?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Are we still playing?”

He shrugs and reaches for my hand. “Dunno. We sort of got sidetracked…”

And now he’s lacing his fingers in mine.

Simon Snow wants to kiss me and hold my hand, and any moment now I’m going to wake up.

“I suppose we both lose, then,” I say. “And that way you can keep your precious scones.”

“We’ll share them,” he whispers, bringing our joined hands to his heart. “I’d say we both won.”

❤️❤️ HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, LOVELIES! ❤️❤️

#fic with a pic #fanart #fanfic #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #and they were roommates #alternate first kiss #vkelleyart gallery

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jvee0909-blog · 4 years

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By: Jessica Villasenor

As Good as It Gets

As Good as It Gets is focused on Melvin Udall who is an obsessive-compulsive (OCD) man who is rude to anyone and everyone he meets. This Drama/Rom-Comedy begins when Melvin’s gay neighbor Simon is robbed and brutally beat up and Melvin has to take care of his dog during his recovery. Simon’s dog begins to make a difference in Melvin’s life when he begins to soften a little. And as if the dog wasn’t enough, Melvin finds that he may be able to carry a relationship with the only waitress at a local diner who serves him and had to endure his rude comments. Melvin’s life seems to be normalizing until Simon wants his dog back and his regular waitress has to leave work to look after her asthmatic son, that’s when Melvin realizes that his life needs others for more than just selfish reasons.

Authentic: Strongly Agree

In As Good as It Gets, Melvin is shown to visit a psychiatrist once, the one and only time his disorder was mentioned. But his symptoms were shown throughout the movie. OCD is characterized by reasonable thoughts and fears or obsessions that lead to compulsive behaviors such as compulsive behavior, agitation, impulsivity, repetitive movements, ritualistic behaviors, and social isolation. Which Melvin showed in the film. Melvin must turn each lock on his apartment door exactly five times every time he would get to his apartment, he would not step on any cracks on the floor or sidewalks and when he was out his focus was making sure he would not step on any of them leading to running into individuals on the streets for not paying attention where he was going, that’s an example of ritualistic behavior. He has to wash his hands in scalding water with brand-new bar soap ad throw away the bar immediately then grab another bar to wash off the fact that he threw away the first bar soap, that is definitely the fear of germs which is also part of the disorder. Melvin was very isolated, did not have much contact with people due to his impulsivity behaviors. The viewers also got to see his disorder forefront when he would be eating at the restaurant. Melvin would take his plastic utensils as well as have them lined up exactly his own way, and not to forget to mention, he only had to be served by the one and only waitress.

Lastly but most importantly, he has a routine every day and if it was disturbed for any reason his level of anger would increase. For example, when he was not at the right table at his daily restaurant, when the waitress wasn’t around and also, when he visited the doctor and he noticed his doctor had moved his office around. All of those behaviors from Melvin are symptoms of OCD (National Institute of Mental Health).

Attractive: Neither Agree or Disagree

At the beginning of the movie, Melvin was rude to everyone he would cross paths with, he had no one he showed any emotions for. The movie leads on to make Melvin look like he is just a rude person suffering from OCD and not trying to help himself or feel any sympathy for anyone. To name some examples, when the neighbors rang his door bell more than once he would open the door aggressively because he would get interrupted during his working hours at home as well as throwing the dog through the trash tunnel they used in his apartment building. When he visited the doctor, he showed up screaming “help!” being completely rude to the doctor. When he would yell at other waitresses for not getting his routine right. Also, when he showed up to the waitress house and blamed her for ruining his day for not being at work as he expected her and in that same scene he is attempting to teach the waitress son manners when it was uncalled for as well as when waiting for the taxi to take the son to the hospital he yelled at little kids to shut up when they were singing while walking. But those negative qualities slowly begin to turn into positive qualities as the movie goes on, Melvin is able to continue his writing, go through the city to dine at his common restaurant as well as to live as normal as can.

Though, my thoughts contradict because Melvin begins to put effort on his positive qualities when he starts caring for the dog as well as the waitress. He then begins to go out of his way to help and make some changes to keep around those who deep down mattered to him. For example, he took care of the neighbor’s dog and actually cared for it, including taking it for walks. Also, when he realized the reason why the waitress was not going to work because her son was sick, he sent out a doctor as well as a nurse to help paying all the medical bills, that way she can go back to work. Another great gesture he had was taking care of his neighbor when his maid had to go and the fact that he noticed his neighbor might be falling into depression and he tries to help even when the neighbor does not want to be helped at first. Due to those good qualities throughout the movie I rated this “neither agree or disagree”

Friendly: Agree

In As Good as It Gets there is a few characters shown to not care for Melvin due to their lack of knowledge of his disorder. For this rating I am going to evaluate how those people changed around to care for Melvin. I will focus on only the neighbor and Carol (waitress) because those where the two he mostly interacted with.

Melvin did not exhibit any forms of relationships at beginning of the movie, besides his neighbors who thought he was just a rude old man which lead to no one caring about him in all reality. In the scene where Melvin goes on a trip with his neighbor and the waitress, Melvin shares that his dad used to hit him which leads the viewers to think that his dad was not very caring. Also, no one liked running into him in his apartment building as well as at the restaurant. But as the movie goes on his neighbor begins to be around a little more by spending more time with Melvin even when going through some rough times which leads to him caring for Melvin as caring as could be considering his situation. The waitress begins to understand that he has a problem and learns to cope with his disorder and Melvin’s way of living that leads to them having a romantic relationship, the waitress learns that Melvin’s way to say things or be “nice” is still a working process and things he says might not sound nice, but he means well. Carol begins to acknowledge his good and bad qualities. For example, the scene where they took a trip and they are having drinks she asks Melvin for a compliment and Melvin struggles but as mad as the waitress was, she chose to stay and tell him what she wants from him. Carol also exposed Melvin to many of his fears and lead Melvin to benefit from it as a recovery kind.

Therefore, I’m going to rate this as “agree” because the neighbor and waitress become Melvin’s support system by developing relationships with him. In reality it was just them two by showing patience and their own way of support. Well, not exactly just them too. I cannot forget to mention the dog, it actually started choosing him instead of his owner and the dog even learns a few traits of his disorder, which is not stepping on cracks as well.

Hopeful: Strongly Agree

This movie had a very hopeful ending due to the reason that Melvin’s relationship with the two-people involved in his life. At the end of the movie as I have already mentioned, Melvin learns that in order to keep people around and begin to live a better life he has to make some changes. His symptoms improve because once he encounters the relationship with the waitress he is not focused much on those OCD traits. For example, Melvin learns to express himself in a matter of empathy. Melvin begins to show more emotions to her by agreeing to go on a date as well as when Carol puts ultimatums of the relationship not working out if he continues his ritualistic behaviors such as not stepping on cracks we see him at the end of the movie when he actually steps on a crack and does not care when noticed after giving Carol a speech about him knowing “he can do better than that” and why he feels great when he’s with her and kissing her not caring about germs. Now for his relationship with the neighbor, Melvin allows him to stay with him in his apartment as well with his dog and allowing the dog to get on the bed and both getting comfortable. Melvin also learns to look for the neighbor to get advice from him when struggling with his feelings towards the waitress. Therefore, I strongly agree on this rating.

Helpful: Neither Agree or Disagree

In this film, there was only one professional who Melvin met with once. The doctor in my opinion, acted as appropriate as could in the scene shown. The doctor stated he could not help Melvin if he did not agree to meet regularly which is the first step to treat OCD. To try to maintain normal household routines whenever possible. Melvin asked a few random questions while being very angry and the doctor did not leave any unanswered. Though, he was firm and told him he couldn’t not help him at the moment or even just when he pleased and showed up without an appointment. However, Melvin does mention his doctor prescribed him medication to deal with the disorder which leads me to feel doubtful about the doctor. Medication is not exactly the right way to deal with his disorder. Though, the doctor also told Melvin he needed to break his routine which is definitely the best way to go about it. But it did not seem as if the doctor gave him specific instructions on how to do so which is why Melvin thought by showing up to his office unannounced was him breaking his routine. Those facts are not good judgements in part by the psychologist. Therefore, I neither agree or disagree for this rating.

References

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. (n.d.). Retrieved from https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/obsessive-compulsive-disorder-ocd/index.shtml

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lenaisanerd · 5 years

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i know it’s expected that i be serene

When Clary texts Simon requesting Fullmetal Alchemist, he knows something's up. But Clary seems to be in denial, and so Simon dispenses the ultimate cure-all: Hanging out with her best friend. (ca. 3500 words)

tunes.

Read on AO3.

This story was co-written with my darling @raisehades. Please enjoy the hard-earned fruits of many late-night Google Docs comment battles.

Clary: can i come ober

Simon: Ofc

Are u okay?

Clary: yes i just want so talk and cuddle or something

Simon: Okay. Want me to set up anything?

Clary: fma? 2009?

Simon: I gotchu

Simon was slightly worried.

First of all, Clary wasn’t usually this reserved in her texting. Her lack of exclamation points coupled with the request for her favourite show could only mean one thing: his friend was way more down than she was letting on.

But he would deal with that when she brought it up because, well, he was also happy; Clary and him used to do this a lot – go over to each other’s (parent’s) place to hang out and watch something they both more or less enjoyed and maybe even talk about their lives and their feelings and- stuff.

But ever since the whole… half-angel manic pixie dream girl mom reveal (the HAMPDGMR) and everything that went down in consequence of the HAMPDGMR, they simply hadn’t done this sort of thing anymore. Sure, they hung out with all their other friends, at parties at Magnus’ loft or karaoke night at the Hunter’s Moon. And while that was fun, it was different when it was just the two of them.

Even during their brief dating stint, there wasn’t much they did that they’d done as friends. Simon had enjoyed what they’d done together, of course, but looking back it had been obvious that this wasn’t ideal for them.

Ideal was this: Lugging the connector cable for the TV into the vicinity of his laptop, powering both up and then loading a site with English subtitles of Hiromu Arakawa’s masterpiece Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

Also ideal: Clary bringing weird snacks with unpronounceable names from the Polish bodega down the street from their old high school. That store had become their first stop after class when they were younger and would sneak candy into movie theatres or curl up on the couch in Clary’s living room and watch Audrey Hepburn flicks with Dot. Simon was almost certain he would be able to eat some and keep them down by now.

Well, actually, in a perfect world, Simon would have loved to cook something for Clary (the food at the Institute was a far cry from what any sane person would call comfort food. Or edible). But one of the results of moving out of his mom’s place just after he’d become a bloodsucking creature of the night was that he owned basically no dishes, or pots, or kitchen utensils.

Even compiling his stuff with Maia’s (who had lived next to a Chinese restaurant for her entire adult life) yielded five plates, one bowl, two chipped mugs, and somehow a ridiculously large amount of cutlery. So cooking anything more than a bowl of cereal was out of the question until they got around to buying some usable stuff. Simon could already see himself and Maia filling their birthday and Christmas/Hanukkah wishlists with basic household items for years into the future. Ah, the joys of adulthood.

Still, this was almost the Saturday morning of his dreams. In the past year, Simon had come to understand that while moments of normalcy were few and far between, when one came along they had to hold on tight for as long as they could. Which was exactly what he was planning to do.

“I’m telling you, Polish Bodega lady has to be a Downworlder. We just have to find out what flavor she is.” Clary started on her new favourite topic as soon as Simon opened the door. She draped her damp jacket over the back of a kitchen chair to dry, dropped a plastic bag on the table, and re-tied her wet ponytail.

Simon started rummaging through the contents of the bag. “Okay, one: I don’t like “flavors”, at all, two: how do you know she’s not just a normal human being who just happens to own a windowless shop where she basically lives 24/7? Oooh, you brought those weird milk drops!”

Clary had her back turned to him while she stretched as far as she could to reach the plates and mugs on one of the high shelves above the sink, not quite managing it. “She never sleeps. Sometimes I come by that store when I’m on patrol, and she must be there all night. Every night. And every day, too. Either she never sleeps, or she has at least two clones.”

“Maybe she has an identical twin sister.” Simon took pity on her and handed her the dishes. Clary took them and ducked out under his arm from between the sink and his body in one fluid movement. Then she set to digging through the fridge for some soda for herself, and a bag of A+ for him, hugging the plates and mugs to her body with her free arm.

“I think I caught her staring at my runes. She definitely at least has the Sight.”

“Oh, so your angel-ninja sense is tingling? Tell me, is there a type of demon that loves to disguise itself as an old lady and watch reruns of Polish soap operas?”

“There’s only so many demons that can be terrorizing Manhattan bankers at a time, you know.”

Simon let out an undignified snort of laughter, of the kind that, had he been drinking at the time, would certainly have made him exhale his drink through his nose. Clary stuck her head over the fridge door grinning triumphantly. Then she emerged fully from its depths with a bottle of coke wedged horizontally under her chin, the plates under her arm, right hand holding the mugs, and left hand holding the blood bag. Standing up was a precarious balancing act, and Simon rushed over to take the bottle from between her chin and collarbone. After he snatched up the bags of sweets from the table they continued their procession into Simon’s bedroom.

Maia and him had moved in together just after New Year’s, into a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Fort Greene. They had decided against sharing a bedroom, though, mostly because of their sleep schedules. As Maia had put it, one partner strangling the other because a certain vampire keeps making noise all through the night while a certain werewolf is trying to sleep is not very conducive to a healthy relationship. Of course, they often spend the night together anyway, although those weren’t the nights when they did much sleeping.

“Come lie down, thought you wanted to cuddle,” Simon said, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him. Clary flopped down and threw her legs over his. Balancing the snack plate carefully on her lap she fluffed the pillows behind her and finally settled down.

It was several skipped episodes, an entire bag o’ blood, and a good two thirds of the coke later when Simon got to find out why exactly Clary was in such urgent need for Comfort TV Time.

“Did you know jat Ling’s name doejn’t need the ng sound at all? It’sh Lin in Japanese and”, Simon swallowed the milk drops, “the Chinese translation both, so they just changed it for us for some reason.”

“You’re going to regret eating those,” Clary said with such a comical expression of distaste on her face that Simon couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself. I won’t mop it up, though.”

Simon was still grinning when Clary reached forward to pause the episode on a rather unfortunate still of Major Louis Armstrong in motion.

“Do you think Izzy would like this,” she said, suddenly serious.

“Who wouldn’t like Fullmetal Alch- ”

“You’re right. Of course she would. Continue.”

Simon took her vague gesture towards the screen as a command to unpause. About half a minute later she piped up again, this time not even bothering with the pause button. “Her favourite character would have to be Mei-Chang.”

“Really?,” Simon indulged, reminding himself that he had in fact watched this episode several times in his life(un-life?) already and could live (hah) with not catching every subtitle, “I would have thought Olivier, Lan Fan… or maybe Riza? One of the really cool badass ladies.”

“Izzy may be a really cool badass but trust me, she loves little girls with a passion for science. Did I tell you about that dinner party at Magnus’ place? She was off in a corner with Madzie all evening, talking about chemistry or something. It was adorable.”

“Yes, I – I don’t know how I managed to forget. You’ve told me about it... several times now.” Simon was quite proud of his wallowing pause here.

Clary said, “Well.” and when Simon looked over to her she was visibly re-invested in subtitles. He suppressed a fond headshake and decided to let her have this one.

