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yatorihell · 4 years

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In The Darkness Chapter 56 - Invasion

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 5,072

Summary: Yukine confides in Yato and Hiyori, and some unwelcome visitors arrive.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

Yukine bolted.

He had pushed past Nora and her invasive manoeuvre and stumbled of the greenhouse, gardening gloves falling from his shaking hands. Now, the snow fell heavier, blanketing the world and blurring his vision amongst the sting of his tears.

Was it Nora who snitched about their secret society? Was that why Oshi banned student organisations? Have they been looking for them all this time? Had Nora been here the whole time?

Questions flew in Yukine’s head almost as fast as he ran back into the castle, slipping and sliding over the snow-covered steppingstones. The tears had dried stickily on his reddened cheeks when he had reached the landing of the Grand Staircase.

“Yukine!”

He whirled around at the sound of his name. Yato and Hiyori were walking towards him out of the Great Hall, Yato’s hand raised in greeting. He had never been so relieved to see them.

Yukine took a deep, shaky breath and braced himself to bear the bad news as Yato and Hiyori approached.

Hiyori’s eyes narrowed as Yukine stared at them, as did Yato’s. Immediately, they could tell something was wrong. They had spotted the redness around Yukine’s eyes immediately, and Yato opened his mouth to speak.

“Nora’s back.”

Yato didn’t have a chance to ask what was wrong before Yukine had blurted out two words that made Yato’s heart stop.

Hiyori’s head snapped to look at Yato before looking back at Yukine, mouth slightly open but lost for words.

“How do you know?” Yato’s brow furrowed. He could feel another headache coming on, but he pushed it to the side as he waited intently for Yukine’s answer.

Yukine stumbled over himself, stuttering and trying to find a way to put it, but it didn’t change what she had done to him. Instead, tears welled in his eyes again and Yukine felt his vision blur once again, face feeling red hot as he choked back a sob.

Yato quickly took Yukine by the elbow, steering him out of view from prying eyes in the Great Hall and down the hallway. Three sets of footsteps and sniffles gently echoed in the empty caverns of Hogwarts as Yato sat Yukine down on one of the window arches.

“Yukine,” Yato said softly. “What happened?”

Yukine let out a shaky breath.

“She was in the greenhouse,” Yukine mumbled. “She said that she couldn’t reach you, and that she needed me. I don’t know what for…”

Yato blinked. She’d been trying to reach him? How? And why would she need Yukine?

Silence enveloped them, but Yato could see that there was something more bothering Yukine. He expected the worst; Nora could be vicious when she felt replaced, as they had seen before when she had purposefully injured Hiyori in Quidditch.

Yato crouched so he was level with Yukine and placed a hand on his knee. He waited for Yukien to make eye contact before he once again gently spoke, the way in which one would speak to a frightened child.

“What did she do?”

Yukine hesitated and swallowed heavily, feeling his mouth go dry.

“She… kissed me…” Hiyori put her hand over her mouth at this revelation. Yato’s mouth set into a hard line as Yukine continued in an unsteady voice. “After she said ‘she needed me’, she kissed me.”

Yukine roughly pulled his sleeve across his eyes and sniffed, shell-shocked that Nora would do something like that. She had desecrated Suzuha’s favourite place, as well as where they had first kissed.

“What do we do if Nora’s back?” Hiyori gave the back of Yato’s head a questioning look. “She will be reporting back to your, I mean, her, Father as well as the Sorcerer.”

“We need to tell Sakura. Nora being here isn’t good news; the Sorcerer may be on the move if he’s sent her back here. And she might have information about what will happen next.”

Yato stood up. He looked at Yukine piteously as he stood, but he shot Yato a look that told him not to treat him like a victim. He’d had enough of that.

Yato could only think that the Sorcerer was closing in. He needed someone to watch Yato’s every move to make for an easy kidnapping – or murder – depending on the contents of the prophecy.

Yato’s echoed footsteps abruptly came to a stop after just a few paces. He had the sudden realisation that the mirror was still missing and that Sakura hadn’t sent Coo Phone back yet. He hadn’t heard from her in over a week now.

“What’s wrong?” Hiyori asked.

“My mirror, the one I talk to Sakura with, I can’t find it,” Yato frowned, racking his brain to try and think where he hadn’t looked.

Yukine and Hiyori exchanged looks, clicking the same pieces of the puzzle together behind Yato’s back.

“If Nora is back, could she have taken the mirror?” Hiyori asked.

The lightbulb went off in Yato’s head. He didn’t know how, but it was a possibility; there were no enchantments on the boy’s dormitory to keep girls out. Nora could have just as easily have got into his room to take the mirror.

But the question was, how did she know he had it?

“No mirror, no Sakura,” Yato growled. He ran a hand through his hair and half-turned, allowing Yukien and Hiyori to see his annoyed, defeated expression.

“You can use Floo Powder to talk to someone,” Yukine chimed.

Yato’s head snapped to Yukine. How could he forget about Floo Powder? He’d seen Sakura use it only a few weeks ago to contact someone with the fireplace. Yato gave them a slow, shit-eating grinned when he realised what they had to do.

“We need a fireplace and we have to be quick, and the closest one to us is…”

The Room of Requirement was too far, and it was still dinner time. All the teachers would be out of their offices.

The three of them looked up the spiral staircase at the end of the hallway and said the same name together.

“Oshi!”

Yato all but broke into a run, closely followed by Yukine and a breathless Hiyori as she tried to keep pace with the much lankier boys. Hiyori checked over the stone banister as she rounded the corner on the staircase, seeing a few confused first-years watch them, and prayed they wouldn’t tell a teacher.

Her footfalls became softer as they reached Classroom 3C, finding that Yukine had already unlocked the door as she saw his wand in his hand. He held the door open and ushered Hiyori inside.

“I’ll keep watch here, in case Oshi comes back,” Yukine said. Hiyori nodded and ducked under his arm into the classroom.

The classroom was darker than usual, perhaps because there were to candles to light up the room in the bleak mid-winter. The snowstorm continued outside, and Hiyori could just about see the neighbouring snow-topped turrets as she crossed past the windows.

The classroom had impressed her in her first year at Hogwarts, but now the wrought iron chandelier seemed sinister, and the eye holes of skeletons within the display cabinets followed her. She spared a glance at the dragon skeleton that hung over her head, feeling small as it menacingly loomed over her, as if it knew they were intruding.

Hiyori heard rustling in Professor Oshi’s office and she quickly made her way up the steps. She could see Yato – also wand in hand – rummaging through the desk drawers looking for something.

“Alohamora,” Yato muttered, pointing his wand and the bottom and final drawer of the desk. A soft click sounded and Yato wrenched it open. A second later he produced a black pouch that seemed to weigh heavy in his hand.

Yato quickly made his way to the fireplace and dropped to his knees, wand aimed at the cold fireplace.

“Incendio.”

The fireplace burst into life, sending waves of warmth washing across the room which was much appreciated by Hiyori. Hiyori looked back out of the door to Yukine who gave her a thumbs up to indicate they were ok.

Hiyori quietly came to stand beside Yato. He had torn the pouch strings open and scooped out a fine, glittery powder that leaked in between his fingertips as he threw into the fire. The flames engulfed the powder and quickly turned green, crackling with renewed energy.

“Sakura!” Yato hissed the name, and Hiyori stared into the flames, intrigued.

The flames licked and leaped at the air before Yato’s intense gaze, and within a few moments, a face appeared shadowed in the flames.

“Yato?” Sakura’s voice came from somewhere within the burning log pile. “Why are you calling me with Floo Powder? Where are you?”

“Teachers office, the mirrors missing, no time to explain,” Yato said quickly. “Nora’s back.”

At this, the flames grew into a deeper shade of emerald and Hiyori could see Sakura’s features sharpen into a frown. “I thought you said she wasn’t at Hogwarts anymore?”

Yato nodded. “She wasn’t, but she’s turned up tonight. We don’t know how or why, but she’s here.”

Yato had told Sakura about Nora, his ‘adoptive sister’, and that she hadn’t returned to Hogwarts that year. Sakura had suspected foul play as Nora was probably being used to help the Sorcerer in whatever way possible.

“If the Sorcerer can see your mind, he may be aware of the Order and of me,” Sakura said grimly. “Nora must be a spy sent to keep an eye on you, and to split us up before the prophecy can be found.”

Yato had thought as much. The Sorcerer surely knew about Sakura escaping Azkaban and reuniting with Yato, but did he know about Grimmauld Place? If he wasn’t at Hogwarts, he may not have a safe place to go if Grimmauld Place was compromised.

Sakura seemed to read his mind.

“For now, we have to assume that the Sorcerer isn’t able to see too much of your mind; remember Legilimency works best with eye contact,” Sakura said firmly. “He would’ve attacked by now if he knew where the Orders Headquarters were.”

Yato nodded and he felt Hiyori’s comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, eyebrows knitted together with worry.

“As for Hogwarts, you need to be careful that you don’t get caught now that Nora may be watching you,” Sakura said.

Yato and Hiyori looked into the flames which had begun to wilt without their firewood, Sakura’s visage fading from view. Her final words seemed to echo in the room as the flames died to embers and left them in the darkness.

“Don’t let Nora find you.”

Training dropped down to once a fortnight, and at a later time after dinner when it would be less suspicious as student’s movements weren’t noticed as much as they were free to roam the castle until curfew.

Yato gave no explanation for why the training was less frequent other than that he had to prepare for exams, which wasn’t a lie really, but he didn’t want to put them on edge. Not that he could tell them about the Sorcerer and Nora trying to catch them out anyway.

They covered stunning again, and then the Patronus Charm, and then disarming. Over and over for the next few months, they would practice until the moves were ingrained in their bodies like breathing.

Not too long after their call in the fireplace, Sakura had sent Coo Phone back to Hogwarts with a message. He savoured her loopy handwriting, happy that he could speak to her again in less than ideal circumstances.

Yato scribbled a quick message back, updating her on the situation at Hogwarts and their theory that Nora may have broken into the room and took the mirror.