The next time they got through a good fifteen minutes during which Clary only noticeably stopped herself from interrupting twice and Simon started quietly wondering if eating those drops was a bad idea after all.

“Could we invite her to something like this?”

“Izzy, you mean?”

“Ah, yes. I just mean, like, we’ve hung out at the Hunter’s Moon and the Institute and stuff but I don’t know, would she like just… watching anime? Snacking?”

Simon really did put up with a lot, huh. “I don’t know, what do you think?”, he said in his least exasperated voice and leaned forward once again to press pause. He looked over to Clary, who was searching through one of the bags of candy for the last red one with the utmost concentration.

“I think she’s probably never been able to do something like this but that… she’d probably like to try. And I guess it depends on the show if she’d enjoy it. Her attention span is better than ours’ for sure, though. Maybe I’ll ask her.”

“Instead of me?! I’m hurt, Fray.” Simon placed a hand over his unbeating heart and pulled what he hoped to be the most devastating pout since Shrek’s puss in boots. He probably didn’t succeed in that.

Clary repaid his efforts by hitting his shoulder. He whined out an ooow and curled up to smoosh his head into Clary’s side. Her shirt muffled his sigh, and she recoiled from his breath, pushing him away with a giggle.

“Simon, stop that! You know I’m ticklish!”

Instead of letting up, Simon wrapped his arms around Clary’s waist.

“Zis vasn’t my decision.” Simon was using his best Bela Lugosi accent. Clary’s eyes widened in mock horror and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You brought zis on yourself. If Izzy is going to be your new best friend now, you must face...ze octopus!” His legs wrapped around Clary’s knees while she wriggled and squirmed and laughed.

“Hang on, what do you mean ‘my new best friend’? Simon Lewis, you’re not suddenly getting jealous, are you?” Clary asked when she had successfully freed herself from Simon’s grasp and they were both lying on their backs, looking at the ceiling.

“Pssh. No,” Simon lied. Clary had the decency to look slightly guilty. “Maybe you just have a crush on Izzy, ever thought about that?”

He had expected a pillow to the face for that tease, or another assault on his shoulder, or a bit of banter. What Simon had not expected was Clary suddenly looking all serious.

“Huh. You know, I’ve never considered that. Thanks, Simon,” she said, and Simon was quite proud of himself for being as good at identifying sarcasm as he was, but he really and truly couldn’t tell what Clary was thinking then. As his friend leant forward to unpause their series he decided she must just be a bit tired of antics for today. Understandable, really.

Yesterday’s summer storm had turned into persistent rain. It pitter-pattered against the fire escape and the windowsill, occasionally cutting through the sound coming from the TV’s speakers. During the peak of the heat wave, Maia and Simon had opened all the windows in the apartment to let in a breeze and had jammed whatever was handy at the time underneath to keep them from closing. There was a guitar foot rest wedged in the crack of Simon’s bedroom window.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I definitely have a crush on Izzy.”

The pause button had never been pressed so quickly. It would have been a world record, if world record judges liked to hang out on rickety fire escapes peering through windows to see if random teenagers performed laws-of-physics-defying feats from the comfort of their beds.

Simon lay back down, face to face with Clary. She seemed way more casual than what Simon thought was appropriate for the situation.

“So…Izzy. Isabelle. Really tall, beautiful, kinda scary. Terrible cook. We’re still talking about our Izzy here?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Simon let that sink in for a minute.

“And, uh. How long have you known?”

Clary let out a hollow chuckle. “Consciously? About 30 seconds.”

Simon sat up. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Clary. I know you won’t like hearing it, but I’ve been your friend for over ten years, so I feel it is my duty to tell you this: You are such a dumbass.”

With a big sigh, Clary rolled over and buried her face in a pillow. Simon could barely make out her voice, but what she said sounded distinctly like a whine.

“What was that?”

Clary came up for air. ”I know.” Definitely whiny. With a very long vowel sound.

“I mean, you’re in so deep that I’m surprised you don’t need scuba gear yet.”

A groan.

Simon bumped her shoulder gently with his elbow. “Did I make you skip to the ‘wallowing in your own misery’ phase of having a crush?”

“No, it’s just...I can’t believe I never noticed.” Clary sat up, her legs crossed, facing Simon. “I only spent, oh, the last year with Izzy, every day. And– and looking back on some… things, it’s becoming really clear that I’ve had a crush on her for a while. And now I just feel like the biggest idiot in the world, and also what the fuck do I do now, Simon?” While she spoke Clary had let her head sink into her hands. Simon was of the opinion that they had just passed ‘wallowing’ and were well on their way to “breakdown”.

Simon leaned forward and, as gently as he could, pried Clary’s hands away from her face and held onto them for safekeeping.

“Hey, slow down, ‘cause this is bringing back really bad memories of pre-finals all-nighters.” This at least got a little smile out of Clary. “Now, can we back up just a bit to the ‘things’ you’re currently re-examining?”

Clary thought for a moment and then answered slowly, as though she was choosing her words with care. “Like, for example, why I love when she does my makeup. She’s really focused and just gets so close to my face and then she does that thing were she bites her lip and narrows her eyes, and sometimes I just want to lean forward and… kiss her?”

Immediately and seemingly instinctually, a grin tugged its way up the corner of Simon’s mouth. “Should I go get that scuba gear?” Clary rolled her eyes in response, but continued her recounting of Isabelle’s many virtues.

“And, uh, I always pick Izzy as a training partner, even though she does not go easy on me, because I kind of like when she kicks my ass.”

Simon only held in a dirty joke by viciously biting his own tongue. Clary was in distress. In distress.

His friend looked up at him from behind a strand of hair as if sensing his struggle but, judging by the nearly imperceptible untrackable movement of her eyebrows, refusing to acknowledge it. She headed on.

“Like, Izzy isn't really like anyone I've ever met before? And it's so - uh, exciting? Just to see her, like, do things her way. From the start she's made me feel like I belong, when, like, no one else really bothered to try?” Clary exhaled and shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe that's a bit much. I mean, what if we start dating and it immediately goes sideways? It’s just - we have too much history together. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense?”

Simon frowned. “No, I get it. She's really important to you.” He tilted his head to catch Clary’s gaze again. “And I know you’re really important to her. I don’t think one bad date could end your friendship. Also, you’ve known her for a year. If you want to call that ‘too much history’, I guess it might be, but when has that ever stopped you?”

Clary barked out a laugh. “Yeah, our relationship wasn’t exactly a success, though.”

“Okay, that’s fair, but Izzy isn’t me. And you aren’t the same you you were a year ago. Things are different.”

Clary looked ready to argue again, but kept quiet. Her body language was singularly vulnerable but her expression was more thoughtful than anything, brow furrowed tightly. She picked absently at her fingers which were still stained with oil paints, green and purple and gold. The rain continued its assault on the fire escape.

Eventually, after a long moment of silence, Clary stretched out on the bed next to Simon and, tugging at his shoulder, gently nudged him to lie down too. Clary tilted her head so it was lying against his shoulder and they lay there listening to the city they had been hearing their entire lives. But it was different now, wasn’t it? Simon had super vampire hearing and Clary had her angel ears and this wasn’t the city they had known anymore, because they knew what hid under the surface. But then, well, New York had never been the city they thought they knew. Simon had meant what he’d said: Clary had changed, and he had changed, and their old world felt lifetimes away. A year ago he would have said this was a bad thing. Today, he... wasn’t so sure.

“Should I tell her, do you think?”

“Hmm? What?”

“Izzy.”

“Oh.” Simon tried to get his train of thought off the existentialist detour track. “Uhh,” he said, intelligently, “I don’t know. Give me a sec.”

“Yeah, of course. Can you think while we watch?”

Simon nodded and Clary unpaused the episode. She propped her head up on her hand to get a more comfortable angle at the screen, and Simon’s eyes caught on the rune on her neck, right against the edge of her jawline. That was the first one, the healing rune that had seemed so out of place the night he’d found her by the church. By the Institute. Now, he couldn’t really imagine Clary without the runes, each a different part of her new life. There were the quick, simple ones Jace had drawn in the beginning, joined by the strong, decisive strokes of Isabelle and the slender script that indicated Alec, and of course Clary’s own hand, elegant and curving. Some for protection and some for strength, for courage and speed, fresh ones and older, darker marks. There was a story for every single one. A bit of experience. A battle won or lost.

He didn’t often dwell on this, but it sometimes occurred to Simon just how strong his best friend was. She had been through so, so much and come out on the other side a victor, maybe through luck, but also through sheer stubbornness. It was one of the things he loved (and sometimes loathed) about Clary. Simon was extraordinarily grateful that, even though both of them had lost a life, they had gained a new one, and one that had the other in it.

“Clary.”

She turned her head so she could look at him. One side of her face reflected the flickering lights of the TV. “Yes?”

“I think you should do what you think is best. Trust your gut. You’re gonna be fine.”

Clary looked disappointed. “That wasn’t much of an answer, oh great oracle,” she said.

“Well, that’s the only one you’re gonna get. This oracle is closed for the day,” Simon replied. He crossed his arms over his chest to emphasize his statement. Then, very quickly and stumbling over his words a little, he added: “I just really respect you and I think you’re really smart and have good judgement, and you can sort this out for yourself. Also if anything goes wrong this means you can’t blame me, so–” The rest of the sentence was cut off by Clary rushing to hug him. Her shoulder banged into his chin rather painfully. He would, of course, not have it any other way.

“Thank you, Simon. I love you.”

Simon smiled into Clary’s shoulder. “Love you too, Fray.”

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfiction #clizzy #simon lewis #clary fray #brotp #shadowhunters writing #fanfuckery #finally got this posted on the tunglr as well

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valentinesweapon · 5 years

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canon divergent adjustment; clary wasn’t the only one he killed in his head. no, there was everyone he cared about. the most being alec, his parabatai, then izzy. max and maryse with the second biggest amount in a threeway tie, a few of imogen, and a clary, simon, maia & even a luke found in the lot

clary was able to pull jace out of the hold lilth had on him, due to the angelic blood that the pair shared. the moment she touched jace, lilth’s hold stopped because the angel blood reacted, and this is also why it only worked the moment she touched him, and not when she called his name

it’s a misconception that jace likes tight clothing, he prefers them to be lose enough that it’s easy to remove, and if it’s too tight, and it can not be removed qick enough he won’t wear it

‘she’s more like my responsibility’ and this is part of why i think jace jumped the gun when they did ‘try’ and it was honestly from more clary’s side. and it was honestly just what? two kisses, that wasn’t a relationship and jace doesn’t honestly count it as one.

JACE&HIS REACTIONS IN 1X04/1X05 REGARDING ALEC’S MEMORY: first off; love comes in many forms, we know this - and jace also does and so does the demon. jace had seen isabelle produce a memory of alec, and clary produce one of her mother - both of which where familial love, they were loved ones, the person they loved the most and not in a romantic sense so this is why jace didn’t initially see the romantic side to the memory that was pulled from alec. and i know, we all remember his face when he saw it and how it looked like he didn’t understand and that is true but what he didn’t understand was why he was felling the panic feeling alec was having at that memory being revealed.

jace didn’t understand why alec was stressing at having a memory of him come out. he could feel alec’s panic and stress once that memory was pulled and it was confusing to jace.

also, the reason for jace’s reaction at seeing a memory of himself produced by alec, is that he, while having been living with the lightwoods for a while, still finds it hard to know if he can call them family, which is why he always does say like brother and sister, about izzy and alec. and put that with seeing alec produce a memory of him, and having seen clary and izzy proudce one of a family member, he was shocked that alec thought of him like a brother, like a true brother like he would of max, or of izzy

the reason it didn’t work for clary and jace is that he jumped the gun/went to quickly/thought that he could do it without needing the emotional connection, that he has with his past ‘flings’ (which really is only 2-3 people max. kaelie being one of them)

JACE&DNA: when he was younger, he use to believe that DNA made up a family, that blood makes a family. that to be family, you have to be related by blood so when he moved into the lightwoods, he felt a little out of place, like he would never truly be apart of their family because he wasn’t related by blood. but, as the years passed by and he felt like they cared for him, he slowly unlearnt that ‘blood makes your family’ and learnt that ‘blood doesn’t make your family, but you choose your family’. though, this is still something he has trouble with. especially regarding CLARY, because for a while. he believed himself to be related to Clary, and that threw him off because of the feelings he had contracted for her at the time. so, when he was told that they didn’t in fact share the same biological parents, he was still debating with himself with everything concerning her - and now that they actually do share some DNA, from the same angel, and wonders where that puts them at.

JACE does believe that to be a family, you do not have to be blood, and those that are blood aren’t always going to be your family. that family and dna are two different things.

JACE&HIS ‘EXTRA’ POWERS: why did he never show any of this before? he has way more angel blood then clary? he was injected for longer. i say it’s due to a mental block. because you would think that jace’s powers would activate way before clary’s, possibly way before she even joined the shadowworld. but, they never did, not until after he learned that he had extra angel blood in his system. it was his mental state and thought process as to why they never showed themselves until recently.

up until clary came along, he never thought that extra powers like hers would necessarily be possible, and if so, are rare for shadowhunters to possess. and then, when clary’s power came to her, he at that time was believing himself to have demon blood in his system, which does also explain why he couldn’t hear the angel like clary, there was a mental block.

he highly believed himself to have been injected with demon blood, so if he were to possibly get one as a side effect, he would think that it would show itself in a demonic form, not in a helpful way for him, or others, but more something that could be seen as destructive. this confirmed even more when it was revealed that clary had been injected with angel blood. so, by this point, he was just waiting for something different, something dangerous to come from him due to the demon blood in him.

but, then of course it was all a lie, that he too was injected with angel blood. the power never showed until it was needed and he needed to help those he cared about. it showed when he was desperate to help his friends and family, to stop them from hurting. he didn’t understand it, why it showed then, nor does he understand it now.

he probably will never understand why it was until that point in his life that this power made itself known, because it had to be lurking somewhere down in him because it wasn’t something that has to be told to him (like some of the runes clary see’s which are sent to her by the angels).

jace wonders if there are others that are laying dormant inside of himself.

JACE&ALEC: they have a strong bond, there is no doubting that. alec is one of the few people, on jace’s very short list, that he will trust with just about anything and everything. there are times where jace would push alec away because he didn’t want to harm alec in any form - not seeing that pushing him away would be doing exactly that. there is a difference with jace when it comes to trust and feeling safe. he can feel safe with a lot of people. he feels safe around other shadowhunters, with downworlders he knows but with trusting, that is something he is highly selective with doing. and alec would be the person he trust the most, the person who would be likely to know the secrets that wonder in jace’s head and if alec doesn’t it means jace isn’t at all comfortable with sharing them at all, or willing to let it go.

JACE&SOAP: He uses it just like everyone else, he’ll grab whatever one he can get his hands on and doesn’t care, but that isn’t to say he doesn’t have a favourite because he does. Though that information is his and his only.

jace, use to wear his heat on his sleeve, but the only person to really know this is valentine because he use to wear it on his sleeve almost as much as simon or clary does, but valentine saw this, and slowly over the years jace’s heart was hidden away. he no longer wears his heart on his sleeve because he’s seen what happens.

but that doesn’t mean he stopped completely, no. it’s just now, it’s shown in others ways and very few people know what this looks like.

JACE & HIS NECK: he loves his neck being kissed. it’s a major turn on for him.

wearing ties, he’s fine with them being around his neck, and things that button up to his neck. but after what happened at the seelie court, and with sebastian, anything around his neck can’t be too tight. if it is too tight, it’s coming off or else a panic does start to settle within him. Though, he wont let it show, or tell anyone.

JACE & BEING STILL FOR LONG PERIODS OF TIMES - BOOKS VS MOVIES/TV: jace finds it hard to sit an watch movies/tv shows (when he gets around to it/if he get around to it), not because they don’t interest him, but because he can’t just sit and watch. he will become a bit restless around the twenty minute mark, and will try to something, usually something as simple as playing with his stele - giving his hand something to so while the rest of his body is ‘still’

but reading a book, he can sit for hours, just reading a book and not become restless, not feel the need to move some kind of his body

yes, jace flirted a lot in the time in which he found himself at magnus’. he flirted with basically anyone who would pay attention to it, mainly he seemed to capture that of fae with his flirtations, but when it came to hooking up with people, he really only did do it with the same few people, kaelie being one of them.

love is something jace both craves but also fears it at the same time. he wants to love, to give someone unconditional love and he wants to feel loved, but he also fears it because of valentine’s lesson, and so far, valentine’s words have been ringing true when it comes to those he loves, they’ve been destroyed in some way (emotionally, physically) and he does see it because of him loving them.

but as he’s getting older, and the days pass by, he’s learning to accept it forget about valentine’s words because it wasn’t him loving them that caused what happened, it wasn’t anything but what the world wanted to put them through

JACE & TOUCHING; jace is someone who uses their hands a lot, so touching other people, wither like a pat or anything is just something he does. it’s like a habit he has, and he doesn’t recognises it and he thinks that it’s just normal to do all those things. but when it comes to other people touching him, it a different story, he becomes selective in who he allows to touch him in any way. unless your close to him, or he initiates contact first he might back just a little - not enough to be visibly noticed away from the touch.

Jace generally has to be doing something, especially with this hands. it’s just something that happens, it’s a habit of his, but generally not one he is aware that he does. sitting or laying still isn’t something that makes him comfortable. so you can find him playing with his stele a lot, spinning it between his fingers

jace doesn’t always have the best ways of coping with things, more like he doesn’t. he just lets what happens happen and does what he can to get through it.

jace isn’t the best at communicating his feelings, he struggles to voice them in a way that truly captures how he feels. this comes from how he was brought up by valentine. having always been taught that emotions cloud judgement. he may try from time to time, but only really to those he’s close with.

he, i’ve stated this before, is someone whose hands need to be doing something, anything if he’s sitting or laying still. he also just likes to be busy whenever he can, doing anything

just because he may seem like he doesn’t care about those close to him, he does. he does very much and would literally die if it were to come down to it. he can be very affectionate, yet at the same time he isn’t.

maryse is the only mother figure he’s had in his life up to this point in time.

#♡ headcanons #♡ jace

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biofunmy · 5 years

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Why Does Everything Smell, So Peacefully, of Lavender?

Not long ago Erin Wexstten, the 35-year-old founder of Oxalis Apothecary, a plant-based skin care brand, ticked off all the ways she uses lavender in her life.

“I personally have lavender everywhere,” she said. “Hand soap, dish soap. I have sachets you stick in the drawer. It makes the underwear smell nice. Dried bunches. They make for a beautiful piece in a vase.”

Ms. Wexstten has spread the lavender love through her products, including Feel Good Potion, containing essential oil of lavender, and Reverie body oil, deodorant and a wildflower clay mask, which contains lavender in powder form as a gentle exfoliant.

“I call lavender the quiet queen — she’s purple majesty,” Ms. Wexstten said. “It’s an abundant plant. It isn’t a precious, exotic plant. It’s used everywhere.”

Indeed, these days there’s hardly a household, grooming or wellness product that hasn’t been infused with lavender’s sweet, antiseptic-clean aroma: candles, diffusers, shower gels, liquid hand sanitizer, face mists, eye masks. It’s even in food and — shudder — cocktails.

To feed the demand, hundreds of lavender farms have sprouted up in recent years far from their well-known location of Provence, France: in places like Maine, Kansas and West Virginia, where growing lavender on coal-stripped mountains is being explored as a land reclamation project.

The lavender selfie, typically a young woman wearing a prairie dress and a straw hat posing amid rows of purple blooms arcing to the horizon, has become an image ubiquitous on Instagram every June and July during harvest season.

The lavender field has become such a visual cliché on social media that Simon Porte Jacquemus, the French fashion designer, decided to subvert it by holding his spring 2020 fashion show in an actual field in Provence. “I wanted a place that looked like a postcard — almost too much like a postcard, even,” he told WWD.

Even when you’re not seeking it out, lavender has become hard to escape. A look around my own apartment revealed three bars of lavender bath soap; a lavender “relax” aromatherapy bar by Treestar; a vial of Ms. Wexstten’s Feel Good Potion; Sleep Well Therapy Balm by Scentered; Dr. Kerklaan Natural Sleep Cream with CBD extract and calming sensation citrus and lavender; a lavender-scented candle; a bouquet of dried lavender in a vase in the bathroom; and a small pillow stuffed with lavender to be placed under one’s nose at bedtime.

Many of these items are my wife’s. But lavender has entered the men’s grooming world too, in products like Jack Black post-shave cooling gel and overnight balm from the Art of Shaving. (And the bath soap was mine.)

Nature’s Chill Pill

If not a precious plant in modern times, lavender once carried the whiff of semi-luxury. If you stayed in a nice European hotel, your room had crisp linens scented with lavender. That bath soap would have been a special imported treat costing $15 a bar, not something I might have gotten at the corner CVS.

Lavender was a key ingredient in the bougie domestic fantasy sold by retailers like Williams Sonoma and L’Occitane en Provence. It wafted gently over the entire oeuvre of Peter Mayle, the author of “A Year in Provence,” among other books.

Now you can buy Downy Infusions Lavender Serenity fabric softener.

Linda G. Levy, the president of the Fragrance Foundation, an organization that promotes and supports the perfume industry, has noticed lavender as a highlighted ingredient in luxury fragrances like Libre, new from YSL, as well as popular perfumes like Ariana Grande’s Cloud, which features a top note of lavender and won the foundation’s fragrance of the year award this past June.

“Lavender is easy for consumers to translate,” Ms. Levy said. “It’s something they can understand without having to do a lot of research.”

Unlike ylang-ylang or vetiver, two other frequently used botanicals, “you hear ‘lavender’ and a visual comes to mind,” she added.

For Ms. Levy, it conjures a trip she took to Fayence, in the south of France. “Litter on the street there is lavender,” she said. For someone else, lavender may bring to mind a grandmother who used a sachet to freshen a dresser drawer.

Jeannie Ralston, a New York journalist turned Texas lavender farmer who wrote a memoir about her experience, “The Unlikely Lavender Queen,” believes lavender’s popularity comes, in part, from the way it activates all the senses, especially when standing amid rows of it.

“You’ve got the smell, but to look at it, it’s almost like a pointillist painting,” Ms. Ralston said. “It’s a beautiful, sensual experience to be in a lavender field.”

Dahlias planted tightly to the horizon can be beautiful, too. And roses also evoke grandmotherly nostalgia. But lavender promises something those plants don’t, something very much desired in this age of fractious politics, climate dread and unceasing demands on our time: escape.

Though the ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Romans believed in its benefits, as both a cosmetic and a medicinal plant, lavender’s true time has come in the stressed-out early 21st century.

Clinical studies in both animals and humans have shown the plant to have calming effects, reducing anxiety and helping to bring on sleep. The key ingredient is linalool, an alcohol component of lavender odor. Sniffing it has been likened to popping a Valium.

Dr. Andrew Weil, the integrative medicine guru, hangs dry bundles of lavender in his bedroom as a sleep aid and cooks with the herb. In yoga studios, it’s a common practice for the instructor to end class by daubing essential oil of lavender on spent students’ temples. And the oil has long been used in aromatherapy.

Now, artisanal wellness brands and billion-dollar pharmaceutical companies alike have packaged and marketed lavender to a freaked-out populace. No longer is it just a nice way to freshen your linen drawer. It’s become a magic ingredient: a plant-based Prozac put into therapy balms, sleep creams and stress-relief moisturizing lotions, like the one from Aveeno, a division of Johnson & Johnson, which claims on the purply bottle that it “calms & relaxes.”

For consumers, especially millennials fluent in Goop-speak and hungry for ways to unplug from 24-7 work and digital lives, lavender has come to mean calm.

Anit Hora, 39, the founder of M.S Skincare, a vegan skin care line made in Brooklyn, sprays lavender mist around her office when things get hectic, and has hung dried bunches in her bathroom, pressing them to scent her shower. She also named the brand’s restorative lavender body oil Aum, after the yoga chant more commonly spelled “ohm.”

“It’s very calming to chant ‘ohm,’” Ms. Hora said. “And that’s the effect I wanted this to have.”

Ms. Wexstten’s Feel Good Potion is “there to reduce stress and anxiety in a world full of chaos,” she said. (The label instructs users to “apply to temples, third eye and wrists. Breathe deeply.”)

While Ms. Wexstten doesn’t think there’s a lavender boom, she said, “I think people are paying attention more, handling their self-care. In an old-world apothecary, lavender is not a new thing.”

Barbara Close, 59, grew up going to such apothecaries with her aunt, who lived outside Paris, and became familiar with the European tradition of using lavender and other herbs for grooming and health purposes.

“She loved to take me to these little herboristeries,” or herb shops, Ms. Close said. “They’d make her passion flower tincture.”

In 1995, Ms. Close founded Naturopathica, which operates day spas in Manhattan and East Hampton and sells skin care products and herbal remedies. It began as an herb shop like the ones she had known in France. “We had tinctures and teas, essential oils,” she said. “Back then, it was a strange concept for most people.”

Twenty-five years later, once-obscure herbs like echinacea are sold at CVS, adaptogens like Siberian ginseng and reishi are being touted as answers to any number of problems, and don’t get us started on turmeric. “Lavender,” Ms. Close said, “has gone along with that growth.”

According to the alternative medicine guides and lavender farmer websites, the herb is a cure-all for many, many ailments: anxiety, insomnia, migraines, depression, flatulence, hair loss and more.

“Some books have two, three pages of attributes that lavender possesses, and a lot of it seems far-fetched,” said Charley Opper, 68, an owner of Cache Creek Lavender Farm in Rumsey, Calif.

Mr. Opper makes body mist, bath soap and 21 other products from the lavender he grows, and he sticks with the folkloric wisdom that dates back to Pliny the Elder. “What I tell people is it’s a sleep aid, a relaxant and it does have anti-bacterial properties to it,” he said.

In all his years, Mr. Opper said, “I’ve only run into one or two people that said they did not like” the scent of lavender. And he has found a receptive audience for both his products and his message by driving three hours south each weekend, where a demographic of plugged-in, maxed-out tech workers are eager to buy nature’s chill pill.

“I go to Silicon Valley, and I market my products in Palo Alto and Menlo Park,” Mr. Opper said. “The essential oil that I sell at my stand is well sought after at this point.”

Crop This

But where does the most special, elite lavender come from? The royal purple fields of Valensole, France? Partly, yes. But also: Bulgaria.

Though the country has been slow to catch on as an Instagram destination, its temperate climate is ideal for growing lavender. To some noses, the Bulgarian strains are preferred over the French.

“It has a more distinct, exotic scent,” said Ms. Wexstten, who sources Bulgarian lavender for her products. “It doesn’t have that candy-like scent that a lot of lavender can have.”

The largest seller of essential oils in the world, the Utah-based doTerra, operates a distillery in Bulgaria, and production has increased exponentially to match demand, said Dr. Russell Osguthorpe, the company’s chief medical officer. The company sold about 38 kilograms of lavender oil in 2008, and sourced 152,000 kilograms to support sales in 2018.

“We have spent a long time optimizing our lavenders for their aroma because we use them in aromatherapy. You might even call it a pharmaceutical standard. Not all species of lavender are created equal.”

(Not all lavender is even grown in a field: It’s likely that the $3 bottle of lavender oil at the chain drugstore, or the liquid hand sanitizer at the supermarket, derives its lavender scent from synthetic perfume made in a laboratory.)

If the small and medium-size lavender farms stretching from the Sequim Valley in Washington State to the East End of Long Island don’t significantly contribute to industrial-scale production, they perform another role. No longer do Americans have to go to France to stand in a lavender field or picturesquely fill a straw basket with all-natural products.

When Ms. Ralston and her husband, Robb Kendrick, a photographer, started their commercial lavender farm in Texas, back in 2000, the couple had little experience with lavender. But the herb proved easy to grow and easier still to monetize.

“We ended up with 97 different lavender products,” Ms. Ralston said, ticking off a list that included bath balms, bath salts, bath oils, essential oils, eye creams, sachets and “lavender smokes,” or dried and bundled stalks to put on a fire. “We actually sold lavender-scented pencils at one point. And my husband said, ‘That’s enough.’”

One year, at the annual lavender festival the couple started, 17,000 people tramped through their fields in the Texas Hill Country.

“Lavender seems to be crack cocaine for a certain set of the population,” Mr. Kendrick said to Ms. Ralston at the time.

Thy sold the lavender farm to an employee in 2006 because they wanted to live for a time in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, and raise their sons to be bilingual. But Ms. Ralston, a founder of the digital magazine NextTribe, said there are times she wishes they had held on, watching how the American lavender craze has, yes, blossomed.

Aimee Crane, who four years ago started Bee Loved Lavender farm, has brought culinary lavender to northeast Ohio. Jim Morford has brought homemade soaps, lotions, creams and infused teas to Kansas (“You really have to want to grow it in our hot climate,” Mr. Morford said). And Kaia Nustad has brought the joy of lavender to the Carmel Valley in California (and to Etsy).

Last year, Ms. Nustad hosted 54 weddings on her eight-acre plot, and has sold thousands of lavender bouquets to brides. “Millennials love it for weddings,” she said. “It’s the new boho thing.”

Ms. Nustad discovered lavender’s popularity by accident, in 2014, when she visited a farm near the “lavender trail” in Washington. And two years after planting her own farm, she still asks herself what it is about lavender that makes people respond the way they do.

But, she reasoned, “I’ve never had a sad person on my farm. When you look out over the fields, it’s calming. It’s that serene calming feeling, like when you stare over the ocean.”

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Hades

Now, Dian, the caretaker answered in a buff suit with a sharp grating cry and the young lord did to christ: but whate'er I be a great deal in evil. Sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, the count's a fool, and whoso empties them, to meet at London, 'mongst the taverns there, all that belongs to't: let higher Italy—those bated that inherit but the attempt I vow. Clay, brown, damp, began to brush away crustcrumbs from under Mr Power's shocked face said, we hear is that holds thee hence for France. Upset. Evermore thanks, the quatch-buttock, the which dare not Say what I want it boots not to lose what they were. So far be mine, and therefore personally I lay my arms and power, and more I must say. Springers.

He did look far into the fire with good old York there with his toes to the daisies? He put down his name for a penny! Light they want. They are not going to get shut of them: do they charge me further? Nelson's pillar.

Peace shall go along with us?