Nora hadn’t made any creepy sightings, which if anything was more unnerving than actually finding her tucked in the shadows muttering some omen like she usually did. Yato couldn’t help but jump whenever he saw shadowy specters hugging the edge of the Slytherin common room, expecting Nora to emerge, but it seemed that she had vanished into the cracks of the castle. He couldn’t even be sure if she was in Hogwarts anymore.

Yato gently tied the scroll to the pigeon’s leg and took him to the window of the Owlery. He could sense Coo Phone’s nervousness at being back in the Owlery, his yellow eyes looking over the bigger owls that in turn eyed him like a snack.

Yato opened the window with one hand and held Coo Phone into the spring breeze with the other. With a smile, he watched as Coo Phone’s wings spread and he took flight into the sunlight until he was a speck of grey in the distant blue sky.

Slowly, the uneasiness faded to the back of Yato’s mind, but there was still a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right as the weeks passed, and it affected his Occlumency lessons.

He hadn’t hurt Madame Kofuku too badly, but his anxiety made for some violent spells as he tried to protect himself from the invasions. She had insisted he was improving, but he didn’t feel like it. No matter how hard he tried he found it nearly impossible to block the attack, only to end it after a moment or two.

Yato sighed as he made his way out of Madame Kofuku’s office and down the stairs. Whilst the Defence training had slowed down, the Occlumency lessons and increasing pressure for his O.W.L and N.E.W.T exams in the next few weeks had left him exhausted.

The castle was rather quiet for the time of evening – it was only eight o’clock and he had no idea where Yuine or Hiyori were. Probably studying for the exams, Yato thought to himself.

Yato turned and paced down the hallway and his footsteps echoed as he made his way into the dungeons of Slytherins dormitories, ready to go straight to bed. Only a few of his fellow roommates were in the common room amongst a smattering of other years, and he was thankful that no one was in the dormitory to disturb him from getting into bed early.

Yato slid open the drawer and placed his wand in the case Sakura had given him at Christmas, which lay beside the framed photo. Yato stared at it for a second and lingered on Sakura’s face. On the memory that soon he would be back at Grimmuald Place to live, he smiled.

Even if the Sorcerer was watching, Yato knew Sakura would protect him.

Yato settled into the pillows and wrapped himself in the sheets, warning off the invading cold. The dim candlelight barely shone through the curtains that surrounded his four-poster bed and seemed to muffle the world around him.

Yato closed his eyes and sighed. He stretched out, trying to find a comfortable spot on the aging mattress, until his feet kicked against something heavy on the end of his bed. Yato opened his eyes and frowned, turning his head to look at the foot of the bed.

He couldn’t quite see what he was looking at, but a thick, rope-shaped object lay next to his feet on top of the quilt. Yato sat up and looked at it once again. The dim green light his curtains cast onto his sheets made the object blend into his bed, and he could hear a rattling breath.

Yato reached out a hand…

And the attack came, more intense than anything he’d experienced with Madame Kofuku, and far more invasive. Two eyes pierced right through him and dragged his worst memories into the light, searching for something within in. The room spun away and Yato felt his mouth open into a scream, but no sound came as he was lost into the abyss.

Yukine, imprisoned within the chest and his voice broken from screaming, not knowing what events had unfolded the night he failed to save stop the final task.

Deatheaters gathered around the defiled sculpted angel as he lay pinned and helpless as the Sorcerer returned, telling him the truth of what would happen to his friends if he didn’t escape.

Dementors attacking him and Hiyori in her hometown just last summer, and the helplessness he had felt once again as Hiyori tried to save him.

Yato collapsed backward into the soft pillows, gasping and sweat running down his neck as he fought off the last invasions with his mind alone. His head was pierced by a sharp ringing, and when he’d scrambled for his wand and faced the beast at the end of the bed, it was nowhere in sight.

Yato tore the covers away from his body and jumped out of bed, wand trained on the floor as he frantically searched for the creature, breathing heavily. He kicked at the suitcase that poked out from underneath his bed and swept around the edges of the bed frame.

Nothing.

Yato looked once more, the soft candlelight throwing ombre shades across the room. He knew his mind wasn’t playing tricks on his, but he still didn’t want to believe he had actually seen that familiar creature.

Yato let out a heavy breath, deliberating whether he should go find Madame Kofuku, Professor Tenjin, or call Sakura late in the night. He could hear footsteps in the hallway now, no doubt someone coming to bed or to check on him if he had actually managed to scream.

But no matter what he thought he did or didn’t see, Yato knew that he had been staring straight into the eyes of a snake.

“You have to tell Madame Kofuku!” Hiyori scolded.

Yato looked away but he found no respite as Yukine was giving him the same look as Hiyori.

He had found the pair sat at Gryffindor’s near-empty table at breakfast the next day, and with the Great Hall near enough deserted as it was so early, he was free to tell them what had happened last night.

“If it was the snake you saw in the first vision, then you need to tell Professor Tenjin too,” Yukine added, arms folded on the tabletop. “Or it was a normal snake he had possessed to enter Hogwarts undetected to get at you.”

Hiyori nodded her agreement, and Yato caved instantly.

It was true the Sorcerer needed eye contact for Legilimency to be most effective, but that was something else entirely. Surely Hogwarts would’ve stopped him from getting in? He shuddered to think that Hogwarts wasn’t as safe as it seemed, and it had already affected his previous night’s sleep.

“I’ll tell Madame Kofuku tonight, after our Defence training,” Yato dropped his voice despite there being no one around them to hear.

His eyes slid behind Hiyori and Yukine as a few people entered the Great Hall. A huddle of Ravenclaws had made their way over to their table opposite them, heads down, and Yato saw why a moment later.

Professor Oshi entered the hall, white robes billowing behind her as she made her way up the aisle between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Her long, dark hair fanned out behind her, head held aloof, but Yato could see her watching the three of them out of the corner of her eye as she passed.

Hiyori and Yukine turned without much grace to see what Yato was glaring at as Professor Oshi sat to the teacher's table.

“I wish she’d leave already,” Yukine grumbled, unconsciously touching the faded scar on his hand.

“When the Order has the prophecy, the Sorcerer will be defeated and the Ministry won’t interfere at Hogwarts anymore,” Hiyori said, trying to interject some hopefulness into the conversation.

Yato had reservations of whether the Ministry would actually step aside; the only way they would be if they had the Sorcerer’s body at their feet, but he nodded regardless.

More students began filtering in, and Yato could sense that the Gryffindors who sat around him and Yukine wanted them to go back to his own table. Yato had no shared classes with Yukine and Hiyori today, so he bid them a brief farewell before having breakfast and setting off to his own class.

Yato sat his way through Charms, Divination, History of Magic, Muggle Studies and Ancient Seals. His eyes were drooping by the end of the day, having them closed for too long in Ancient Seals meant that Professor Takemikazuchi had him stand and read from the book as punishment for sleeping in class.

By the time the final bell of the day rang out, Yato was ready for bed. Alas, he still had dinner in an hour, training, and a trip to Madame Kofuku, which no doubt would result in an emergency Occlumency lesson before bed.

Yato trudged his way back to Slytherin dormitories and changed, heading straight back upstairs so he wouldn’t be tempted to lie down and fall asleep. He had to be present at dinner else someone might miss him and catch him going to the Room of Requirement later on that evening.

Though he debated all through dinner about going to a fireplace to call Sakura, Yato put it off. She wouldn’t be happy if he did that again, and Madame Kofuku would surely inform her of the news when he told her tonight.

Yato made his way back to Slytherin once again to wait for training. He resisted the urge to sleep in his bed, which seemed even softer than usual, instead opting to read up on Ancient Seals which was becoming a somewhat problematic topic.

Chin in hand and elbow resting on his knee, Yato scanned the pages, taking nothing in. The minutes ticked by and turned to hours when eventually Yato slammed the book shut and headed out of the dormitory, wand concealed in his pocket. He was probably late, but he was sure they would have already started practicing without him.

Yato’s footsteps echoed in the dank hallway and the stairs, eventually fading as he made onto the deserted ground floor of the castle. He broke into a jog as he took the stairs two at a time, and then one at a time, until he was out of breath on the seventh floor.

The Room of Requirement grated into existence and Yato lipped inside, closing the door behind him with a gentle bang. As expected, they had already started training, and it seemed that Yukine and Kazuma had taken up the role of teachers.

Kazuma guided a younger Ravenclaw student – Touma, he believed – as they fought to keep their friend levitating, whereas Yukine was beside a Hufflepuff girl he recognised as Tomoko refining her stunning skills.

Yato smiled to himself, looking across the room of mismatched students working together. Bishamon’s Patronus sat in the centre of the room, encouraging those who had not yet been able to produce a full-body Patronus. It playfully batted at the silvery trails the younger students produced from their wands, beckoning them to give it a friend to play with.

A bang came from nowhere and Yato looked around, trying to work out who was casting which spell. Dust from the cracks in the ceiling overhead scattered down as another bang came, and this time Yato frowned when he saw the other confused looks as wands began to fall to their sides.

The flames shook in their gas lamps, sending the room into temporary darkness every few moments as if the castle itself were being bombed. It became apparent that no one in the class was casting that spell.

Yato caught Hiyori’s eye as he looked around, her wolf Patronus which trotted to her side faded as her attention wavered. Bishamon’s Patronus let out a roar which faded as quickly as it came, disappearing into thin air and leaving the room in the eerie silence that followed.

Boom.

Yato turned around to the noise, facing the wall where the door would have been, finding Yukine was already next to it.

Yato went to open his mouth, but Yukine held up a hand to quiet him and pointed at the wall. When he looked closer, Yato could see a gap had formed in the thick flagstone wall. Muted voices sounded from the other side of the wall where the hallway was, and Yato felt his blood run cold.

Yukine stepped forward quietly with Yato close behind him, and bent at the waist to look through the crack.

Professor Oshi, wand aimed and surrounded by other students – Slytherin, Yukine noticed –, stared straight back at him.

There was no warning, no announcement. Just two words.

“Bombarda Maxima.”

Yato heard the first word of the spell being uttered and reacted instantly. He grabbed Yukine roughly by the scruff of his jumper, pulling him away from the wall and a short distance away before the spell could inflict major damage on them.