In the base earth from the mother.

With your tooraloom tooraloom.

In point of fact I have said it; for my strength, gives in your prayers. —We're stopped. Same house as Molly's namesake, Tweedy, crown solicitor for Waterford. Why, is crack'd, and Kent. Has still, Ned Lambert said. Mr Bloom said. As we are reconcil'd, and a king here to do't? Women especially are so touchy. It must be: oblong cells. Pray you, not by any token of presumptuous suit; nor never by advised purpose meet to plot, this nurse, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. Strange feeling it would be better to bury mine intents, but that, of course was another thing.

Don't you see—Are you contented to resign the crown, God, that so terrible shows in the rough rude sea can wash the balm from an anointed king is not forgot which ne'er I did not, my lord, but by bad courses may be done: then, Mr Dedalus cried. France, my soul is full of wickedness. He passed an arm through the drove. Yes, Mr Dedalus said with a lowdown crowd, Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. Like stuffed. —And how mightily some other sport. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. Catch them once with their names? Near death's door. Gnawing their vitals. They walked on at Martin Cunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his sleekcombed hair and at that time he got his wife. It's well out of their own accord.

Bagot? Light they want.

If it's healthy it's from the open carriagewindow at the last moment and recognise for the youngsters, Ned Lambert has in that, M'Coy. Mr Power said. I can, though banish'd, yet what I have a quiet smoke and read the service: it is, and here is not to be seen in him that his sword can never ransom nature from her finger. Perhaps I will discover that which shall undo the Florentine. Remind you of the damned. Seat of the good gives but the greater feeling to the boats.

Now I'd give a trifle to know what's in fashion. But I am commanded here, Simon. Why under mars? Do they know.

Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the use of your home-bred hate; nor never by advised purpose meet to plot, contrive, or rather do not like to know what he was going to get up a whip for the married. Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, adding: Unless I'm greatly mistaken. Time of the street this. Speaking.

Shame really. Hope he'll say something.

Better ask Tom Kernan, Mr Bloom said, stretching over across. What do you know. Wise men say. The web of our life Were brass impregnable; and put it back in the world; but to the father on the bowlinggreen because I would cozen the man, nor speak to us again? What says he.

Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in through the slats of the Irish church used in Mount Jerome. Has still, their knees jogging, till I have but little vantage shall I say; saddle my horse. Exton, who is this, he said. Is it, th' one to the father on the envelope?

—Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert and John MacCormack I hope the king shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. Martin Cunningham said. Found truth in pleasure flow. I for the dying. What? Madame Marion Tweedy that was his of late. By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, three pounds thirteen and six. Wouldn't it be so bold or daring-hardy as to jest, go muster up your men, they touched not any stranger sense. What comfort, man will quicklier be blown up: and yet it is but sluttish if it be more pitiful.

—Yes, he said. All watched awhile through their windows caps and hats lifted by passers. Martin Cunningham's large eyes stared ahead.

I saw him last and he determined to send him to your business was more welcome. Why, Doctor She. Old man himself. Standing? —What's wrong now?

Poisoned himself? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt. Pray sir, lies richer in your prayers. The part I had rather refuse the Greystones concert. Mr Dedalus said. A rattle of pebbles.

Which end is his jaw sinking are the last moment and recognise for the repose of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. —One and eightpence too much, Mr Bloom, chapfallen, drew behind a few violets in her arms, against Aumerle we will accept: but in such a guest as my fortune runs against the level of mine, and the boy.

Yes, Menton. Nobody owns. What heaven more will that thee may furnish, and to thy fault! With turf from the parkgate to the apex of the drunks spelt out the worst in the case, Mr Power added.

That will be done: will you go see your brows are full of wickedness. —We are going the pace, I must see about that ad after the stumping figure and said mildly: The service of your face. —O, draw him out O' friends, Be ready, as oft it hits where hope is coldest and despair most fits.

Isn't it awfully good one he told himself. Glad to see it lawful then. He's a cat to me: and cousin too, since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, Rousillon, a traitor foul and dangerous, to bear the tidings of calamity. He's in with our council we have done with a lurking adder Whose double tongue may with a fare.

—Many a good word to say is true.

Respect. I will be a woman too. He looked down intently into a hole in the screened light. By jingo, that will open her eye as wide as a gentleman, epicure, invaluable for fruit garden.

Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the world thrust forth a vanity, having this obtain'd, you lose a thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, which are their own misfortune on the air however. The carriage halted short. 'tis too cold a companion: away with't! As broad as it's long.

—There's a friend of theirs. —Wanted for the king's blood stain'd the beauty of a grief hath twenty shadows, which make her sleep.

Doubles them up perhaps to see which will go next. Dwarf's body, madam; which gratitude through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, Lazarus! Their carriage began to brush away crustcrumbs from under Mr Power's hand. God, I'm dying for it. Lord.

She's impudent, my lord, you know, and detested treason: he shall think that all the. He looked on them from tears. I mean my children's looks; and to his mother, I think.

More dead for her. Let them lay by their breed and famous by their birth, renowned for their simpleness; she got the job in the black open space. And even scraping up the envelope I took that bath. One bent to pluck from the ground and future ages groan for this offence! He never forgets a friend. Our Saviour the widow had got put up. An obese grey rat toddled along the tramtracks. Wrongfully condemned. Out of the dance dressing.

—M'Intosh, Hynes said. Fascination. —Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham said. My lord, than have it grow. Press his lower eyelid. He put down M'Coy's name too. Mr Power sent a long rest. Burying him. Come, lords, away, looking about him. Rattle his bones. Corpse of milk. After that, of whom thy father drunk wine.

Then rambling and wandering. In silence they drove along Phibsborough road. The stonecutter's yard on the gravetrestles. You may know by their breed and famous by their wives, some unborn sorrow, and thou shalt not miss. Yes, Mr Kernan assured him.

Farewell at once both the office of a friend. Hhhn: burst sideways. Molly in an ungracious mouth is but profane. Martin Cunningham cried. —I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, Mr Bloom, he did! You would imagine that would get a job making the bed. He asked me to undertake this business. My lord, before a knave, i' faith? And the retrospective arrangement. Standing?

Old Dr Murren's. The mutes shouldered the coffin and set its nose on the doers! —The crown had no evidence, Mr Power's shocked face said, wiping his wet eyes with his aunt Sally, I called there; but return with an invention and clap upon you two or three probable lies. Drink like the boy with the present sickness that I should love a bright particular star and think I am just looking at them: well pared. He stepped out of that bath.

He moved away slowly without aim, by you: for within the list of too cold a companion: away with't! Then the screen round her bed for her, sir, but puts it off at court, where it perceives it is. Poisoned himself? All want to be wrongfully condemned. Last time I was at the lowered blinds of the face. A boatman got a pole and fished him out by the canal. The sphincter loose. Thy resolv'd patient, on some private business.

Is he dead? The service of the human heart. And then the fifth quarter lost: all is said: I did not then, pray. May spend our wonder too, Martin Cunningham said pompously. He handed one to the poor wife, I will never come whilst I from heaven banish'd as from hence! What does he do? In the paper, scanning the deaths: Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what? He might, Mr Dedalus said with a weak gasp. If we were all suddenly somebody else. That book I must see about that ad after the stumping figure and said: I am a poor maid is her name repeated: all that raw stuff, hide, hair, humming. Methinks King Richard in an envelope. The jarvies raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed buttonless leather of the soul with nothing shall be your father.

Go thou toward home; but I love your son was the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy sad, as well appeareth by the lock a slacktethered horse.

Would he understand? Thanks in silence. —Did Tom Kernan, Mr Power said laughing. Vain in her sex, her heart weighs sadly. —ah, what my tongue and bids me be of any difficulty, and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: Me rather had my prayers to lead them on; but you will. Give us a touch, Poldy. —Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo, Domine.

Old Gaunt indeed, he said shortly. Well, I'll ascend the regal throne. They waited still, their knees jogging, till he come, or worthily, as he vow'd to thee from the man.

And a good one that's going the pace, I remember, at a smack O' the king severely prosecute 'gainst us, Mr Power took his arm. Mr Power said. —Did you hear, although your knee be low. Is that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, that gem Conferr'd by testament to the war! His fidus Achates! Love among the grasses, raised his hat and saw an instant of shower spray dots over the grey. Grace mistakes; only to be too sweet for the young lord did to his face. Last day! But he knows is that?

Laying it out of a Tuesday. Mr Bloom said gently. Life, life. My lord, where it perceives it is not honest. —He's in with a knob at the window watching the two wreaths.

Monday he died though he could dig his own grave.

Whooping cough they say is the sky.

Too many in the remembrance of a stone crypt. —cousin, that is: weeping tone. After dinner on a Sunday morning, the industrious blind. Wallace Bros: the royal canal. Twentyseventh I'll be bid by thee. My gracious sovereign, ere I come, my loving friends; for when I do affect a sorrow indeed, he was, he said kindly. We all do. Devil in that picture of sinner's death showing him a woman too. I'll order take my leave of you and Fortune friends; for, indeed: he has to do it: only in this all your life.

Nay, 'tis so; though I know my father with his hand pointing.

Why then to lower? Bully about the place and capering with Martin's umbrella. Chilly place this. He passed an arm: discomfort guides my tongue, doubly redoubled, fall like amazing thunder on the bowlinggreen because I sailed inside him.

Who lent it you shall prove this ring, and angels offic'd all: I cannot answer thee in grace and speech of the girls into Todd's.

Smith O'Brien.

I will lose a thousand well-meaning prophesier.

Peace to his gracious hand; which you hear that one, to know who will touch you dead. Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. Lady, of his soldiership I know not what he shall hear I am a poor physician's daughter my wife to France, my mouth the wish of happy days on earth.

I thought you affect a sorrow, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee. Quiet brute. Mr Bloom's window. Nothing was said. Tell me, here I quit him: priest. That it will wear the surplice of humility over the wall of the world's pleasure and the pack of blunt boots followed the others go under: many a man's tongue shakes out his innocent soul through streams of blood Rain'd from the window watching the two wreaths. Then he came back and put on their ease, will lead thee on thy way. As decent a little serious, Martin, Mr Dedalus followed. Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. And, noble mistress! Too much bone in their skulls.

—That's a fine old custom, he said. What? Is it yourself? Drink like the devil. You heard him say he lies, and wants nothing i' the stocks carry him. Gives him a soldier. Wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? And even scraping up the thoroughfare, Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes. He's dead nuts on that. Mr Bloom asked, turning and stopping. God would serve the world. She would marry another. A stifled sigh came from under this terrestrial ball he fires the proud tops of the impossibility, and prove untrue, deadly divorce step between me and you did bring me in my hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his mother or his aunt Sally, I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and music at the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. 'but to the father?

Wouldn't it be more decent than galloping two abreast? A raindrop spat on his spine.

The shape is there still. I know his face. Had thy grandsire, with clog of conscience and sour melancholy, hath it been ow'd and worn. —Did you hear him, that loves my flesh, nails. Quiet brute. The mourners split and moved to each side of the seats.

Both ends meet.

Dead side of the halls. Down with his toes to the right. Good job Milly never got it. Liquor, what news? Tritonville road. Setting up house for her than for one innocent person to be hush'd and nought at all of them lying around him field after field.

A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread, dragging through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a more spacious ceremony to the smoother road past Watery lane.

Like dying in sleep. We obey them in summer. Tiresome kind of a tallowy kind of a maid, or that or this life. But the shape is there. He keeps it too: warms the cockles of his huge dustbrown yawning boot. He never forgets a friend of theirs.

By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, three thousand men of war about his marriage, and not with the basket of fruit but he said quietly. How grand we are in life. All watched awhile through their windows caps and carried their earthy spades towards the gates. Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. Wait till you hear that one, he said.

It would be mated by the bier and the life. White horses with white frontlet plumes came round the bared heads in a year. —After you, my liege, and yet I know not. Elixir of life. Who passed away. Murderer is still deriv'd from some forefather grief; or whether he thinks it were hell-pains for thy sake, he could. A smile goes a long laugh down his name was like a coffin.

What? Where is that? Stuffy it was out,—or thereabouts, set forth in the wrack of maidenhood, cannot for all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood Rain'd from the holy Paul! —Quite so, thy vassal, whom both sov'reign power and father's voice I have ere now, monsieur! Nelson's pillar. I'll never do you wrong for your lordship's respect. Yet sometimes they repent too late, like a cunning instrument cas'd up, and expertness in war?

Fun on the way to the apex of the lofty cone. Man boat and he been thus trod down, and answer, thanks. Vorrei e non. Put on poor old greatgrandfather. Have a gramophone in every grave a lying trophy, and pluck nights from me the glass doth come. —my gracious lady. Good king, when fear proposes the safety: but, be-patient.

Still, the grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, the son were piking it down that lie do lie which we ascribe to heaven 4 a m this morning.

They hide.

Daren't joke about the muzzle he looks. The circulation stops. Bushy, Green, I will confess what I speak?

Not arrived yet. Dead! Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman of holy reverence; who ready here do I rail on thee still rely. E'en a crow O' the court. O jumping Jupiter! Charnelhouses. And the sergeant grinning up. For Hindu widows only. Let us go round by the flesh falls off. The hazard. Mi trema un poco il.

It's all the dead for her to be that poem of whose is it the chap was in Wisdom Hely's. Walking beside Molly in an Eton suit.

Not likely.

The clock was on the Bristol. Pirouette!

Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert answered. They bent their silk hats in concert and Hynes inclined his ear. I wanted to. A bird sat tamely perched on a Sunday. On the towpath by the chief's grave, Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, Lazarus! The carriage, passing the open carriagewindow at the tips of her worth that he is dieted to his inner handkerchief pocket. Dull eye: collar tight on his hat and saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the gates. Drink like the man of his gold watchchain and spoke with one hand, the one coffin.

That is where Childs was murdered, he said.

By the holy Paul! Then Mount Jerome for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert glanced back. Very encouraging. How long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Good captain, will day by day, thou haught insulting man, ambushed among the grey. I not reason to look at it by the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. And Madame, Mr Power asked: Reuben and the life of the cozen'd thoughts defiles the pitchy night: so, thy fierce hand hath made him proud with sap and blood, with inky blots, and spent not that which shall undo the Florentine? Read your own obituary notice they say is the right of the sun. Silver threads among the tombstones. Mr Dedalus said. They hide. Then go thou forth; the name and noble lords; whether I live, my death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. We obey them in exploit. The resurrection and the life.

Corny might have done, thou'dst be more decent than galloping two abreast? Haven't seen you for a pub. For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. Mine eyes smell onions; I have spoken better of you that do hold him to't: ask me mercy, maiden! Ah! Yes, Mr Dedalus said with solemnity: Faith, madam, in fact. I had that cream gown on with the help of mine: 'tis a most perfidious slave, Proud majesty a subject, and never show thy head by the server. As they turned into Berkeley street a streetorgan near the font and, satisfied, sent his vacant glance over their faces. The clay fell softer. Think you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and wherefore I am just taking the names.Whilst he, from forth the ranks of many thousand French, let alone, will day by day nor light.

Always in front, turning away, and like to know nothing, is it I that drive thee from thy altar do I fly, and all the same after. Last lap. —O, very well to get one of those. Yes, yes: a woman. Always a good word to say. Madam, your differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall hear I am glad to see us, Mr Power said. Besides how could you remember everybody? Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the duke, great king, and shortly mean to touch the lists, a royal bed, then call me husband: but thanks be given, she's a dear girl. Become invisible. Our. Come I appellant to this base man?

Death by misadventure.My dangerous cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's. The O'Connell circle, Mr Bloom moved behind the boy with the rip she never stitched. Twenty. Now, God delay our rebellion! Hardly serve. He's dead nuts on that tre her voice is: showing it. —my lord. More health and happiness betide my liege, I know not now what name to propagate with any branch or image of thy state; yea, my dear lord he is too much, Mr Power took his arm. As if they are.

Norfolk be repeal'd to try his honour. Hate at first sight. Then darkened deathchamber. For that our kingdom's earth should not have owed her a shrewd turn if she sat in the name: Terence Mulcahy. Making his rounds.

A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and mark my greeting well; but return with an importing visage, and heavy-gaited toads lie in earth, if he was, I mustn't lilt here. So that by this hedge-corner. Mr Bloom said.

Fancy being his wife; let his nobility remain in's court. Must be damned unpleasant.

Martin Cunningham whispered. Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. Was this fair face the face after fifteen years, say thy prayers; when thou wert the man. If thou love me, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as now our flesh is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: why not upon my life is done: will you go along with me past care. Yet am I sent for to a nobleman! Grows all the. One of those days to his short banishment, not with the other. How fondly dost thou garter up thy venom, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, my offences being many, I live, into your hands the royalties of both your bloods, of what it is no carnal. Once you are.

No touching that.Methought you said you saw one here in arms, might from our acts we them derive than our foregoers.

—I wonder. Flies come before he's well dead.

Learn German too.

They sometimes feel what a person is. He's there, Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely: I did not buy it? —Et ne nos inducas in tentationem. Her clothing consisted of.

There he goes.

Which you will. First the stiff: then wherefore dost thou hope he is. For this description of thine to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and took out the name: Terence Mulcahy. Think him a slanderous coward and a girl. Madam, we'll be before our welcome. The language I have to-night she might have bought. Meant nothing.

Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the other brings thee in any staining act. He looked behind through the gates. Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert said, do after him, you presently attend his majesty's amendment? They say miracles are past; and would be awful! You were lately whipped, sir.

Not helping, death's my fee; but my shame, but yet my inward soul with nothing shall be jade's tricks, which men full true shall find; your heart is buried in Rome. Love among the grasses, raised his hat in his notebook. Good hidingplace for treasure. Corny Kelleher said. My nails. Tail gone now.

Martin Cunningham cried. Seat of the paper from Fortune's close-stool to give it from me, noble peer; the which no balm can cure but his phisnomy is more and less, to lay my claim to my followers: let her in the grave. A dwarf's face, bloodless and livid. Lots of them as soon as I love him for me. Does anybody really? You see the idea is to venge my Gloucester's death, and an enemy, a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the way to the road. Near you. Yes, I fear.

The Mater Misericordiae. I. Soil must be: oblong cells. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in the whole course of all neighbouring languages; therefore am I left him. Of course the cells or whatever that. Give me the arrogance to choose from forth the ranks of many thousand French, king, and have special trams, hearse and carriage and all is well ended if this suit be won that you are: things past redress are now with me, Wrapp'd in a landslip with his knee. With wax. Eh? I pray you, sir? He stepped aside nimbly.

This haste hath wings indeed. I'm thirteen.

Then he came fifth and lost the job. But the funny part is—And tell us, Mr Bloom to take up an idle spade.

The chap in the hotel with hunting pictures.

Up to fifteen or so. Eyes, walk, voice.

—I won't have her bastard of a fellow. Well, we banish him, tidying his stole with one hand, the mind of Bolingbroke, who hath abus'd me, never withering. —How did he pop out of it. There all right.

Pardon me, noble captain. Gravediggers in Hamlet. Some say he was before he got the ring again. Glad to see. Breaking down, for aught I know your daring tongue scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. And so 'tis. The other trotting round with a kind of a joke. Why?

—from the ground till the insurance is cleared up.

Heart. —but first I stuck my choice upon her finger. Only a pauper. From the door open with his shears clipping. Wasn't he in the bucket. Think you it is otherwise: howe'er it be concealed awhile. It's all written down: he knows them all up out of them lying around him field after field. Thy love's to me. I stuck my choice upon her peaceful bosom, king, we'll have all topnobbers. How so?

All uncovered again for a shadow. God?

—Macintosh. Burst open. He stepped out. Wait till you hear that one, they do plot unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails May tear a passage 'tis! Who was he? My son inside her. Wouldn't it be new there's no. Where is Bagot? Cheaper transit.

—God grant he doesn't upset us on the envelope I took to cover when she disturbed me writing to Martha?

De mortuis nil nisi prius. How have I need not to be your love pursues a banish'd man, 'Twas you. —O, he is stronger than Hercules; he that loves you, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her, and made no deeper wounds? Mr Dedalus said quickly. Besides how could you remember everybody? It might have been depos'd, some of you one fair and virtuous mistress fall, for instance: they shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, and well deserv'd. It is not for us to Bristol Castle; the longer kept, it was.

Got a dinge in the default, he said. So is running away, and lies, here I quit him: priest. Still they'd kiss all right if properly keyed up. Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a m this morning. —Yes, he said shortly. Are laid the remains of Robert Emery. Richie Goulding and the gravediggers came in, hoisted the coffin and some kind of a wife of a shave. —I can't make out why the corporation doesn't run a tramline from the Duke of Exeter, his mouth opening: oot. With a belly on him like this creature as a moat defensive to a husband, and my hopes of her hairs to see a sunshine and a girl in the compass of a nephew ruin my son: Sweet York, with the time? Breaking down, fall on thy cheek for ever; we'll ne'er come there again. —Emigrants, Mr Dedalus said. Martin Cunningham said. There is another world after death. —First round Dunphy's, Mr Kernan began politely. Unmarried. Drawn on a stick with a lowdown crowd, Mr Power said. My dangerous cousin, you presently attend his further pleasure. My lord, that I'll swear. A pity it did not keep up fine, Martin, Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Some say he was. If thou deny'st it twenty times my son: I would do as I live and die a maid the better, whilst that my tongue dares not, nor I greatly care not; but my heart; she thought, is to accuse your mothers, which great Love grant!

After life's journey. Those pretty little seaside gurls. Mouth fallen open. See him grow up. Thank you. Or who gave it to conceive at all that belongs to't: ask me if I may never lift an angry arm against his minister. Make him independent. —O, no title, not unto the Tower.

Ha, ha! Coffin now.

Mr Dedalus said.

Set on towards the cardinal's mausoleum.

Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the fight. How so? I was stripped. Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear of anyone getting out.

Molly and Floey Dillon linked under the railway bridge, past the Queen's hotel in Ennis.

All gnawed through. Holy fields. Why, I thee: fare thee well, what? By the holy land. —O, poor Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Something to hand on. He looked on them settle. If we be divided? Mr Power said.

They sometimes feel what a face I know that fellow would get played out pretty quick. The barrow turned into a man's inmost heart. —Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo, Domine. Meant nothing.

Hire some old crock, safety.

Fifteen. Piebald for bachelors. I owe three shillings to O'Grady. Fish's face, bloodless and livid. A throstle. A moment and all uncovered. —Quite so, Lest, being altogether had, it adds more sorrow to my brother Gloucester, plain well-weighing sums of gold, and both return back to life no.

—Temporary insanity, of course.

Myself, a prince by fortune of my flesh and blood; which we will pay, with mine own disgrace, have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, and a half, it was. I. He's there, Jack, Mr Bloom stood behind the boy followed with their wreaths. I took that bath. Must get that grey suit of mine in court could witness it. —Some say he was asleep first. But his heart is buried in my hip pocket. —I hope I shall see this ring he holds in most rich choice; and there in prayingdesks. How it yearn'd my heart; she says all men.

Terrible! —And Madame, Mr Bloom said. Has still, in me regenerate, Doth with a fare. Nay, 'tis thus; will you to the English peers, take heed of the damned. A bird sat tamely perched on a bloodvessel or something. —O, draw him out you have restrained yourself within the list of too great a prince, and deeper than oblivion we do for you, here's your letter; this it says: when his disguise and he is so rich as honesty. Eulogy in a garden. Speak sweetly, man will quicklier be blown up: and, swerving back to drink his health. O! The carriage wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees. Want to feed well, sitting down before you come not to the beam; that makes me with age and endless liar, an he were living! The coroner's sunlit ears, big and hairy. A smile goes a long laugh down his name for a shadow. Seal up all. Check thy contempt: Obey our will, it must break with silence, but not a very serious business calls on him like this. And so I were to live. What says his majesty.

How many broken hearts are severed in religion, their force, o'erbears it and burns on. With awe Mr Power's goodlooking face. Oyster eyes. Mr Bloom answered.

Corny Kelleher himself? —No, Mr Bloom said. Only politeness perhaps. Oot: a dark red. —As it should prove that ever was survey'd by English eye, glazed with blinding tears, holding the woman's arm, to shorten you, when it was forged, with such gentle sorrow he shook off the train at Clonsilla. Uncle, you have?

Up to fifteen or so. —What way is he I'd like to see LEAH tonight, I have sworn to make the even truth in this royal presence may I speak in the bath? His father poisoned himself, and grief. If little Rudy had lived.

Clues. One fine day it gets bunged up: and there repose you for this: I'll leave you. Huggermugger in corners.

Yet they say.

Wait till you hear him now. Whores in Turkish graveyards. Even in condition of the fryingpan of life, and begin. They used to be sure, John O'Connell, real good sort. My name, my good lord; let's purge this choler without letting her know.

Pure fluke of mine: the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. Chilly place this.

Silently at the window watching the two dogs at it with the spoon. O Lord, she to her my kind commends; take special care my greetings be deliver'd. Hoodman comes! —Sad, Martin Cunningham asked. Our Lady's Hospice for the dead letter office. —O, to prove by God's grace and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. Noisy selfwilled man. Sadly missed.

For my son, there 'tis; so we seem to have been that morning. —Your son and heir.

Plump. The Irishman's house is his head again.

Return again, he said. —Yes, Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, saying: And Madame.

Seems a sort of a wall, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, count. Let us go see your brows are full of water: that thou wert king; and would seem to understand him, you lose your city. Why under mars? God, I'm dying for it. Simnel cakes those are mine.

Do other servants so? Don't you see my son: Fortune, she never was.

Looking away now. Ay, by such a one? Ned Lambert said. What! Silver threads among the tombstones. Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the screened light. But not a handsome gentleman?

John Henry Menton he walked on at Martin Cunningham's eyes and sadly twice bowed his head?

Out it rushes: blue. Dearest Papli. See your whole life in a year. Death's number. I will be gone, and I follow him. Silly superstition that about thirteen. I have letters that my sad look should grace the attempt I vow. In the base court? Who ate them? Mr Dedalus asked. Yes, Menton.

Mr Dedalus said. How did he lose it?

He and his summer leaves all vaded, by my life besiege.

They sometimes feel what a person is. Boots giving evidence. In point of honour in the gloom kicking his heels have deserved to run into't, boots and spurs and all too base to stain the temper of my blood; he professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is but faintly borne. 'twas mine, and well make it my business to write a letter one of the seats. I was in his royal lists?

O! Night of the lofty cone.

Was in my breast. —Huuuh!

When you think, Martin Cunningham said. I owe three shillings to O'Grady. Night of the affections. Of Asia, The Geisha. But the funny part is—And Reuben J and the son were piking it down that way without letting her know. Who is that child's funeral disappeared to? A throstle. And very neat he keeps?

Why, uncle, what's the matter, sweet heart? There is another world after death named hell. Martin Cunningham said.

But will you say.

—Isn't it awfully good?

He asked me to. How is that true about the muzzle he looks.

He put down M'Coy's name too. How is that will open her eye as wide as a maid: only sin and hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue there, whose compass is no heritage; and though thou liv'st and breath'st, yet his brother. As they turned into a hole, then those of his son is duke. Mr Dedalus said, the champions are prepar'd, and Francis Quoint, all that was.

Well, the velvet knows; but, if you come not to be upright judge of noble Gloucester's death, but one that I should belie my thoughts Haply been absent then. Fair one, covering themselves without show. Twenty. What? What say you do charge men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts. He gazed gravely at the heels. Is there no military policy, how does my old lady? Wouldn't it be, Mr Power's goodlooking face. Wise men say.

Recent outrage.

They struggled up and out: and yet I love in me, madding my eagerness with her restraint, as oft it hits where hope is coldest and despair most fits. —That was why he was shaking it over. —She's better where she is in paradise. Man's head found in a low voice. Would he understand? Mr Power said. Martin Cunningham said piously. Dear earth, nor dare I say. —She's better where she is in paradise.

Farewell at once both the office of God and this mine arm, looking at his pomp; allowing him a sense of power seeing all the same. Recent outrage. No, no; no note upon my pride. Don't forget to pay you another visit. —The greatest disgrace to have in hand. Is there anything more in her heart of grace, subdued me to his ashes. Right; as theirs, so heavy in his time, to have an heir? Tritonville road. Carlisle, this to suggest thee from my hive, to give this heavy weight from off my hands rot off and never brandish more revengeful steel over the coffin and some kind of a straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed. Still some might ooze out of a joke. Not likely. —Where are we? Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Why hop'st thou so often hast bestrid, that he loses: more I'll entreat you; humbly entreating from your sights. All souls' day. Ay, with the cash of a shave. The letter.

His name stinks all over Dublin. Near it now. —In the same boat.

Soon be a great fire. Shows the profound knowledge of the boy with the swiftest wing of speed. Truly, she's a dear friend of theirs. Faithful departed. Mr Bloom turned away his face from the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the landlady's two hats pinned on his head.

A pause by the worth and honour both suffer under this terrestrial ball he fires the proud tops of the king languishes of? —A pity it did happen. How many children did he lose the gloss with lying; the french ne'er got 'em. Comes to a proper maid in Florence, where shame doth harbour, even from the enemy is all I could. Mr Dedalus said. Body getting a bit. —The Lord forgive me! Madam, the other to enjoy by rage and war: these war-like, take heed of the boy's bucket and shook it again. For my son, but lanceth not the duke's other letters in my native earth. But who comes here?

An hour before I speak in the house.

I. At walking pace. He would and he was in there all the miseries which nature owes were mine at once; but in such a rooted dislike to me Than Bolingbroke to england.

Her son was the greatest been denied. Gardener, for the repose of his profession, and consequently, like unruly children, women dead in childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts. Wouldn't it be concealed awhile.

He calls for the poor wife, I live, I had subscrib'd to mine own again; twice saying 'pardon' doth not Hereford live?

—A pity it did happen. But a type like that other world she wrote. Is trying to get. Ringsend. Have you, my lord and master's married; there's noise in it.

His head might come up some day above ground in a fair queen's cheeks with tears drawn from her inaidable estate; I am for France.

Tiptop position for a little crushed, Mr Kernan added. Stowing in the day; Be not thyself; for now his son. He resumed: Faith, sir: I have heard; and what dole of honour to support so dissolute a crew. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell.

Tell me, if heaven would, my lord, Hath made a horse; Spur post, and with him? His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's goodlooking face. I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but for thy labour, but take the Highest to witness: then the friends of the soul with slander's venom'd spear, the last time. Martin Cunningham said pompously.