Debris of ancient flagstone and fine dust exploded across the room, a few terrified screams ringing out and students taking cover behind their own arms as the wall was blown away. Yato fell harshly with Yukine by his side, uninjured but disheveled and swearing from the force of the explosion.

Yato coughed and covered his mouth with his arm as the dust settled, revealing the imposing figure of Professor Oshi stood in the makeshift doorway. But her apprehension of their training was pushed from his mind when he realised not only how they had been found, but who had revealed where they were.

Small in the corner of the doorway, tucked beside a few Slytherin students he recognised from the common room, was someone he didn’t expect to see.

Nora.

Tenjin leant against the table in his office, engaged in a quiet conversation with a small man with a weathered face as Yato, Yukine and Hiyori were hauled into his office by Professor Oshi and Nora’s presumed spies.

Yato caught a glimpse of fiery red behind Tenjin as the three of them were brought forward, noticing that Fawkes –Tenjin’s phoenix – was sat on a perch watching over the scene.

Yato’s eyes slid to the man who had turned to face them, and he recognised him instantly; the Minister of Magic. He was accompanied by a few other wizards – Aurors, perhaps – who lined one side of the wall close to the doorway preventing escape.

Yato could see why people called him paranoid. His beady eyes looked over the trio and then at the paper Professor Oshi had handed him whilst spewing nonsense about conspiracy, looking oddly deranged and unkempt for a woman of such cold stature.

Yato scowled and threw a cold look in Nora’s direction, but she seemed either unfazed or didn’t notice as she looked dead ahead with a near-vacant expression. She seemed to be in better shape compared to what Yukine described, but he still couldn’t figure out how she’d not been in class nor how she found the Room of Requirement.

That would be a question or another day, for now, they had to get Tenjin out of trouble. But how?

“‘Hogwarts’ Order of the Phoenix’, its right there! That’s enough proof that Tenjin is Behind all of this!” Professor Oshi exclaimed.

It wasn’t looking good, Yato had to admit. Of course, the Minister knew about the Order of the Phoenix from the First Wizarding War, but it seemed he didn’t know about the new one, which was some relief. They thought that Tenjin had recruited them, and unfortunately, that’s what the Minister would have to believe so the Order and its mission wouldn’t be compromised.

“We knew this smokescreen about the Sorcerer was to divert attention from your bid to seize control of the Ministry,” Professor Oshi spat at Tenjin, who cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

Yato could feel the pride and smugness oozing from her as she declared Professor Tenjin was basically a traitor to the Ministry itself.

Tenjin took a breath as if all this excitement had tired him out. “Well, it seems you have caught me.”

Yato blinked. What?

He spared a quick look at Yukine and Hiyori who were held by other students beside him. They gave him the same look but remained quiet, watching the situation play out.

“As it says ‘Order of the Phoenix’, you can see it was me who ordered this society to be made, and I alone am responsible for its activities,” Tenjin announced.

Tenjin didn’t move from his place despite the Minister and Professor Oshi triumphantly resigning him to his fate, unlike the Aurors who stood with stoic faces.

“Send an owl to the Daily Prophet,” the Minister of Magic said over his shoulder to one of the dark-haired Aurors. He folded the piece of paper in his hand and turned back, “and escort Tenjin to Azkaban to await trial for conspiracy and sedition.”

Yato panicked and looked to Tenjin. What was he meant to do?! Confess to the new Order and Sakura as its leader?!

“Ah, it is here we come to an impasse.”

All eyes fell on Tenjin as he walked around his desk and stood behind the highbacked chair that was tucked under it. Yato could see Professor Oshi was seething as she glared daggers at Tenjin and his calm demeanour.

“It seems you are under the impression that I will, how you say, come quietly?”

Tenjin side-eyed Yato discreetly before looking back at his would-be captors. He held the sides of the chair and leaned forward as he spoke, long grey goatee skimming the edge of the chair as he did so. “I have no intention of going to Azkaban.”

“Enough,” Professor Oshi hissed. Yato caught a glimpse of her wand in her hand and felt his heart skip a beat. “Take him!”

Yato, Yukine and Hiyori stared at Tenjin with horrified expressions as the Aurors, Minister, and Professor Oshi rushed forward to capture him, but Tenjin gave them a wink.

Tenjin quickly raises his arms above his head with a loud clap, and in the same moment Fawkes had swooped down from his perch. His talons wrapped around Tenjin’s clasped hands and the pair burst into flames in a brilliant flash of heat and molten gold.

The sun had seemed to enter the room despite setting hours ago, blinding its occupants who shielded their eyes, and the pair vanished in a ball of flames.

The ball popped in a puff of grey smoke, and Professor Tenjin was gone.

#noragami #noragami aragoto #yato #yukine #hiyori #sakura #kofuku #hp au #harry potter au #in the darkness #my writing

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whereisten · 5 years

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Gentle Monsters

Summary: After a night of running from a wild animal, you meet Johnny, the owner of the conservatory greenhouse you accidentally broke into. Johnny is kind and sweet—a little too sweet.

Genre and Warnings: angst, horror, some smut (nothing too intense), little profanity, few mentions of death, harassment, murder, a little fluff

Word count: 5.4K

[11:46 P.M]

Several weeks pass and you still can’t explain what exactly happened that night—or the next day. Johnny was one of kindest people you’d ever met, yet, he was the one who had your phone. You wanted to believe that he had nothing to do with the large animal that hunted you down that night, but you still couldn’t figure out how he would’ve gotten it.

You searched for it long before you reached the greenhouse, so it fell from you in the city streets. How did he know it was yours? How did he know your name?

You already answered these questions, but you didn’t want to believe it. How could a man as kindhearted and humane as Johnny possibly be that..monster.

You didn’t tell anyone what happened for fear that they’d dismiss it and laugh at you. Your roommates just assumed that you got lucky with someone that visited the bar you worked at. You laughed it off and quickly changed the topic whenever they asked who it was.

You still felt chills when you walked home alone late at night, glancing over your shoulder every few seconds only to see the dark, empty streets you were so familiar with.

As time went on, the memory of that night started to fade, and so did your memory of Johnny.

You wanted to see him, to explore more of his conservatory and to get answers on how he found your phone, even if deep down, you already knew the answer. Despite the possibility of who—or what Johnny may really be, you started to feel something for the brown-eyed boy that looked at you fondly. But you were scared. Scared of saying the truth out loud.

“Hey! I said can I get a gin and tonic please?!” A man yelled out from across the bar, interrupting your thoughts.

It was a busy Friday night as usual. Businessmen of all ages went out with each other to talk about their wealth and how wonderful their lives were.

“I just bought a 100-foot yacht, but the piece of shit only has four floors, I only got it because my wife was being a bitch when I forgot her birthday” one man laughed with his friend at a table you were serving.

They always tried to compare their extravagant lives and decide who had it worse. They disgusted you. Every week was the same thing. You always heard about their first world problems whether or not you wanted to.

“I’ll do you one better. My son completely wrecked his 2020 Ferrari, the bastard was going 200 mph when he ran a red light and hit some junkyard van, with some foreigners in it, killing everyone on sight, but guess what? The bastard’s perfectly fine. I can’t get rid of him!” they burst out into laughter as you grew sick to your stomach.

“Oh shit, what are you gonna do?” a third guy asked.

The other shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, the DA will take care of it of course” they laughed again.

You placed the drinks they ordered on their table and started to walk away.

“Hey! Princess, I got a question” one of them waved you down.

Here we go.

You gave a thin smile and walked back to their table. “How can I help you?” You said quietly, a bit tired from all the walking you’d done.

“Why don’t you pour yourself a drink? Take a load off and sit with us” the old man smelled like cheese and had liver spots all over, his tone and the way he eyed you up and down made you feel like projectile vomiting right then and there.

What you wanted to do was punch the shit out of his entitled ass, but you couldn’t do that, women wouldn’t dare do that at their job despite the ridiculous levels of harassment we received.

So you continued to smile and keep a poised posture.

“Thank you for the offer, but I have to decline.” You nodded and turned to head back to the bar. The bouncer watched from a few feet away, ready to step in if you needed him to.

The old man grabbed your wrist to pull you back to the table. “Now, you don’t wanna make a few guys like us upset, right? We paid for good service, really good service” he winked and you looked over to the bouncer who started to walk quickly towards the table. You raised a hand to tell him to stop, you got this.

You shook your wrist out of the man’s grip and turned to the asshole who was feeling quite brave after a few drinks.

“You’re right. You do pay for good service. And to show our appreciation for your business we will provide several drinks for you and your friends on the house. I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do” you grinned, hoping the firey hate you felt didn’t show through your eyes.

“Huh, you’re a tough one I see, bring on the free drinks, but next time, I’m gonna need something else from you sweet cheeks” the blob of cottage cheese said smugly.

You started to walk away again when you felt a slap to your behind. You furiously turned around to see the men giggling and holding their heads down.

You exhaled and raised your hand to the bouncer who started to walk towards you again.

He knew this meant you had something special for these fools.

You took 5 beer glasses out of the dishwasher in the kitchen and reached into a cabinet under the bar, and pulled out a jar.

Re-LAX

You smiled as you grabbed the laxative powder jar. You dipped into it with a tablespoon and dropped 5 scoops into each glass. You decided to put two extra scoops into the last glass, saving that one for the handsy jerk.

You filled each glass to the brim with beer, making sure to stir the powder as your poured.

You walked over to the table with your tray and placed each glass in front of the men, making sure to hand the extra special glass to your extra special guest.

“Have a good night guys, we’ll see you next week.” You beamed and walked away.

The men continued on with their conversation and drank. You were busy with other tables, but you would glance over to that table to see that the glasses were empty. You silently laughed to yourself.

You fools are gonna be shitting your brains out on your 24 carat gold toilets tonight.

When you went home that night, you closed your eyes and fell asleep quickly. As you slept, you dreamt of Johnny.

In your dream, you wore your silk night gown. The apartment was empty, you were alone. Maybe your roommates were over at their friends house or at a party, you didn’t know, you couldn’t remember if they had told you they’d be out late or not. Your phone was nowhere to be found and you didn’t remember how you got there.