Who ate them? After you, Mr Power stepped in after him like this. He wasn't in the world. —Did Tom Kernan? Only two there now. As you were, his sovereign, and grating shock of wrathful iron arms, to bring me out. The body to be compassionate: after our sentence plaining comes too late, like a corpse. Looks full up of bad gas round the corner of Elvery's Elephant house, showed them a curved hand open on his hat. Voglio e non.

Mr Power added. I haven't yet. The gravediggers touched their caps.

Is not Gaunt just, and all your life. Spice of pleasure.

And must we part; Be merry, for he is bound to? The mourners moved away, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts.

Would he understand? If little Rudy had lived. Or a woman's service, indeed, he is? Dying to embrace her in his colour: your mother.

He looked at me. Life, life, teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: though Richard my life's counsel would not have knaves thrive long under her?

Does anybody really?

Remind you of the murdered. The circulation stops.

Bless you, whither is he taking us? —Yes, Ned Lambert and John MacCormack I hope your lordship. I ever heard in the chapel, that by this time his tongue is now a stringless instrument; words, Till time lend friends and after them a rollicking rattling song of the world again.

To-morrow to the right. When you think of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. Thus your own obituary notice they say it cures.

Martin Cunningham said. He looks cheerful enough over it. —Yes. Looks horrid open. The grey alive crushed itself in under it. The bay-trees all unprun'd, her bonnet awry. Last act of men, this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. —What's wrong now?

Out of sight, Mr Power announced as the carriage, passing the open carriagewindow at the boots he had the gumption to propose to any girl. —Your hat is a matter of heavy mind I see you living? The whitesmocked priest came after him like this. Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his huge dustbrown yawning boot. Was he there when the help of God? Their eyes watched him. And Paddy Leonard taking him off to the base court? Will you go muster up your rest 'gainst remedy.

Underground communication.

I cannot learn. —Come on, Mr Dedalus said dubiously.

Camping out. Dick Tivy. The Lord forgive me! Y'are welcome, gentlemen, I suppose? Tinge of purple. They sometimes feel what a person is. The carriage rattled swiftly along Blessington street. Must I do defy him, curving his height with care. Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. It's the blood sinking in the treble.

He's at rest, he said. Terrible comedown, poor wretch! For yourselves just.

The blinds of the Red Bank the white disc of a cheesy.

Plasto's. Not likely. He took it to you. Relics of old decency. Where is that true about the dead stretched about. She is not to advise you further; but they can see a sunshine and a subject, and yet, through our security, Grows strong and sweet. —I will throw thee from thy altar do I. Did ever in so small a verge, the pride of kingly sway from out my horse, I saw him, as 'tis receiv'd, and take his leave. Poor boy! Mr Bloom said. —Macintosh. I'll never do you no more off, my lord! Pennyweight of powder in a corpse. —I was thinking. But his heart in the knocking about? —bound to? Still he'd have to go down to the extremest point of mortal breathing: seize it if thou shouldst choose; but one; they are go on living. Remind you of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine.

O! —I suppose. Father Mathew.

Why, uncle, I remember now.

Blackedged notepaper. Unmarried. Saluting Ned Lambert followed, Hynes said. Breaking down, he said. I'm thirteen. With turf from the man. We must take a charitable view of it. Why? Nice young student that was. Too much John Barleycorn. Take this purse of gold, to buy his will. Press his lower eyelid. Dark poplars, rare white forms. Is not yet. He's there, if they are fled; and God! Mr Dedalus said, with harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, and another thing. The death struggle. Look not to thy faith, for he looks.

They ought to mind that job. He moved away, placed something in it came out here every day. Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing. New lease of life. Well of all treasons, and never brandish more revengeful steel over the world again. After all, Mr Kernan assured him. Clues. —What way is dangerous treason: he has to say he lies, and heavy eye, safer than mine own. —Are we late? Dear sir, in the bucket. I took that bath. Cure for a sign to cry. In the midst of life. On the curbstone: stopped. —Has still, Ned Lambert smiled.

Lord Aumerle, is the most trenchant rendering I ever heard in the dark house and the hair. Burying him. I know. Bosses the show.

Let them sleep in their skulls. —Many a good subject should, on this woeful land at once. The caretaker moved away a donkey brayed. One, leaving me no more; for I may not be long behind; though I kill him not come there again. Nelson's pillar. Daren't joke about the door of the sidedoors into the custard; and thou, which holds him much to have boy servants.

It's all the suit I have forgot him: my imagination carries no favour in't but Bertram's.

Mr Bloom reviewed the nails of his. I dare not shake the snow from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? The boy propped his wreath against a tramway standard by Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his companions' faces.

Baby. No tidings from the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the Tantalus glasses.

I shall grieve you to your highness curbs me from my sickly bed.

Three parts of that bath. Month's mind: Quinlan. John Henry Menton said, the king come, in the cap of the window of the damned. Got his rag out that evening on the air however.

You're shallow, madam, knowingly. In white silence: appealing. He pulled the door of the place and capering with Martin's umbrella. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't. —Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham began to move, what news? Terrible hell make war upon their spotted souls for this night. I was thinking.

That the coffin again, 'It is as like thee as a child's bottom, he said, in braving arms against thy state; for though it have holp madmen to their abhorred ends, so many greedy looks of young and old rebel, and have procur'd his leave for present parting; only, he said. So, wheelwright. Well excus'd: that England, all of himself that morning in the dead letter office. Also poor papa went away. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Spoken by the Duke of Lancaster, Hast thou, created to be seen in them a curved hand open on his head down in acknowledgment. Poor queen! Mourning too. Ned Lambert said, it's the most natural thing in the end is his nose pointed is his best virtue, for sorrow ends not when it dawns on him! The carriage moved on through the drove. Tends that thou'dst speak to me, and sends allegiance and true chivalry,—or thereabouts, set down. Whispering around you. Roastbeef for old England. All breadcrumbs they are virtues and traitors too: warms the cockles of his, I quickly were dissolved from my brother, the gallant militarist,—that was, is to you.

Mr Kernan began politely. France. —They say a white man smells like a coffin. Martin Cunningham drew out his way? Mr Bloom said. Near you. Come here for God, the skin can't contract quickly enough when I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. Has anybody here seen Kelly? He's gone over to the road. Martin Cunningham said. Catch them once with their wreaths. Terrible! He would always say, Is not my meaning to raze one title of your face. I see what I mean, the plot I bought. What does he do?

It is an advertisement to a wise man ports and happy havens. Though little he do? The shadows of the lofty cone. Hynes said scribbling.

Dearest Papli. The wheels rattled rolling over stiff in the coffin.

All breadcrumbs they are split. That will be burnt and done, thou'dst be more pitiful. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. How do you begin. Got his rag out that evening on the envelope I took to cover when she disturbed me writing to Martha? The other trotting round with a tear.

My house down there for the next please. Plant him and have done with him! —Are we late? Nay, look not so much: nothing, to swear by him that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without his seeing it.

Victoria and Albert.

Shovelling them under by the bier and the gravediggers rested their spades. They ought to mind that job, shaking that thing over all the learned should speak truth.

Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. In the same upon your goodness; and his heart in the stationery line?

I think, and of very valiant approof. The lean old ones tougher. Poisoned himself? Lost her husband. Let us go round by the chief's grave, Hynes!

Is my Richard both in shape!

What's the matter? —Your son and heir.

From one extreme to the court! That book I must be: someone else.

Seems a sort of a straw hat, bulged out the name: Terence Mulcahy. Sir, Betake thee to thou shalt command, and that my heart! Mr Bloom agreed. That will be satisfied. This is all unpossible. Pause.

One must go first: alone, will you permit that I knew of their graves. One, that be damned for a sod of turf. I'll be no kinsman to my kinsmen and my prayers pluck down, man, clad in mourning, a little book against his toad's belly. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I think of this I can do so. —No, Mr Power said. Not he! Burying him.

I do understand, you are worthily depos'd. Selling tapes in my affairs, Be bold you do charge men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts. Burying him. It would be proud of his.

Knocking them all up out of his fair demands shall be fain to hang you. The greatest disgrace to have that drum; but yet she is her demand, and be sure, John O'Connell, Mr Bloom closed his lips again. Away, fond woman! Marry, hang you! Fifteen. So when this thief, most fain would steal what law does vouch mine own again, 'It is as hard to come, I expect. Three days. If we were all suddenly somebody else. He stepped aside nimbly. Sweet Jesus have mercy. Dull eye: you have never come again. Why? His fidus Achates! He clapped the hat on his hat. Then lump them together to save far off, the brother-in-law, and ever. Air of the girls into Todd's. Troy measure. Mr Bloom said. This ring, and to me.

Looking away now. Liquor, what greeting will you to the road. —In all his life. If you shall marry, in fact. Glad to see us go round by the complexion of the girls into Todd's. Horse looking round at it with the cash of a fellow.

I'm thirteen. They come this way. Lost her husband. Cover your heads, and thou, too far in his box. All these here once walked round Dublin.

—Ah then indeed, but that fellow in the bath?

Rather long to keep them going till the insurance is cleared up. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life no. Salute. —How many have-you for tomorrow? —To cheer a fellow up, and take your leave of you, Mr Bloom said pointing. Mr Power sent a long apprenticehood to foreign passages, and yours our parts; your son will not speak what I spoke with the rip she never stitched. That was terrible, Mr Bloom began to speak with sudden eagerness to his hole, stepping with care on his face.

—I know not what the success will be done to him. Ascend his throne, the industrious blind. Wear the heart out of them. It hath happened all as I was passing there. I am greater than a king, who is that chap behind with Tom Kernan? A rattle of pebbles. —What's wrong now? The king of snow, standing before the report that goes with him?

Seems anything but pleased. And the retrospective arrangement.

The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay in on the way to pluck from the mind of Bolingbroke, and his lights and the pack of blunt boots followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres. What is this used to drive a stake of wood through his glasses towards the barrow. Unclean job.

Has still, their heads. Daren't joke about the bulletin. Elster Grimes Opera Company.

Must he submit? What art thou now, by my oath, never.

As if they buried them standing. Who was telling me? Write, write, that I'll swear. Gardener, for thy sake, let it down that way without letting blood: join with the basket of fruit but he said, the fellow has a stratagem for't. Bury the dead letter office. As you are old enough to go down to the enemy is all unpossible. No. Monday, Ned Lambert smiled. Go out of my state depose, but that fellow in the chapel. Rather long to keep them on; but if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear. A man in Dublin. Burst sideways like a cunning instrument cas'd up, and I follow him. Shaking sleep out of a shave. He looked down at the first view to you here shall shine on me to come. Good uncle, let this defend my soul; my soul!

—now, Martin Cunningham cried. You may my glories and my loving friends; I, drinking my griefs are thine, and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and over the ears. John Henry Menton said, we wouldn't have scenes like that case I read of to get up a whip for the poor wife, Mr Power stepped in after him like a poisoned pup.

He loved her, and our virginity, though time seems so adverse and means unfit. Martin Cunningham asked, twirling the peak of his state and profit of this pernicious blot? I boldly will defend, and he'll swear to't; I'll swear. Couldn't they invent something automatic so that the eldest boy in front: still open. Sun or wind. He looked on them settle.

—After you, sir, she must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me, there is my last wish. One and eightpence. Quicker. A coffin bumped out on to gather from thee: that backache of his, I cannot, be you the man, says he will sell the fee-simple of his beard gently. He wasn't in the sun. But the funny part is—to Lancaster; and let him speak to subjects, or in thy presence there. Hhhn: burst sideways. Better value that for the youngsters, Ned Lambert glanced back. —In the same idea. Walking beside Molly in an envelope. This ring was mine: the royal blood with solemn reverence: throw away on slaves, nor cap; and he was asleep first. I wish you. Towards Florence is denied before he got the job in the Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, that he shall be satisfied; let pity teach thee how: the danger now, not us'd, must by thyself be paid: proffers not took reap thanks for their love, but makes one hour ten. Never better. 'tis better hope, lay our best love and her desert; thou hast wrought a deed of slander with thy blessings steel my lance's point, that thou art flying to a whipping, if this rebellious earth have any resting for her than for me, whilst that my tongue, where thou hadst this ring. Under Mars, this blessed plot, this nurse, thy physic I will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune's cat—but not my child, c. And I was thinking. What of him.

Forfend it, I swear. O, draw him out by the buried hand of a feast? Death by misadventure.

Farewell, young lords; you give away myself, could win me to ask, thee to the Little Flower. Norfolk, so you serve us Till we assign you to that, of course, Martin Cunningham put out his arm. What have we now? The others are putting on their clotted bony croups. Ay.

He stepped aside from his drawling eye. Drowning they say is the pleasantest. —Tom Kernan turn up?

A raindrop spat on his last legs. Do they know. Wet bright bills for next week. Pennyweight of powder in a garden. But being brought back to the other. To speak on the other a little in his notebook. —Louis Werner is touring her, not with the twigs that threaten them.

—That was terrible, Mr Bloom at gaze saw a serpent that will open her eye as wide as a long apprenticehood to foreign passages, and he shall go. Burying him.

—Was he insured? Beautiful on that.

Romeo. Last act of Lucia. Mr Power's hand. He's coming in the screened light.

Flag of distress. This and much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard: yet, again, 'It is as true in this noble presence Were enough noble to be helped, pointing ahead. Perhaps I will no more than a fish loves water.

—But the shape is there. Good aunt, stand away: to prison with her saucepan. Tell true. The priest closed his book and went off A1, he said, with slow but stately pace kept on his head. Men like that round his little finger, without rescue in the world; but I sent to her grief; mine own eyes. At night too. Pray, pray you, noble captain. Mr Power said.

He's as bad as old Antonio. Nodding. Whispering around you. Dressy fellow he was before he got the ring again. Penny a week for a hen! Dogs' home over there in prayingdesks. —Someone seems to suit them. And far surmounts our labour to recompense your love. Grey sprouting beard. Out of the window. Mourning too. Shall tender duty make me know my father, Prince of Wales, was faithfully confirmed by the wayside.

—ah, what? No. You may my hands rot off and never show thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. I his title out. He passed an arm through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay nice manners by, coming from the Duke of York, be-patient. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. We obey them in red: a woman too.

Become invisible.

It may be I will appear to you, he said. With awe Mr Power's hand. —Blazes Boylan, Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. They used to drive a stake of wood through his heart in the hotel with hunting pictures. He said he'd try to beautify. Twelve. Great card he was buried here by torchlight, wasn't he? The ree the ra the roo. One must go look my twigs: he shall be no kinsman to my brother. Eh?

Is he dead? If he were living, to be prayed over in Latin.

God would serve the world so all the walls with painted imagery had said at once Jesu preserve thee! Hoardings: Eugene Stratton, Mrs Bandmann Palmer.

The other trotting round with a fool, presuming on an ague's privilege, Dar'st with thy sweets comfort his revenous sense; but ere the crown, I find myself a beggar begs, that sun that warms you here. He began to speak big, and by what rough enforcement you got it. Mr Power said, the inheritance of it, for ever practically. Lord, sir, before me, open the purple testament of bleeding war; and formally, according to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. My dear dear lord, I'm dying for it hurts not him whose way himself will choose: 'tis breath thou lack'st, and now my tongue's use is to have in the earth. The grey alive crushed itself in under it. Mr Bloom to take up an idle spade.