You sat up in your bed and looked around your room that was lit from the bright moon outside your window. You were alone, and yet you felt a presence other than your own.

“Hello?” You asked quietly.

You stood up and walked out to the living room, you peeked into the other rooms and still found no one. You decided to walk back into your room. You stopped once you passed the door frame when you caught a pair of glowing red eyes peering out from the corner of your room.

“Wh-who’s there?” You asked through a shakey breath.

No answer.

You grabbed an umbrella that sat at the door and pointed it to the figure.

“What do you want?” You said as you held the long umbrella up in defense.

The eyes were familiar. They seemed to be the same eyes that belonged to the animal that followed you that night, but the figure was not the same.

As he stepped out from the shadows in the corner of your room, his red eyes dissipated into the brown ones that you loved. “Johnny?” You asked, your grip on the umbrella weakening slightly.

“You never came back” his voice was low, his face was somber. He looked hurt. He was barefoot and wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans. The sleeves of the shirt stuck to his brawny arms and his skin still radiated in the night. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him and the strange glow that surrounded his body. He was a magical sight.

“Johnny..why are you here? What are you?” You asked as your started to remember the very reason why you never returned to his conservatory.

He continued to walk towards you, ignoring how your hold on the umbrella strengthened.

He didn’t have the bright smile you remembered. Instead he looked sad. You felt a small pain in your heart as you looked on the gloomy Johnny. You didn’t want to see him like this and you couldn’t bare to think that you were the cause of him being sad. But you too were hurt, hurt that he was hiding things from you. You needed answers.

“Johnny, what’s going on? Why did you have my phone?” You asked as he walked closer and your trembling hands struggle to hold firm the umbrella.

“You already know the answer.” Johnny said softly, grabbing the top of the umbrella and taking it out of your weak hands.

He was closing the space between your two bodies, you backed away. “Why? Why me? You scared me.” Tears filled your eyes as you remembered how terrified you were that night. Johnny still looked down at you, lips curving downward.

You felt a cold wall on your back that stopped you from walking backwards. Johnny now stood about a foot away from you. “Please, don’t be afraid of me” Johnny looked into your eyes, he always did when he spoke to you. It was like he found something there that he couldn’t let go of.

“I’ll never hurt you” he whispered, closing in on the space between you once again.

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear as he held your face. He softly wiped away a tear that ran down you round cheeks with his thumb.

“You still smell amazing” Johnny smiled and you felt your heart drop. That smile, the one you had missed for the last few weeks. You didn’t know why you loved it so much, but it made you feel content and safe. Everything about Johnny was homely and protective.

“Why didn’t you come back?” He asked as he looked at your lips which were just a few inches away from his.

His eyes followed down your neck and to your breasts and nipples that were barely covered by your skimpy silk night gown. You felt exposed to him, you should’ve regretted your decision to wear this night gown but you didn’t. You wanted him.

The overwhelming mixture of fear and contentment you got from him made you like you couldn’t breathe around him, he gave you a rush. If what you thought was true, he was dangerous, but he was also kind and seductive.

He watched your chest rise up and down rapidly as he got closer and leaned down to ghost his lips over your neck. You wanted to feel his soft lips on your skin, you wanted his hands to touch your body through your silk night gown.

But you had to hold yourself back. He still didn’t tell you what he was.

“Why would I go back to a monster?” You asked quietly and looked away, hesitant to ask such a question.

He looked up from your chest and into your eyes again, pulling back.

You looked at him with a stern expression.

“Am I a monster to you?” You could see the tears start to build up in his eyes as he could barely get out the word.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what you are.” You cried out, overwhelmed by everything you felt. Johnny was soft, delicate, kind, and this is what made you like him. But you truly didn’t understand what he was and why he was after you.

“Let me show you.” Johnny quickly walked towards you and held your head in his hands. He pulled you in for a passionate kiss. You kissed him back, you heart beat fast as you finally felt his heavenly lips on yours. He kissed you with so much fire, you felt your skin heat up. It was like he had been waiting for it all his life. You felt his hot breath on your soft and moist lips as he turned his head. His lips and the way they caressed yours made you feel like nothing you had ever felt before. Your heart was in your throat and a yearning for more started to grow in your stomach. It all felt so real.

You pulled away to breathe and looked into his dark eyes as he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he turned and headed towards your bed. He continued to kiss you hungrily, forcing your mouth open with his tongue. You placed your hands on his head to hold his mouth firm against yours, you felt as though you may die if he let go and released your lips.

You felt like you needed him to breathe. You wanted to breathe him in, you want to feel him. You didn’t know it before but you had been aching for him, his smile, his body for all these weeks. He was magnetic and you couldn’t resist him.

He leaned down and gently placed you onto your bed, making sure to not break the kiss. He worked his mouth on yours as you tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. He quickly threw shirt over his head and across the room. You marveled at the sight of his toned body.

He was so beautiful, his skin gleamed in the moonlight and his wide shoulders were so perfect. He leaned back down so that he was in between your legs. you ran a hand through his shiny and soft hair as he kissed your neck. He started to suck hard, leaving a mark on the perfect and dainty skin of your neck. You cried out at the feeling.

He had been thinking about doing this for so long, holding you in his arms and making love to you. And now he finally had you in his grasp. You were his now.

He sat up on the bed and pulled you onto his lap. He continued to suck small marks on your neck as you moaned out. Your hand rubbed his back as he kissed you softly. You opened your eyes as you felt the large scars that decorated his back.

He pulled away and bit his lips as he looked at your eyes.

He saw the worried expression on your face and gave a small smile from his swollen lips. He took your left hand and intertwined it with his right hand. “Take me for who I am, don’t let me go...please” Johnny whispered as he looked into your eyes deeply.

As you nodded, he reached for you lips again and let go of your hand so that he could hold your hips. He gripped your hips and pressed it down so that you could feel his growing member against your core. You moaned out at the feeling. “Johnny..”

He let go of your hips as you started to grind into his lap on your own, and you pulled his gold belt loose and threw it across the room so it joined his t shirt on the floor. He pulled his lips from yours and looked into your eyes again as he brought down the straps of your night gown, they fell down the sides of your arms easily.

Johnny kissed down your neck and to the top of your breasts. He sucked hard once again and ran his hand down your back. He groaned as he felt your wetness on his crotch through his jeans, and your hand in his hair.

“Johnny..yes” You breathily moaned out for him, wanting to feel more.

He looked up at your hooded eyes and smiled.

“This is who I am” Johnny said as he brought the hand he used to caress your back, to your front. He flicked up his index finger and revealed an extremely long and point nail, he then opened his hand out to reveal that all of his nails were long. Your eyes widened as you watched his hand turn into a large claw.

His fingers cracking and elongating in front of your very eyes. You gasped and looked back to Johnny who’s eyes glowed a deep red, the honey brown eyes you loved had disappeared within seconds.

You tried to get off his lap but he held you down with his other hand. “What’s wrong? Don’t like what you see?” Johnny asked in a deep tone, his voice slowly splitting into multiple octaves.

“Johnny! Let me go!” You screamed.

He grabbed your throat with his claw and pressed the sharp nail on his thumb into it.

You cried out. And suddenly jolted up in your bed. You opened your eyes and looked up at your ceiling. You quickly sat up and looked around your room, there was no sign of Johnny. You panted and grasped onto the sides of your night gown which stuck to your sweaty body. You closed your eyes tightly and opened them again.

Nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

“But it felt so real” You said to yourself. Your hands were shaking, but you managed to stand up and walk over to your bathroom. You flipped the light switch and squinted when it shined brightly.

You opened them wide to look at your skin. There were no hickeys, no marks, no scratch. You were completely spotless.

It really was a nightmare. You could’ve sworn you felt Johnny’s hot breath on your chest and his large hands on your back just moments ago. The details of his face remained strong in your mind even though you hadn’t seen him for weeks. The visual of his small nose, Cupid’s bow; his thick thighs and strong arms, it was all so vivid and real.

Your heart dropped when you remembered his glowing eyes and claws.

What’s happening to me?

You thought to yourself. How could you imagine Johnny like that? He was nothing like that, or at least, you didn’t think he was.

——————

The next day your coworker woke you up after calling 3 times in a row. You prayed she wasn’t asking you to fill in for her on your day off. But you had to answer.

“Hello?” You sluggishly asked as you rubbed your eyes.

“Y/N! Finally! Have you seen the news?!” She asked in a state of panic.

“I haven’t even seen my feet, Elaine, why would I watch the news.” You yawned, you hated being woken up.

“You remember that nasty old man that you served last night? Something happened to him” Elaine said before you interrupted her.

“Oh, I bet he had a shitty night alright.” You said, smiling to yourself.

“No! He’s dead!” Elaine yelled.

“W-What? But—how? I didn’t give him that much, is that even possible?” You sat up in your bed, you started to panic now.

“No, y/n, it wasn’t you, he was attacked by some—large animal it seems. But the craziest part is that his body was ripped in half and strategically placed in the center of Rose Street.” Elaine paused, waiting for your reaction.

Rose Street was the street the bar was on.

“They think it’s an animal because it’s impossible for a human to rip a body in half with so much force like that. But the animal isn’t like a coyote or fox, no it was huge. Y/N...it’s a gruesome scene” Elaine continued.

“His mouth was stuffed with his own shit and that’s the part the police can’t explain. Also, why wouldn’t the animal eat him? All parts of his body were found scattered about.” Elaine spoke without taking a break, words always left her mouth rapidly like wildfire.

You stared at your wall, unable to concentrate. Numerous thoughts ran through your mind at once, but deep down you knew what—or who—it was.

You hated that man, but this was crazy, he was torn apart, his body was mutilated. You knew it was the same animal that followed you that night. Your mind flashed back to the memory of the vivid dream you had last night of Johnny, how his large claws held your throat. You rubbed it as you remembered the feeling.

“Hello?” Elaine asked over the line.

“Y-Yeah. I’m here. I don’t know what to say Elaine, I hated the guy but this is wild. Do the police have any leads?” You finally asked.

“No, the sheriffs department is settled on it being a wild animal attack, but the man was loaded, there’s no way his family don’t have private detectives on the case as we speak. The family want an explanation, and they’re not gonna settle for the wild animal one, especially since things like that don’t just happen here in the city.” Elaine paused.

“Be careful out there, Y/N. The last place he was seen was at the bar so you know there’s gonna be a lot of nosey people around, hell, we’ll probably see the detectives too.”

You were silent. You thought about Johnny. Was he there last night at the bar? Did he see the man put his hands on you? Or was it just coincidence? You had to speak with him, you had to figure out what was going on so your mind could be at peace, because this—this couldn’t possibly be his doing.

“Thank you Elaine, I’ll see you tomorrow” You said and hung up the phone.

You jumped up to get ready, you had to see Johnny now.

_____________________

You walked up to Johnny’s conservatory, looking up at the beautiful building before you.

It still felt so bright and welcoming.

It was busy when you walked in, two tour guides took groups of people around, showing them the trees and flowers around them and explaining what they were, like Johnny explained to you on your one-on-one tour.

Others were sitting with each other at the tables and on the benches, talking and laughing. Some loners were reading books or writing.

It was nice to see such a beautiful place be filled with peaceful people.

“So this is called a dracula simia!” You heard Johnny’s enthusiastic voice to the left. You walked towards the sound.

There he was. The tall man that made you shiver and ache at the same time. He was so handsome. He wore a grey suit and a dark blue bow tie, he looked very dapper today. He smiled brightly as he kneeled down to show a group of small kids a flower.

“Can anyone tell me what it looks like?” He asked as he looked around. God, he was gorgeous. His eyes squinted as he looked on the children fondly.

“It looks mean!” One little boy called out.

Johnny laughed and you felt your heart drop as he place a hand on the back of the child’s head.

“Well, you’re not wrong! But they call it the monkey orchid, because it looks like a monkey!” He said as kids burst out in ooohs and aaahhhs. He nodded and stood up straight, that’s when he saw you.

He completely shifted his attention away from the kids and to you. His smile widened and his eye lines crinkled. He was happy to see you.

“Now, why don’t you kids head to the cafe before part two of the tour!! Who like brownies? Who likes cookies?” Johnny bent down and place his hands on his knees and grinned as the kids cheered.

An older lady, you assumed to be their teacher, then walked up and thanked Johnny as she led the kids to the cafe.

Johnny walked up to you fast. He wanted to hug you but stopped, unsure of whether or not you wanted him to do that.

“It’s nice to see you, y/n, I thought you’d never show” Johnny looked down at you and into your eyes. He always made you weak when he did this and you couldn’t help but think of the way his hands and lips felt on your body in your dream.

The way his eyes watched your chest and your lips.

You had to snap out of it. Remember why you’re here.

“Johnny, we need to talk.” You said firmly, distracting yourself by looking at his bow tie.

“Anything for you, the prettiest person here.” Johnny laughed as he sweet-talked you, but your face stayed straight.

“W-what’s wrong?” Johnny’s eyebrows furrowed and a look of worry covered his face. You took his hand and led him outside, you couldn’t talk about it here, not with all these people around.

“I need to know, how did you find my phone?” You asked once you pulled him into a gazebo that was just outside of the greenhouse.

Johnny suddenly laughed. “that’s what this is about? I was on my way here when I noticed a shiny black object in a field of green grass. It wasn’t difficult to spot” he shrugged his shoulders.

“And how did you know my name?” You pressed on.

Johnny sighed. “Ok..I admit, I did unlock your phone and go through your twitter messages.”

You scoffed. “You invaded my privacy?!”

“I’m sorry, it was really rude of me to do” Johnny placed both hands in front of him in a prayer hand position. “Please forgive me, let’s start over.”

“This doesn’t make any sense. I searched for my phone before I walked in the field.” You looked to the side.

“I don’t believe you! What are you, Johnny?” You finally asked, your mind was going crazy and wouldn’t rest until you got the truth.

Johnny smirked. “I’m just a man that loves his plants, y/n.”

“So you mean to tell me that it wasn’t you that night...you weren’t the one following me?” You asked and watched as Johnny shook his head.

“Do I look like a 9-foot tall animal covered in hair?” He teased.

You paused. Something still didn’t feel right.

“Where were you last night?” You looked up at him and asked.

“Unfortunately, not with you” Johnny walked around you and looked on the fields outside of the gazebo.

“Why? Did you miss me? Did you dream of me?”

Your eyes flashed up to him. The last thing you wanted to do was mention your wet dream that featured him. He turned to face you.

“What’s this really about, y/n?” He put his hands in his pants pockets and leaned back on the wood. He was growing impatient.

“There was a man that was murdered last night, he—he harassed me at the bar and then a few hours later, he was killed..he was ripped apart” You said in a low tone.

“And you think I had something to do with that?” Johnny asked as he folded his arms over his chest.

You wanted to think that he had nothing to do with it, but you just couldn’t, your instinct told you otherwise.

“I-I’m just asking where you were” you stepped towards him.

Johnny scoffed, surprised by the fact that you thought he may have been involved in this somehow. “I was at home..watching Golden Girls, happy?”

You closed your eyes, you just needed to breathe and let it go. Johnny was nice, he didn’t do anything wrong and he answered your questions. It was time for you to start treating him nicely.

“I’m—sorry Johnny, there’s just a lot going on right now.” You turned away from him, holding back tears, you felt like you were slowly losing your mind and you didn’t know why.

In a matter of hours you felt love, lust, fear, pain, doubt and it was all too much. You held yourself in your arms. You felt goosebumps all over when you pictured the man from last night and how his mutilated body must’ve looked like.

“Let me help you, lets get something to eat, my treat for being an ass and going through your phone” Johnny said as he walked up to you and rubbed your back. He was so loving, always willing to help others, and here you were, trying to make a villain out of him.

You turned to face him with tears eyes, “that would be nice.”

The two of you headed into the cafe section of the greenhouse.

“What’s your favorite soup?” Johnny asked endearingly.

“Broccoli Cheddar” you responded as you sat down.

“Perfect, that’s the soup of the day!” Johnny clapped his hands together and headed to the chef. You watched as the little kids ran around the greenhouse. They were so cute and small, so innocent, you couldn’t help but smile and laugh.

“It’s nice to see your smile again” Johnny placed the bowl down in front of you.

“Thank you” You nodded and picked the spoon up.

“So..Golden Girls? Really?” You asked after taking a sip.

Johnny laughed out as he watched you.

“Hey! It’s a good show”

You shrugged. “To each their own, you just don’t seem like that kind of person”

“I mean old women are pretty funny.” Johnny stopped when a little girl ran up to him.

You nodded. “True”

Johnny went on to tell you about the cute elementary school kids that were on a field trip. He was always excited when he got the chance to talk about flowers and plants.

You chatted about the movies and shows you liked. You were a superhero movie fan and he was a horror movie fan so you both agreed to see Brightburn together.

“Wait, So is this our first date?” Johnny asked giddily.

You scrunched your nose and laughed. “Do we have to put titles on things? Also, you’re moving pretty fast Johnny.” You teased and watched his smile grow.

“But you didn’t say no though” he retorted.

You laughed. “Okay, okay you win, it’s a date.”

“Mr. Suh! Mr. Suh!” A little girl from the group he was leading ran up to him.

“Yes, Zena?” He asked sweetly as he turned to her.

“We wanna see the roses! I gotta bring one home to my mom!” She said, a bit out of breath because she was running around so much.

“Okay! I’ll be right there to help you get the brightest and more beautifulest ones” he was such a sweetheart, you couldn’t stop your heart from falling.

“Well, I gotta go” Johnny said with a pout as he stood up.

“Thank you for this” you smiled and took his hand that reached out to help you up.

He suddenly winced in pain once he held your hand. You swore you heard a light burning sound.

“Shit, are you okay?” You asked as you watched him hold his hand.

“Yes, ha ha, I’m fine, just a cut I forgot I had, I think your ring may have dug into it” He quietly whined.

“I’m so sorry” you said as you looked at the silver ring you completely forgot you put on that morning.

“Let me take a look” you said but Johnny quickly stepped back and smiled.

“I’m fine, it’s no big deal.” Johnny laughed.

“Anyway, I’ll be seeing you soon, y/n. And now you have my number, call me whenever you’d like.”

You smiled and nodded before heading out.

You couldn’t help but think about how weird his reaction was, how he wouldn’t let you touch him.

But you shook your head and took a deep breath. Things were finally starting to calm down, you didn’t need to overthink anything.

——————

When you finally reached your apartment, you changed into a large shirt and shorts. You were about to go into your bed when you saw something on your floor. You bent down to get a closer look and noticed that it was a shirt, a white t-shirt and a belt.

You got ready so quickly, you must have overlooked it earlier.

The gold buckle is what stuck out to you. It was the same belt Johnny wore in your dream.

Impossible. It was just a dream.

But you looked at the items and recalled when he took them off and threw them across your room in your dream. He had never been in your room before and none of your roommates had boys over. Even if they did, they wouldn’t just leave their clothes in your room.

You shuddered as you thought about your dream.

Was it real after all?

750 notes · View notes

1a-imagines · 5 years

Text

Amnesia

Overview: A villain with an amnesia inducing quirk attacked you, and when you wake up in hospital you've forgotten everything. Including your boyfriend.

Type: scenarios

Characters: Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki.

A/n: This might be just a part 1. Assuming people want a part 2 but you'll have to let me know if you do want a part 2 to this.

Midoriya:

"Ah, so you're his precious little lover?"