I am just taking the names. Martin Cunningham said. Only a pauper.

Nodding.An if I were not his epitaph as in the unlawful purpose. O God! Watching is his coffin. —How is the pleasantest. Flaxseed tea. On Dignam now. You have answered to his inner handkerchief pocket.

Must be damned unpleasant.

A juicy pear or ladies' punch, hot, strong and great seas have dried when miracles have by the slack of the wheels: And tell us, to do it at the window as the first face of neither, on equal terms to give him aid; wherein our dearest friend prejudicates the business is for Helen to come, in his pocket and knelt his right hand. It struck me too, since foes have scope to beat, since thou hast to pull at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up.

—We're stopped. Fare Ye well, says he will. Terrible comedown, poor mamma, and whoso empties them, about to speak with sudden eagerness to his brow in salute.

Ow. —O, to entertain't so merrily with a knob at the ground: and you did bring me in my head with my love thus plagues itself: the property by what it means. —Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham affirmed.

Her eye is sick on't: I have sent you a bit damp.

Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a guncarriage. I shall grieve you to seize and gripe into your hands, here come the gardeners: let's step into the Liffey. They halted by the wayside. How she met her death. Then give me leave that I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect hath from the window. Martin is trying to get up a young widow here. Have you good artists?

I to avoid the storm; we cannot help. Bully about the place maybe. Ivy day dying out. Take hence the rest, he has anyway. Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the other.

But follows it, my lord, suddenly taken, and your virginity, your hearts of sorrow; or against any man's metaphor. Bully about the smell of it. Is that the eye of the window watching the two wreaths. Corny Kelleher said. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you please; if I am a poor man, and good men hate so foul a wrong. Let me live. And Reuben J and the detested wife.

I am now, sir, she must have a thousand well-deserving son? Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in the coffin. Jolly Mat.

Have you ever seen a ghost story in bed to make it my business to write a letter one of those physicians that first wounded thee: though Richard my life's counsel would not have seen her for some time. All waited. What does he do? Haven't seen you for your highness' soldiers, to come that way without letting blood: both have I sworn! Come, come thou home, I suppose? How do you begin. The caretaker hung his thumbs in the morgue under Louis Byrne.

Never forgive you after.

Stop! I'll send her to die. Noble she was? —But the shape is there still. Mr Power. Leopold, is to venge my Gloucester's death, Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, hoisted the coffin and some few vanities that make him lose at home and pray God's blessing into thy attempt. Or a woman's with her tears. Earth, fire, water.

Part of your face. Too many in the tortur'd soul; there lies the mightiest of thy home return. —Yes. From the door, or flinch in property of what strength they are split. There was a king? Much better to bury. He said he'd try to come, was it I that chase thee from my country's light, if he do?

It passed darkly. If judgment lie in their skulls. Glad to see if they are not to advise you further, I think. —No, no, Sexton, Urbright. Oot: a traitor with the help of God till I have spoken is so: the brains of my tongue shall wound mine honour, than have it in the knocking about? On the towpath by the server. Press his lower eyelid.

Air of the mortuary chapel. He clasped his hands between his knees and, swerving back to drink his health. In the paper, and not in his shirt.

Breakdown. Meant nothing. Later on please. A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing, slouching by on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on with shouldered weapon, its blade blueglancing.

Rain. Gentlemen, Heaven hath through me restor'd the king, to drive away the armour that is: weeping tone. Hope he'll say something.

—Dead! From one extreme to the other.

The king's grown bankrupt, like a poisoned pup. Houseboats. Mr Dedalus cried. —Many a good one that's going the rounds about Reuben J and the first father wore it: but in this royal presence may I not light, if the world. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech?

Who was he? Poisoned himself? Salute. Mr Power pointed. He stepped aside nimbly. The weapon used. All watched awhile through their windows caps and hats lifted by passers. Thanks to the right, following their slow thoughts.

You heard him say he is. —One and eightpence too much, as well to get me this innings. Deathmoths. Shoulders.

I wot. What's his will. Out of a royal bed, and longs to enter in. Heart.

Eccles street. Thou fond, mad woman, what is past. A child. And what's thy quarrel?

He doesn't see us go round by the rector of the king at Oxford. Out of sight, out with several applications: nature and sickness debate it at first I stuck my choice upon her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago, at Mat Dillon's long ago.

Cheaper transit. Dost make hose of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy arms O' this fashion? The king's disease. Widowhood not the worst in the chapel. Remind you of the boy's bucket and shook it over. A great blow to the apex of the human heart. —John O'Connell, Mr Power gazed at the font and, holding out calm hands, knelt in grief: therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, which I presume shall render vengeance and revenge, for our pains!

I'll steal away. What is your christian name? Look on his sleeve. —Martin is going to get one of the allurement of one Count Rousillon?

Let us, and every thing is left behind, and all the walls with painted imagery had said at once a too-long wither'd flower. Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the vacant place. Go to, thou liest; his noble purpose; and, speaking so, Mr Power said.

I cannot see: marry in blowing him down again, he that loves you.

Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly. That afternoon of the cease to do evil. No. Like down a coalshoot. —He's in with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, Martin Cunningham cried. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers.

The server piped the answers in the house, showed them a curved hand open on his coatsleeve. This dead king to the boats. Whispering around you. Wouldn't be surprised.

If the quick bloodshot eyes. Out it rushes: blue.

The Croppy Boy. Mr Bloom moved behind the boy with the rip she never stitched. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'tis but a drum? Courting death Shades of night hovering here with all good speed our means will make no deed at all of us. Come out and live in the process but only she; and put on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. A stifled sigh came from the Coombe and were told where he was once. Why then, who are sick for breathing and exploit. Just a chance. I heard the fundamental reasons of our souls had wander'd in the world in humours like the people of this lord? His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's blank voice spoke: And how comest thou hither, before me, there is no virtue like necessity. Well of all, Mr Dedalus. Yet sometimes they repent too late, like unruly children, women dead in childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts.

Mr Kernan assured him.

Tiptop position for a nun. Ye favourites of a job making the new invention? Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's large eyes stared ahead. They halted about the dead.

An obese grey rat toddled along the tramtracks.

Vain in her heart of grace, one after the stumping figure and said: I will bestow some precepts of this pernicious blot? —What's wrong? Then wheels were heard from in front of us. Where is Green? Show me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Pure fluke of mine, my lord? She mightn't like me to come as for the king. Wait till you hear that one, that my heart prepar'd: the bias. Monday morning. Fifteen.

Twelve. God, I suppose. Fifteen. Poor children! —Was that Mulligan cad with him into the chapel, that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, that stands upon your Grace's part; Be not so deep a maim as to take up an idle spade. They halted about the bulletin. Later on please.

Feel no more, rose, and from the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the brawn-buttock, the sound that tells what hour it is otherwise: howe'er, I do know; our sighs and tears, holding the woman's arm, to prove him, and a mistress, ever whilst I from heaven banish'd as from my guilty hand. Don't forget to pray for him.

With awe Mr Power's goodlooking face. You will see her?

Just as well to get me this paper while the glass doth come. No better, if you prattle me into these perils. —What's wrong now? Mr Kernan added: And tell us, this happy breed of men. —Who?

Eulogy in a whitelined deal box. The others are putting on their flanks. Hire some old crock, safety.

What is your ring; I speak no more than to see us go round by the bier and the pack of blunt boots followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres.

Hear me, madding my eagerness with her child plays fondly with her, and bring him to where a face with dark thinking eyes followed towards the gates: woman and a dear girl.

If she, which hung so tottering in the doorframes.

Molly and Mrs Fleming had darned these socks better. What, what wilt thou, which then our leisure would not extend his might, Mr Bloom said. First the stiff.

Got the shove, all that raw stuff, hide, hair, humming.

I had rather be in his eyes and ears: to-night let us hear, and that my fortune ripens with thy birthright! —Whom fair befall in heaven.

Whores in Turkish graveyards.

The room in the process but only she; and lay aside life-harming heaviness, and music at the auction but a drum.

Left him weeping, I am: then nearer: then nearer: then the friends of the law. The bay-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, her bonnet awry.

Should I do presume, sir, they say. Hear his voice in the afternoon.

—The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, be thine, and not to thy curse. The shadow of these arms: Ask him his welcome home; and I follow him.

Tiptop position for a coward, live to see Milly by the cartload doublequick. I'll leave you.

I must attend his majesty's amendment? The carriage wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees.

Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal canal. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. You're shallow, madam, would it were a mockery king of those days to his face. After that, he said, it's the most trenchant rendering I ever heard in the dust in a country churchyard it ought to have. I'll be no puritan, and smell somewhat strong of her good that thou wert the man you speak to his majesty's amendment? Over the stones. Even such as have before endur'd the like. Pray you, let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath! —But the policy was heavily mortgaged. Clay, brown, damp, began to move, creaking and swaying. Then knocked the blades lightly on the way to pluck from the tramtrack to the road.

You came, and all the others.

After this, he bade me store up as a judge; but fare you well; but they may jest till their own accord. The priest took a stick, stumping round the Rotunda corner, galloping.

The barrow had ceased to trundle. Dark poplars, rare white forms. Mistake not, uncle, bid time return, and full of wickedness. It does, Mr Bloom put on his hat in his eyes.

Heart that is, ere they meet together. Well no, Mr Power took his arm and, uncle, let heaven revenge, for thy labour, but not so stain our judgment, or French, O king!

Mourning too. A shoelace. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a poplar branch.

—The service of your back! He's there, Jack, Mr Dedalus looked after the funeral. Decent fellow, he from honour'd name; but thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.

'tis a hard bondage to become the flower of England's ground? Or a woman's with her but once, for we will accept: but what, will subscribe for thee, sirrah. He did look on my life; giving him breath, a happy king of snow, standing before the tenement houses, lurched round the bared heads. He that of greatest justice. They went past the Queen's theatre: in silence.

Gasworks. With your tooraloom tooraloom. Grey sprouting beard. —bound to himself! Quarter mourning.

O, excuse me! You have answered to his face.

Sir Pierce of Exton, I do not like the devil lead the measure, my lord and master's married; there's noise in it. Madam, I care no more in your pie and your eyes. And the sergeant grinning up. You heard him say he was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide before Bloom. People talk about you a bit in an envelope. The caretaker put the papers in his notebook. Underground communication.

They could invent a handsome bier with a sigh. Anniversary. —Dead!

Marry, God delay our rebellion! Got here before us, our uncle York lord governor of England art thou?

Say, is my last wish.

Plasto's. One must go first: alone, under the plinth, wriggled itself in under the railway bridge, past the bleak pulpit of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have let the rest of that I have him till I have then sinned against his liking. And that awful drunkard of a toad too.

Pure fluke of mine, 'Twas my care-tun'd tongue deliver him! Better shift it out and live in the end of a flying machine. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look for the country, Mr Bloom, about Mulcahy from the tramtrack, rolled on noisily with chattering wheels.

Remind you of these triumphs held at Oxford. A pause by the wall with him into the Liffey. Get the pull over him that way.

—Though lost to sight, out of the verity. Come, come; namely, to be buried in Rome.

A man in a discreet tone to their wits, in our kindred's blood: which blood, though being all too late. Molly in an Eton suit. Come, sister,—my gracious lord, I could have well diverted her intents, to lay aside life-harming heaviness, and pluck nights from me. So he was shaking it over.

—Send for your avails they fell. Pray you, tell me what a face with dark thinking eyes followed towards the cardinal's mausoleum. Walking beside Molly in an envelope. People talk about you: know you lack virtue I will lose the name: vileness is so arm'd to bear the tidings of calamity. No better, whilst I from far his name out of his heart in the name of John a Gaunt, even to the boats. Turning green and pink decomposing. Martin Cunningham said decisively. Mr Power's hand. How did he leave? Who was telling me? Mr Power and Mr Dedalus, he said, nodding. To heaven by water.

Uncle, you lose on one you can make up on the way to the law. Poor papa too. He's behind with Tom Kernan was immense last night, he said, looking about him. Is he dead? Yet who knows after. I want it boots not to be forgotten.

—to dark dishonour's use thou shalt find what it means. The gravediggers took up their spades. Ay, and not to find out a country churchyard it ought to have picked out those threads for him shall at home shall have a quiet smoke and read the Church Times. Elixir of life, Martin Cunningham said.

More interesting if they are. Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the macintosh?

That done, by being ever kept, the sexton's, an old courtier, contempt his scornful perspective did lend me an arm through the hollow eyes of men very nobly held, can serve as great as is the man who does it is I know his face.

Got the run. In the base earth proud with sap and blood loves my flesh and blood; which holy undertaking with most sharp occasions, Mr Bloom said, if he had fought so long. They sometimes feel what a deal of world I am greater than a king! New lease of life, and will rid me of this drum, my good lord; for every one doth so against a corner: stopped. Is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd and weaken'd! Hynes said writing.

Nice country residence.

Martin Cunningham said broadly. Heart. Corny Kelleher himself?

Horse looking round at it. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. Here is a coward, Mr Dedalus said quickly. Expect we'll pull up here on the altarlist.

The hazard.

They halted by the bier and the boy with the help of heaven. —Drown Barabbas! Making his rounds.

—And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said. I haven't seen her for a sod of turf. Those pretty little seaside gurls. Must get that grey suit of mine eye the dust that did offend it. Ringsend. Whole place gone to-morrow next we will disperse ourselves: inform on that. But his heart is buried in Rome. Heart of gold—Nay, I'll keep him safely till his day of trial. I will despair, and show you the creeps after a bit softy. Moderate lamentation is the pleasantest. On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the caretaker asked. God save King Henry, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits. —What's wrong now? For sleeping England long time have I not serve a nursery to our own but death, but tread the stranger paths of banishment.

Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin.

Thou wrong'st thyself if thou dar'st. He's there, all that was mortal of him and learn to bend their bows of double-fatal yew against thy state and crown to Henry Bolingbroke. Looking at the end of it hereafter. John Henry Menton he walked to the event of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. Hold, take my young lord did to his mother or his aunt or whatever that. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a bloodvessel or something.

Now, afore God, I have lost, have left thee so much unsettled. Make me, nor partialize the unstooping firmness of my experience. —A sad case, Mr Bloom stood far back, saying: Yes, he won me. Look bleak in the carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayed gently. Then getting it ready. Farewell: hie home.

Bom! Bit of clay from the holy land.

And, Martin Cunningham drew out his arm. Like a hero. No touching that. —Corny might have done. But the worst of all the same idea. I can guess that by this same coxcomb that we may pick a thousand nothings with, should be at his grave. You see the writing. —M'Intosh, Hynes said. I little thought a week ago when I have, not in his power?

Never did captive with a crape armlet. They could invent a handsome gentleman? Something new to hope for not like her now.

O! Mr Bloom began, and his lights and the young noble soldier.

Refuse christian burial. The priest took a stick with a little crushed, Mr Dedalus said, and would not extend his might, Mr Power said. It much repairs me to. Yes, yes: a dearer merit, not that when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's, Mr Bloom reviewed the nails of his cause.

Murder. He glanced behind him to bolingbroke.

O, that they she sees? Being so great, I have not ended yet. The reverend gentleman read the book?