"Huh?!" You gasped at the sound of a creepy voice echoing from behind you. You turned around as quick as you could, not wanting to let whoever it was get the upper hand. You thought you had been alone, so the voice had really scared you. You were faced with a tall man who was mostly in black, staring right back at you. A long black trench coat hanging off his frame and black baggy pants underneath. You couldn't see his face because it was covered with a black mask but you could see his eyes poking through the holes. They were an unatral light blue, almost white, colour. They really stood out against all the black he was wearing. You noticed he was holding what looked to be some sort of needle in his right hand. Of course, it wasn't hard to assume he was a villain but why was he talking about your boyfriend? You stepped back cautiously. Looking for a ways to escape. You were in an underground tunnel, that led under a busy road, on your way home from school when he appeared out of no where. Seriously, it looked he had materialised out of the purple dust that was currently swirling around his feet. You two were the only ones around, which only made you more alert. All you could hear was the sounds of cars passing above you. Your best bet was to get out of the tunnel as quick as possible, he probably wouldn't follow or attack you if you were around other people. They would call a pro hero in no time.

"Well, isn't he a lucky boy, you are a looker aren't you?" The man chuckled lowly. You knew you may have to fight this villain if you couldn't escape in time, as much as you didn't want to you weren't going to let him inject you with whatever the hell was in that needle. You didn't know what he wanted but it was clear he had something against Midoriya.

You narrowed your eyes at him and took a fighting stance to let him know you were prepared to fight if he tried anything. "What's with that face, doll? I'm not going to kill you. Oh no, no, no! That would be too easy. Don't you think? I want to cause that brat the most pain possible, I want to drag it out for as long as I can! If I killed you, it would all be over too soon. I wouldn't be able to revel in his depression." He continued on before melting into the purple cloud beneath his feet. You put your guard up, knowing he was going to strike. You had no idea what his quirk could be, but it seemed to be like Mirios quirk. When the villain popped back up he was a lot closer to you. Thanks to training and quick reflexes you kicked him in his chest and in the process pushed yourself as far away from him as you could. You slid back on your feet, making sure to steady yourself in the process. You were further away but your kick had done nothing to him! He hadn't been affect by it at all! You had no idea what was going on. In fact he only let out a deep chuckle at your attempts to fight.

"Oh my dear, it won't be that easy."

"What do you want with Midoriya!?" The villain let out a low growl and turned his head. You figured it would be a good time to run but before you could a cloud of purple dust came out of no where and surrounded you. You felt like you were being suffocated as it entered your lungs, In no time your body felt too weak to even stand and you collapsed onto the ground. What was this stuff? It felt like it was stopping you from breathing. Your heart began to pound in your chest as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Was this how you were going to die?

"He took my love away, so I'll take his. Just relax and let your mind slip away." You were now facing down on the cold concrete, Trying to boost yourself back up but your body felt so heavy, like you were made of led. What was this purple stuff? You coughed violently as you inhaled more of it. You wanted to cover your mouth but it was too late. Your body was paralysed, you couldn't move. All you could do was lay there as your eyes began to droop close.

"Sweet dreams, doll~" was the last thing you heard before you felt a prick in your arm and you fell in a deep slumber.

~*~

"(Y/n) (Y/l/n). What room are they in?!" Midoriya asked frantically as he ran up to the receptionist with Iida and uraraka running up behind him. As soon as he had gotten the phone call from the hospital saying you had been found unconscious in an underground tunnel he ran out of the school so fast his friends didn't even have time to process the fact he was running away from them. He ran faster than he ever had before. He didn't have any other information about your status, all he knew was you were unconscious. For all he knew you were in a critical condition! The lady at the reception stood up from her chair. "Please relax sir. They're doing fine. After the doctors took some tests they found no injuries on them."

"Oh that's so good to hear!" Uraraka sighed in relief for her friend. The nurse pursed her lips and looked down. "Yes, but there's something else." She went around the desk and began to guide the three students down the hall to your room. Leaving the other receptionist in charge.

"What is it!? What's wrong!?" Midoriya asked, still filled with adrenaline from his sprint over here. The nurse sighed and stopped outside your door. "They had this purple powder all over thier uniform when they were found and after some tests it was found that they were hit with a quirk. One that induces-" she paused and shook her head. Not liking this part to her job. "They might have some brain damage."

The three friends gasped in horror. Thier hearts clenching with worry in thier chests "We're not sure just yet if they do but the powder they were hit with contained traces of sedatives. We think they were put to sleep and injected with something, we found there was a fresh needle prick in thier arm. The doctors took some blood samples and are still running the tests.

We're going to keep them here until we find out more information about thier current condition. Please, be wary when you go inside, they might not be fully responsive. They seemed confused and a little slow ever since they woke up. Even when thier parents arrived it took awhile for them to remember their faces."

She bowed to the three students and left them alone. They looked amongst themselves in worry. What had happened to their friend? Why would someone attack such a sweet and caring student? Did (y/n) get in some kind of trouble and not tell anyone? It was typical of them to keep things to themselves so other wouldn't worry so much.

Midoriya was the first to walk inside. The other two following close behind. You were currently on your bed flicking through your phone absentmidely. Being in hospital was boring. Even if you had only been awake for about an hour now. You looked up when you heard the door open and smiled when you saw your friends at the door. "Hey guys!"

Midoriya grinned and walked over. He took your hand into his only to be met with a confused look from you. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine... Mostly confused. Ever since I woke up I feel like I'm missing something." You looked at your hands and then back up at him. You raised an eyebrow which did not go unnoticed by Iida and Uraraka. They suddenly felt uneasy about your reaction and walked over. "(Y/n)? What happened?" Iida questioned you.

"I'm not sure. I was just walking back from school and next thing I knew I woke up here! Speaking of which! Why didn't you two walk back with me. You always do!" You huffed and they shot each other a confused look. "We were training with Midoriya. You know that... don't you? You said you had to leave because you were going out with your family." Iida asked cautiously.

You looked at them, blinking a few times which only made them more scared for your answer. "Midoriya? Who's Midoriya?" It was as if time had completely slowed down to a stop. He felt his breath catch in his throat as his heart pounded in his chest. You... didn't remember him? That couldn't be true.. out of everyone in your life you couldn't just forget about him! Why did you remember the others but not him! It broke his heart in two. His hand started to shake against yours and you looked up at him. His mood had completely changed, he looked like he was about to cry. Had you said something wrong?

"(Y/n)! You-" Uraraka couldn't finish her sentence. She had to cover her mouth with her hand to stop herself from letting you hear the fear and sadness in her voice. She didn't want to add more stress onto you. You had been through enough but she couldn't help but stare at Midoriya with sympathy. It was clear to everyone in the room he was hurting, a lot. He tried not to show it by looking down in hopes his hair would cover his face from you all but he was shaking and a few tears dripped from his cheeks.

Midoriya slowly let go of your hand. He tried to stop himself from crying but it was overpowering him. You had completely forgotten about him. The way you looked at him with empty and distant eyes, was crushing him. It was as if all the love you once felt for him was now gone. "I-i-i'm going to get a drink." He burst out if the room before you could stop him. He knew the last thing you needed was to see him crying. That would only make you more stressed.

He sat in the chairs outside your room and sobbed into his hands. He couldn't believe it. It tore him appart. You were the person he loved most, the one he spent most of his time with. The one who made him smile more than he ever had in his life. And now you looked at him with nothing but confusion on your face. Everything you had been through was now gone. He hadn't only lost his lover but his best friend too.

He heard the door to your room open and close but he didn't look up. Iida sat down beside him, unsure of what to say so he opted for just sitting there with him for awhile. He figured it would be best to let Midoriya be the first to speak. It must've been ten whole minutes later when Midoriya finally did speak up. "They asked me to walk home with them and I didn't."

"You can't blame yourself! You were training and (y/n) is very encouraging of that. They wouldn't want you to blame yourself for this." His friend reassured him. While Midoriya appreaciated it, he felt too sad and defeated to listen to him.

"When you left the room they said they felt bad. They think they made you cry. Even if they don't remember you, you shouldn't be out here. I'll talk with the doctors. It may only be temporary amnesia for all we know. You should go and speak with them. Maybe you can help spark some memories." He knew Iida was right. There was no use in being out here and sulking. Maybe being around you could help you remember him quicker. Midoriya waited until his eyes dried and his cheeks were no longer red before walking back inside. You were showing Uraraka something on your phone and when you looked up you smiled at him. The same bright smile that he's come to love so dearly. "I'm so sorry Midoriya! Uraraka explained everything to me. I didn't really believe her at first but well-" you held up your phone showing your lockscreen. It was a picture of you two, you both looked like the two happiest people in the world. "Guess it explains this." You blushed and turned your head away in hopes he wouldn't see your red cheeks. He did see, and it made him half smile at the sight. He would've smiled fully but his heart was Still aching. He Remebered that picture on your lockscreen. The day you both went to the amusement park. You were meant to go with a bunch of your friends from class, but they all ditched you two (On purpose) and it ended up being the first date of many.

He walked over and sat down beside your bed. "I'm sorry I ran out like that. It wasn't your fault. I just didn't know how to react."

"I'll leave you two alone for a bit." Uraraka said sweetly before walking out. You looked down and admired the pictures of you and him on your phone. "So- you're my boyfriend huh?"

He froze up at the question but shyly nodded in response. "How did that happen? I didn't believe Uraraka at first because- well, One, I don't remember you, and two... You're really cute." You teased him which caused him to blush harder. "Th-thanks." He didn't know What to say. He couldn't hold you or kiss you. He couldn't even compliment you back because you didn't remember him, he didn't want to wierd you out, yet at the same time all he wanted was to bury his face into your hair and cry.

"Look- I know I don't remember anything but, I still want to get to know you again. I want to remember you. I looked so happy in these photos of us. Can we at least still be friends?"

Oh you had no idea how much those words hurt him. Everything he went through to confess his love to you. Every memory he had of you two. Your first kiss. Your confessions. Even when you took on the league of villains together. You had been through so much to get to this point. To be in such a loving and supportive relationship. You're everything to him. Your relationship was everything he ever dreamed of and more. Now he had to take a step back. Hearing you ask to just be friends hurt him more than any villain ever could. More than broken bones or bloody wounds.

He forced a smile and softly nodded along. He didn't trust his words, he had to take a moment before replying. He reached over to squeeze your hand, but he wished he didnt because it hurt him even more when you didn't squeeze back like you normally would.

"I'll be with you, even if I have to leave all of our memories behind to make new ones."

Bakugou:

"There you are dumbass!"

You let out a squeak as Bakugou barged into the hospital room, having kicked it open with his foot. His friends trailing behind him, trying to calm him down. He had been yelling and pushing everyone out of his way on the way here. They had to apologise to a lot of terrified strangers for him. But he didn't care, all he cared about was you. He needed to know you were alright! He was going to kill the person who did this to you. The guy who knocked you out and left you in an alleyway. That bastard would be lucky to see another day with Bakugou around.

"Dude this is a hospital! Be quiet!" Kaminari whisper-yelled at him but of course Bakugou didn't listen. He really couldn't care less about anyone other than you right now. He stomped over to your bed side to glare at you. "Did you know how fucking worried I was! You were found in an alleyway knocked out!? How stupid are you! Don't go in alleyways alone! God I can't leave you for one second without you getting into trouble! You're a fucking moron!" He continued to yell at you and call you insulting names. You stared up at him with scared eyes, utterly confused as to why this random guy was screaming at you. Not the mention the rage in his eyes made you want to run as far away as you could get from this guy. Kirishima noticed your reaction and placed a hand onto Bakugou's shoulder. "Relax man. You're scaring her."

"Scaring her? She's not scared of me yelling at her."

"I'm not suprised. You do it so often." Mina muttered. "Shut up raccoon eyes!" He yelled at her before turning back to you and finally noticing the fear on your face. He felt his heart stop for a split second seeing how terrified you were of him right now. It was so out of character. Out of everyone he yells at you were the one who it seemed to bother the least. You never took it to heart because you knew he loved you either way. He just sucked at expressing it. Usually you'd either roll your eyes, letting it pass by or you'd laugh it off. Finding his overreactions funny. Sometimes you'd argue back! Telling him he was an ass and to shut up. Though everyone knew you two never meant it. Your arguements were more comical than serious. In fact to this day you two had never seriously argued about anything!

"Who the hell are you people! Why are you yelling at me! You must have the wrong person!" You defended yourself. If you had the strength to get up, you would've ran to get a doctor by now. You wanted them out as soon as possible. They were scaring you to no end, and you had only woken up about 10 minutes ago. You had no energy yo deal with this.

The group fell into a tense silence as they stared at you in horror. "The hell are you talking about dumbass!? Don't play games! You already scared the shit out of me enough today."

"I'm not playing games! I really don't know who you are! Now get out before I get the doctors!" You glared at the ash blond. This guy was so rude. He had called you dumbass at least three times now and you had only just met him! What was going on!?

"(Y/n)... don't you remember us?" Sero asked. They walked closer to you but you only shook your head and raised a hand to tell them to stop getting closer. "I can't remember anything ever since I woke up. I'm sorry... Should I know you?"

"W-well yeah! We're you're friends! How can you forget us!" Kaminari pouted, he couldn't believe you'd just forget them that easily! You were really close to all of them so it crushed them to hear you telling them that you had no idea who they were. "She has amnesia." Kirishima muttered as he looked over the clipboard that was at the end of your bed.

"Amnesia?! You mean the villain who attacked her gave her amnesia too!? Why!? She wasn't even hurt was she? Why would they just knock her out, give her amnesia and leave her there?" Sero questioned. You looked around at the group of teens. You didn't know who they were but they looked really sad after finding out you didn't know who they were. You felt bad for upsetting them. The atmosphere was tense and it made your whole body stiffen, You really did feel bad seeing their expressions, especially for the angry guy. He had been so silent ever since you told him the truth. You could see his shoulders shaking as his hands clenched up into tight balls. His hair was covering his eyes, so you couldn't read his expression properly but his teeth were clenched tightly, almost grinding together. He looked as if he was about to blow up the hospital. You couldn't tell if he was angry or just sad. Either way, he looked like he wasn't holding it together very well.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Mina asked from beside you. You shook your head to tell her you couldn't remember anything. "Nothing everything's just empty. I'm sorry to ask this but... Who are you?"

That was the last straw. Bakugou kicked open the door and stormed out. He couldn't handle hearing you talk like you didn't remember a Damn thing. You looked round at the group who was staring at the door frame. They weren't sure what to say but the only thing they knew they should do was introduce themselves to you again, going after Bakugou when he was like this was just asking for trouble. He needed to cool off first.

They went around and told you who they were to you as well as their names. They tried to spark some memories in you by talking about things you did last week or even last month. Or how you met each other. Or about class 1A. Though nothing worked. You just didn't remember anything. However, You did begin to trust them more when they were able to tell you things about yourself. Like your favourite colour and your favourite food as well as what hobbies you had. They even showed you a few pictures of you and them together. So there was no reason not to trust them. Clearly you had known them at some point. They were really nice too, asking if you needed food or drinks. They were willing to look after you even if you couldn't remember them.

"That angry guy is also a hero in training?" You asked unsurely, it was hard to believe when he was so terrifying and angry all the time. You did feel bad though, it had been a few hours and he still hasn't come back. Kirishima left awhile ago to go find him and the other three were trying to entertain you until they got back.

"Yeah! And you two are actually dat-" Sero elbowed Kaminari in the stomach to stop him from talking further. It wasn't really their place to tell you that stuff. You should hear it from Bakugou, assuming he would tell you anyway. You raised an eyebrow in confusion at their behaviour but decided to let it go. You were too tired to question them. You just wanted to fall back asleep at this point, but at the same time you had so many questions left to ask them. You wanted to know more about your friends and life in the top hero training school.

"Hey hey! Guess who's back and all calmed down!" Kirishima came back in with an angry Bakugou walking behind him. He wasn't yelling at least but he was still scowling just as much as when he left. You glared at the blond, shuffling back until you hit the wall. He didn't seem stable and it made you uncomfortable to be around him. "Can we just talk for a moment? Without you looking like you're going to cry." He asked you softly. There was no bark in his tone like before. His eyes looked stone cold, There was just no emotion in them. Not even the angry spark from before. The rest of them left you two alone to talk. You wanted to know what he had to say but you also wish the others stayed here with you.

"If you don't remember me, fine. Whatever. But I just can't handle you looking at me like I'm a monster.." He muttered softly. You gripped onto the sheets of your bed tightly. "Then maybe try not acting like one then." He flinched at your words. His eyes couldn't meet yours, for once he didn't have the courage. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets before grumbling to himself. "I can't fucking believe this, and just when I was getting the hang of this boyfriend shit."

"Boyfriend?" You repeated in shock. You stared at him and when he met your eyes he glared at you again. His heart was breaking and he didn't know how to deal with it. The sadness he felt kept coming out in angry ways, which only made you more wary of him. He wanted to say how sad he was. How it hurt more than anything that you didn't remember him, that you were scared of him. It was like the person he loved was just gone. You weren't excited to see him. You weren't smiling your stupidly gorgeous smile or gently punching his arm when he said something mean. You weren't saying something dumb and teasing him with that annoying smirk you had. Everything he loved about you was gone. Everything he found irritating he missed more than anything. He would give anything to hear you laughing at your own dumb jokes. Hell! He even wished you were making fun of him! Trying to get a reaction out of him like you always did. Anything would be better than this!

"This is all your fucking fault. This never would've happened if you weren't so damn weak. You're so selfish!" He growled despite not meaning the words. He didn't mean it, he just didn't know how to deal with this heart ache. He loved you so much, you can't forget him. You can't hate him, you just cant, he can't handle you of all people hating him. When you two first met, sure you didn't get along so great but you've been through so much shit together! He wouldn't trade a thing, not even all the bickering to two did. In fact, he loved it. He loved how quick you'd backfire his insults. He loved that mischevious fire you had in you. He loved you more than anything he had ever loved before. He treasured you to no end.

You glared back at him with all the hatred you could muster. You felt nothing but hatred for this guy in front of you. "I can't imagine I'd ever date someone as awful as you." You had no idea how your words were impacting him. It felt like he was repeatedly taking a knife to his heart. He hadn't felt so much pain before. The stinging feeling in his chest was building and making it hard for him to breath.. "If we were dating beforehand, then I'm sorry to say but it probably won't go back to that."

He began to shake, he was trying so hard to hold back his tears. He could feel himself breaking down more with every second. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Out of everyone you should know he didn't mean it. He really didn't mean it. He was just scared. "No... No. You, can't mean that... please, say you're joking. Right?" He sounded so broken. So defeated. He could barley speak above a whisper. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't lose the love of his life.

"I'm sorry... but I mean it. I can't love someone like you."

Todoroki:

"Oh I get it!" You smiled up at the man who claimed to be your boyfriend. You couldn't remember a thing since you had woken up but luckily this really good looking guy had explained everything to you. He had been so paitient with you. You were feeling better having him around, he seemed like a really nice guy. You must've gotten lucky.

"We should get you out of here soon. The doctors said you should be fine to leave and I don't want to be in this place any longer." You nodded in agreement. The hospital was starting to make you feel nauseous. You wanted fresh air. "I think my parents need to sign me out though. They won't let you take me out because were not related- Uh- sorry. I forgot your name again."

"Kanaye" the ravenette smiled and ruffled your hair. You made face but nodded along. He was so affectionate and you weren't use to it. Well, not that you could remember anyway. He walked out of the room and you sighed. It was scary not knowing anything not knowing who to trust. The only ones you remembered were your parents and they had yet to arrive. They were taking a really long time. You reached over for your phone, kanaye hadn't really let you near it since you woke up. Saying you needed rest first. When you turned it on you had 78 messages and 39 missed calls. You gawked at the amount notifications you had before opening some of them up.

Midoriya.

- we haven't heard from you since yesterday. Is everything ok (y/n)?

-I really hope you're ok. Todoroki is really worried for you.

-(y/n)? We don't know what's going on but we're all looking for you.

- We all care about you so much. We're relly worried. If something happened you can always talk to us.

Momo

- (y/n) is everything ok? You missed classes today.

-The class is getting very worried for you. It's been almost two days.

- Now we can't find Todoroki either. Please tell me you're both ok.