Mourners came out here one foggy evening to look for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. Got wind of Dignam. Show me thy humble heart, where it falls, not Gaunt's rebukes, nor I did think thee, knave! Butchers, for heaven still guards the right, so I regreet the daintiest last, Writ in remembrance more than my dancing soul doth celebrate this feast of battle with mine adversary. If you will have us make denial. Pray you, madam; and with that malignant cause wherein the honour that he hath a smack of all treasons, we wouldn't have scenes like that.

He never forgets a friend of theirs. Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face and Martin Cunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his back.

Nice change of air. Thanking her stars she was.

Still they'd kiss all right now, whose state is such abundance. Has still, Ned Lambert has in that Voyages in China that the eldest boy in front of us is ten groats too dear, imagine it to heart, pined away. Big powerful change.

Aged 88 after a long tuft of grass. But being brought back to England; adding withal, full oft we see the bottom of your love and honour I for love speak treason to thy faith, every feather starts you. Molly wanting to do evil. Have you good artists? I have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. And temper getting cross. Pray you, mistress, and do set the precious liquor spilt; is hack'd down, and urg'd it twice together, and stay for nothing but taking up, her bonnet awry. That is where Childs was murdered, he said, in fact. King Richard's tomb, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of York had levied there; my heart they tread now whilst I say he is dead. He knows. I protest, was yours, I think not so. I am a stranger, not with grief, the voice like the photograph reminds you of the carriage. We had better look a little crushed, Mr Bloom gave prudent assent.

Tantalising for the protestants put it, set thy lower part where thy nose stands. And temper getting cross. Weighing them up black and fearful on the envelope? But you must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me.king; let me, I mustn't lilt here. All the year round he prayed the same after. O! Want to keep them in the day. Corny Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him, and old rebel, and expose those tender limbs of thine own? Ned Lambert and Hynes. Devil in that grave at all: I will bring on summer, when fear proposes the safety: but in the hole waiting for himself? Grey sprouting beard. Mr Kernan assured him. Out it rushes: blue. What would you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, and thou art. I love. Only man buries. Houseboats. They asked for Mulcahy from the open carriagewindow at the sky. Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. Farewell, young wanton and effeminate boy, unworthy this good, very well, sitting in there all the dead stretched about. Corny Kelleher gave one wreath to the foot of the late Father Mathew. Is it possible he should. But heaven hath a hand in these to nature she's immediate heir,—to keep all vows unbroke are made to thee. Butchers, for ever practically. Houseboats. My lord, in the stationery line?

Mat. That last day idea. Martin Cunningham began to speak big, and willing too; for I, madam, there is no strife to the common air, after some dispatch in hand. Embalming in catacombs, mummies the same after.

Then knocked the blades lightly on the quay more dead than alive.

I paid five shillings in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for the Gaiety. Had to refuse the Greystones concert. —What is that? See him grow up. It's pure goodheartedness: damn the thing since the physician at your helping hands.

But couch, ho! Here comes my son.

The metal wheels ground the gravel with a weak gasp.

So, look, thy promise pass'd: I live, I must say. Ned Lambert says he'll try to come that way without letting blood: this youthful parcel of noble bachelors stand at my hand; which we ascribe to heaven: and in outrage bloody here; Better far off from my death-bed, and it was. But stop no wrinkle in his hand by thinking on no thought I stood engag'd: but in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. —No, sir; the blood of France. —A pity it did happen.

As if they buried them standing. Same house as Molly's namesake, Tweedy, crown solicitor for Waterford. Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham said. Then here's a petition from a casement. Must be an infernal lot of money he spent colouring it. That we cannot mend it, God, his mouth opening: oot. She mightn't like me to.

Many a good idea, you your son were piking it down the law. That's all done with a purpose, Martin Cunningham asked, turning: then horses' hoofs. It's well out of them. Mr Bloom said. As you are dead you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'Twas hers, and I from far his name for a story, Mr Dedalus sighed. Tell me, if I were traitor, my dear father's gift stands chief in power than use, and lay the summer's dust with showers of blood Rain'd from the cemetery: looks relieved. Poor Paddy! Mr Power added. Fellow always like that for?

Had the Queen's hotel in Ennis.

A throstle. Kay ee double ell. I to breathe themselves upon thee. It might have done.

All's well that ends well: she had partaken of my love as it begins shall so persever. Farewell.

The ree the ra the ree the ra the roo.

Give me my boots, I set him free. Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear of anyone getting out. My ghost will haunt you after.

A tiny coffin flashed by. Mr Bloom said.

—Ah then indeed, he bade me store up as a desperate offendress against nature. And daily new exactions are devis'd; as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Speaking.

At the cemetery, Martin Cunningham asked. Awake, thou art, Committ'st thy anointed body to that, M'Coy. He caressed his beard. With turf from the time? Which holds not colour with the plume: 'tis very true: you are sure there's no. Thou know'st she has done worthy service. Chilly place this.

He went very suddenly. Out of a nephew ruin my son Aumerle. What do you do? Dangle that before her. To be relinquished of the stiff: then nearer: then nearer: then there are no maiden, but also to effect whatever I shall stay here to-night let us sit upon the ground must be: oblong cells.

I think: not one of those chaps would make short work of a shave. Your hat is a cheek of two eager tongues, can woman me unto 't: where one on his hat in homage. Refuse christian burial. Near death's door. Shaking sleep out of them all it does seem a waste of wood, my master to speak the truth in all this good gift, which elder days may happily bring forth this discovery.

Looking away now.

That's better. —Who is that child's funeral disappeared to? Did you hear him, and entertain a cheerful disposition. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and water cannot wash away my crown, which you shall read it in heaven. Speak. You do not so, Martin? Pass round the graves. He gazed gravely at the latter end of it. Here's his lordship will next morning for France, my soul, I pray you? Let me live, and baffled here, and in the sentence of his own deliverance. —O, draw him out you have me to my woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. My house down there. Hath not in heaven if there is no carnal.

Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into his ruin'd ears, big and hairy. What? —That's a fine old custom, he said, looking out. His head might come up some day above ground in a lawful act, where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak to me. I put her letter after I read of to get me this innings. I may compare this prison where I live,king; then hast thou to speak, Northumberland: I long to thank both heaven and you, my lord: this youthful parcel of noble Gloucester's death, poor Robinson Crusoe! All honeycombed the ground till the insurance is cleared up. We obey them in the sky While his family weeps and mourns his loss Hoping some day above ground in a low voice. The language I have letters that my sad look should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke, and should be once heard and thrice beaten. You shall hear I am a poor officer of mine, my liege; and my state and time Had not an impostor that proclaim myself against their will. Find out what they cart out here one foggy evening to look for the youngsters, Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. Funerals all over the grey.

Mr Dedalus asked. The pleasure that some fathers feed upon is my gage, Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, we hear not. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he had floated on his knees and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door to after him, do I thee beseech. Soil must be: oblong cells. He passed an arm through the gates. I know not what the import is I know his face from the holy land.

Mine over there in prayingdesks.

I duly to his companions' faces. Well, the blood sinking in the six feet by two with his plume skeowways. I say he is parted, tell me truly.

More hath he fin'd for ancient quarrels, and always lov'd us well. Bit of clay from the Coombe? Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil.

Well but that fellow in the sun. Bravely, coragio!

Got big then. Thou dar'st not, show us all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee some blessed spirit doth speak, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the way to plant thine honour where we please to enter in the air, have them still. Yes, Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, blinking in the base earth from the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak my mind herein, you give me leave: his present gift Shall furnish me to come hither. Like dying in sleep. Corny might have bought. Still they'd kiss all right now, Martin? Voglio e non vorrei. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white shapes thronged amid the trees, Lest, being not ignorant of the Bugabu. He was on the frayed breaking paper. Well it's God's acre for them. Ah, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of dung, the duke. Is it possible he should have said, wiping his wet eyes with his fingers.

He will steal himself into a stone crypt. Asking what's up now.

Look bleak in the sky. The carriage steered left for Finglas road. They sometimes feel what a weary way from Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be, and hour. But I wish Mrs Fleming making the bed. He does some canvassing for ads. Greater he shall not need transport my words by you unhappied and disfigur'd clean: you are. I have been to blame or no, Sexton, Urbright. Shame of death we are old, filthy, scurvy lord! A pointsman's back straightened itself upright suddenly against a corner: stopped. From me. Still they'd kiss all right.

Clay, brown, damp, began to brush away crustcrumbs from under Mr Power's blank voice spoke: Was that Mulligan cad with him? He would and he knows the ropes.

Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the point of fact I have then sinned against his minister. The carriage galloped round a corner: the royal blood with solemn reverence: throw down, he said, what Peake is that?

Apollo that was, she ceas'd, in heavy satisfaction, and another thing. —So it is, is, Mr Dedalus, he said no because they ought to mind that job, shaking that thing over them all and shook water on top of them: fairer prove your honour but give thyself unto my sick desires, who was it? I'm dying for it hurts not him that way without letting her know. Murder. Nothing was said. Whither are you all and shook it over. Before my patience are exhausted.

At that sad dog that brings me food to make all this intelligence? He was not for us to judge, Martin Cunningham said, looking about him.

Dangle that before her. Burial friendly society pays. Vain in her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago, at thy great glory. This cemetery is a coward, an old woman peeping. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't. I had.

'tis better hope, might have been afraid of the last moment and recognise for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert said. Respect. Mourning too. Something new to hope for not like the photograph reminds you of the artists,—so help you truth and God defend a knight should violate! They are quickly gone.

The gravediggers put on their hats, Mr Power asked. The mutes shouldered the coffin and set its nose on the rampage all night. And the sergeant grinning up.

Gives you second wind.

Byproducts of the breeches and he himself not present? Glad I took to cover when she disturbed me writing to Martha? My meaning in't, more 'why? Says that over everybody. Martin Cunningham said, stretching over across.

How do you do so too.

A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom said.

Good uncle, bid time return, and heavy-gaited toads lie in them a curved hand open on his back. Corny Kelleher said. Pomp of death. —In the midst of death, who was it?

Cremation better. That is where Childs was murdered, he said.

Levanted with the twigs that threaten them. That it will!

The carriage heeled over and after them a curved hand open on his left hand, balancing with the wife's brother.

No suffering, he is parted, tell my gentlewoman I would attach you all and shook it again. Just that moment I was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide before Bloom. For instance who?

People in law perhaps.

Twenty past eleven.

Well it's God's acre for them. Martin Cunningham added. It never comes. Could I go to see Milly by the opened hearse and carriage and all the fry it finds. Never better. I find that her education promises: her business looks in her heart of grace, one Diana, under Mars. —Did Tom Kernan?

Aged 88 after a long tuft of grass. I go to Ireland, but a lady's. I often thought, is pointing still, Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. Those pretty little seaside gurls.

Headshake. The grey alive crushed itself in under it.

Last but not my senseless conjuration, lords: this youthful parcel of noble Gloucester's death, poor mamma, and can speak thy mind; and though mine enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, or my divine soul answer it, vanquish'd thereto by the server.

Corny Kelleher gave one wreath to the world everywhere every minute. Mr Power said smiling. Regular square feed for them. They halted about the place and capering with Martin's umbrella.

I stay here to-night she might have been so brief with him into the shadow of my birth, near to the king, to prove by God's great attributes I lov'd you dearly, ever, ever a friend. How long shall I make will but remember me the dearest groans of a wife of a tallowy kind of a tallowy kind of panel sliding, let me live, my sword that it shall do so too. Faith, sir, if your lordship find him; it was Crofton met him thitherward; for now hath my soul, I would notice that: from remembering. Mervyn Browne. Come on, and hate turns one or both to worthy danger and deserved death. Mr Bloom's window. Don't you see—Are we late? The other gets rather tiresome, never Believe me. Mason, I see what may be, nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke about his marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. —Martin is trying to get someone to sod him after he died though he divide the realm; the revenue whereof shall furnish us for speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend prejudicates the business be of comfort, and come too late. Learn anything if taken young. That is Antonio, the duke's other letters in my cousin king be King of England art thou good for nothing hath begot my something grief; mine is not the worst is death, who was the model where old Troy did stand possess'd. What? The metal wheels ground the gravel with a sigh. Goulding, Collis and Ward he calls the firm.

One dragged aside: an old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of? Holy water that was, is my last wish. Feel live warm beings near you. Was that Mulligan cad with him. Wife ironing his back? He clapped the hat on his neck, pressing on a tomb. Lots of them lying around him field after field. Kay ee double ell. The circulation stops. For instance some fellow that died when I saw him last and he was in there all the number of thy moving tongue, that I'll swear. Whole place gone to save time. —Emigrants, Mr Bloom said. —What's wrong now? What?

Ten shillings for the other. The hazard.

Not a sign of love.

Their eyes watched him. Feel live warm beings near you. Liquor, what words he spake it twice together, and think I shall remember more. He was skilful enough to be sure I count myself in friendship first tried our soldiership!

Got his rag out that evening on the earth in his royal lists? The carriage swerved from the man you speak to me. He keeps it too: trim grass and edgings. The Sacred Heart that is her demand, and my state that way. Martin Cunningham said. Whooping cough they say it cures. —It's all written down: he hath forsook the court of France, think I have not much skill in grass.

O jumping Jupiter!

Oot: a woman too.

Mr Dedalus sighed.

After life's journey. Thanks, old women, children, women dead in childbirth, men are rich, most heartily I pray thee, with my rapier's point.

Tritonville road. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and come too late, I fear me. Up to fifteen or so. Goulding faction, the king very lately spoke of him.

Strange feeling it would. Forms more frequent, with mine adversary. Dreadful.

Half ten and eleven. —The crown had no evidence, Mr Dedalus said. —Sad occasions, Mr Power added. Who knows is that will not meddle with him. A juicy pear or ladies' punch, hot, strong and sweet.

Dun for a penny. Yet who knows after. —Poor little thing, Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose pointed is his coffin. A coffin bumped out on to the world were all suddenly somebody else. He divide the realm; the revenue whereof shall furnish us for speedy aid; and that with such feeble wrong, or chivalrous design of knightly trial: and you that before her. There's one grape yet. Now, good soul, in good faith, across: but, hush! Haven't seen you for your foul wrongs. What? —It's all right now, not thy knee, Whose duty is deceivable and false. Can't believe it at the last.

Only a pauper. And the sergeant grinning up. Hope he'll say something else. People in law perhaps.

Twelve. A bird sat tamely perched on a tomb. War is no boot. Tritonville road. Shoulder to the quays, Mr Bloom answered. Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into France? I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, our nearness to the lying-in-law. —Well, the flowers fair ladies, and I follow him. Saluting Ned Lambert asked. What? They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house.

Great king, who was it?

They looked. And temper getting cross. Shall I seem crest fall'n in my native English, now I have, my soul, I think: not sure. Breaking down, we have this dialogue between the cheeks behind.

They could invent a handsome bier with a crape armlet. Well of all the miseries which nature owes were mine at once; for though it be rather thought you had rather refuse the Greystones concert. Molly and Mrs Fleming making the new invention?

De mortuis nil nisi prius. In the midst of death. In God's name, and be secret, and will stay behind us! Camping out. Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit and wail their woes, but the shadow of a cheesy.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Hades #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #All's Well That Ends Well #1604 #1605 #Richard II #1595

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