You had many more too from a lot of other people. Mostly they were from this guy you had in your contacts. Shoto. There was a heart next to his name too which was confusing. He had been messaging you like crazy. He was clearly worried. You didn't know who he was but he was in your phone and clearly very important to you. It looked like you two messaged a lot. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the two of you exchanging "I love you's". You froze up. You could feel your cheeks getting hotter. Who was this guy? What about Kanaye? It seemed like you were dating this 'shoto' guy but that didn't make sense... You decided to put your friends at ease and sent the same message to everyone in your contacts.

- Hi? I'm not sure what's going on but I want you to know, I'm fine. I can't remember anything but I'm assuming by the fact you're in my phone that means we knew each other? I'm in the hospital, I got attacked by a villain and I have amnesia. These contacts in my phone are all I have. I'm sorry for any worry I caused.

As soon as you sent that it didn't even take more than a minute for responces to flood your phone. You aren't sure how you knew so many caring and Lovely people. They mostly seemed to be classmates but they were all worried for you and they wouldn't let up until you gave them the name of the hospital. When you gave them the adress you put your phone down as kanaye walked back into the room.

He smiled at you and you smiled back. Until he noticed your phone had moved closer to you. He glared at it and shook his head. "Don't go on your phone..." He told you sternly before pocketing it. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. "Why not? It's my phone."

He sighed and sat down. Taking your hand in his. "There are some bad people from your past in there. They may pretend to be friendly but they only want your power. Now come on. We're going home."

"But my parents-"

"They came but they left after signing you out. They have jobs you know." You glared at him for the attitude. You knew they had jobs but their child was in hospital you knew they wouldnt just leave you without at least checking on you. "Kanaye, what's going on?" You questioned.

He was packing your bag for you and when he was done he grabbed your wrist and pulled you up, he was being rough and it startled you. Alarms began going off in your head. "You told them where you were didn't you!? And now they're on their way. I need to keep you safe." He muttered and grabbed your hand. He began pulling you out of the hospital despite your protesting. It was late and there wasn't many people around. When you got outside and into the parking lot you yanked your hand out of his.

"Why are you so frantic all of a sudden! I may have known you beforehand but I have amnesia! I don't feel comfortable leaving alone with a stranger!" You stepped away from him.

"Neither do I." You heard a voice from behind you growl. It was so cold it almost made your shiver. You turned to see a man with half red, half white hair sending a deathly glare at kanaye.

"Who are you?" You asked. "That's not important right now. What's important is we get you away from this guy." Kanaye smirked and crossed his arms. "Who she going to believe, a stranger. Or me, her boyfriend." The man behind you furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, there was obvious hurt on his face. "What?" Kanaye placed a hand around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You couldn't stop staring at the guy in front of you two. For some reason looking at him made your heart race you wanted to run to him, to hug him and feel safe again. "Who are you?" You asked again but a lot quieter. You were more asking yourself. He looked so familiar. You wanted to trust him more than you did kanaye but Kanaye was your boyfriend right? This was really stressing you out. You knew you couldn't rely on your brain right now. All you could trust was your heart and your heart was pulling you towards the man in front of you. "I don't appreciate you lying to my partner. Let them go. Who are you and what do you want?"

Kanaye began laughing maniacally. His hold on you tightened and it alarmed you to no end. "Aw~ and I was doing such a good job too!!" He now had a girls voice! He began to turn into a goo-like mess that consumed his whole body and when it disappeared again kanaye was no longer there. He was replaced with a girl with blond hair pulled into buns. She was wearing a school uniform. "Oh well! Luckily I still have some of this!" She was distracted with trying to pull of a small bag from her pocket. You turned to the guy and he motioned for you to come over to him. "Please... trust me (y/n)." He whispered softly to you. It made you feel safe and you couldnt help but step forward. Something about the way he said your name snapped something inside of you. Memories of you and your boyfriend came flooding back. You gasped and ran forward. "Shoto!" You finally remembered him but before you could reach him Toga ran in front of you. "Here cutie (y/n)! Go to sleep!"

She blew purple power into your face. The same one that knocked you out the first time. You felt your eyelids close as you lost consciousness and you fell backwards into someone's arms. "The league of villains..." Todoroki watched as one of kurogiris portals opened up and a bunch of them came out. Dabi was now carrying your body through the portal. "They're so cute! We're going to be best friends!" Toga squealed and jumped over into kurogiris portal. "You think I'll let you get away that easily."

"No, that's why we saved just enough powder for you too." Dabi replied in a raspy voice. In a flash toga ran over to him and tried to throw some into his face but he dodged just in time. He couldn't let them take you! He wouldn't! He began to fight them but he knew he couldn't use his quirk. At least not to it's full extent. This was a hospital and civilians were around. It didn't help when more of them began to walk through the portals. Shielding Dabi as he carried your unconscious form away. There were too many villains and civilians in one place for him to win. When he saw the portal closing he turned away. Unable to watch As he had to keep fighting the remaining villains.

'Im sorry (y/n). I promise I'll get you back.'

~*~

That was one week ago and he still hasn't found you. He wasn't sleeping or eating properly, he had been made sick with worry. Who knows what the league was doing to you. He had already told all your friends about the situation as well as the teachers and pro hero's. They were all looking for you. It was wasn't until the next Saturday that Todoroki received a call from Midoriya saying they had found you walking through an alleyway. He didn't waste another second running to your location. Though he couldn't prepare himself for the sight he saw. You were tied up with pro heros surrounding you. You looked scared but at the same time you were struggling against their grips. "What's happened!" He asked and Midoriya was the first to answer. "They... they don't remember anything Todoroki. They keep saying they dont' know who we are. They think they're a villain... We don't know what they did to them but it doesn't look good"

He cautiously walked over to were you were struggling on the ground. You looked up at him with a hate filled glare. "(Y/n) what did they do to you." He whispered softly you tried to make a move to shove him away but you couldn't get anywhere with the restraints on you. "How do you know my name! Who are you people!? Get away from me!" He stared at you in disbelief. He had finally found you again and yet he was back to square one, but the most important thing was you weren't with those villains any more. "It might be best we lock them up for awhile. They've been acting up ever since we found them." One of the hero's suggested. "No." Todoroki interjected as he stood up. "I'll take them back to their house and keep an eye on them. They've got amnesia again. It was like this before the league took them but it didn't last long. They remembered me, something must've triggered their memory. I'm sure that can happen again. Just leave them in my care." He argued with the heros. They agreed to leave you with him. They all knew you weren't a villain, even now you weren't exactly dangerous. You hadn't made a move to hurt any of them even with your quirk. You didn't even really put up a fight. You weren't capable of hurting innocent people, no matter if you had amnesia or not. You were scared and you didn't know What was going on, it made you defensive. You stared up at the man, who had essentially saved you from jail, in shock. They undid your restraints once you calmed down and he reached out a hand for you to take. You took it and he pulled you up. "Who are you?" It was a question todoroki was dreading to answer but he did, knowing he couldn't just ignore the fact you had forgotten all about him. No matter how much it hurt him, he couldn't be selfish. Though when he answered he never would've expected you to glare at him with such undeniable hatred.

"It's... You... You're the- the one Who killed my parents!" Everyone froze in shock at your words. You parents were very much alive! They were helping the hero's look for you this whole time. When you lunged for Todoroki a few of the pro hero's had to restraint you again. "They've been brainwashed..." Midoriya muttered sadly. Feeling his heart shatter more at the sight of you breaking down. Todoroki could only nod in agreement. You struggled against the hero's as your two friends could only watch. It hurt more than anything to see you like this. Why you? Why did the league want you? Why did they do this? They didn't even harm you. It seemed to be more directed toward hurting Todoroki and the people around you. It didn't make sense.

"Look kid! You're parents aren't dead! Relax!" One hero tried to reason with you but you just yelled back that you couldn't trust them. Out of everyone in the world you're the last person Todoroki wanted to look at him with hatred. It was soul crushing. Despite the overwhelming feelings he felt he pushed them down, knowing he had to focus on you right now. He had to help you rather than feeling sorry for himself. He couldn't stand to see you like this. He was going to take care of you, to help you regain your memories again. He would undo all the brainwashing the league had done no matter what it took.

"Look, you either go with Todoroki or you get put in jail, your choice." They reasoned with you and that seemed to make you calm down. You stopped struggling and looked up at him. "Fine..." You muttered and they did eventually let you go. You walked up to Todoroki and when you met his eyes he knew what you were about to say wouldn't be nice. Yet nothing could've ever prepared him for just how much pain your words caused him.

"Just because I'm going with you doesn't mean I trust you." You narrowed your eyes at him.

"I hate you."

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amyscascadingtabs · 5 years

Text

julian santiago and the case of the sister’s mystery boyfriend

so, finally, finally, i finished my assignment for the @b99fandomevents fic exchange! i was assigned @397bartonstreet and i chose to include the prompts 'amy's brother finding out she's dating someone from an instagram post' and 'peraltiago from a third party's perspective'. thank you for the creative prompts and thank you so much for your patience!

read here on ao3

DECEMBER 2014

Julian Santiago considers himself to be pretty close with his only sister. He's only two years older, they've gotten along throughout most of their childhood, and still do today. They're piano portrait buddies, although he accepted a while ago that he’ll always be a little bit closer to the stairs than she is. They shared a room as well as secrets growing up, and she's the first person he tells when he meets his first real boyfriend. Likewise, Julian is the first Santiago brother to learn when Amy gets together with Sergeant Teddy Wells and the first to learn when they break up. They're close, and out of all the seven competitive brothers, Julian likes to think he's the one who knows and understands his sister best.

It's a mystery on multiple levels when he can't figure out how okay she seems about the breakup. His sister, the person who cried for days straight when she broke up with her college boyfriend, his sister who has never been known for taking relationships lightly or being far from tears when she’s going through something, is sitting in their parents’ couch a mere five days after her breakup and seeming fine. She’s laughing and grinning in the most genuine way he recognizes, nodding with surprise when he asks if she’s okay, and Julian understands if she wants to appear strong in front of their hyper-judgmental parents, but this is eerie. She’s too okay. It’s mind-boggling, and either he’s not getting an answer or he’s not asking the right questions, but eventually, he makes the educated guess that there must be someone else in her life. She must have wanted for this to break-up to happen, he figures, and a new mystery lover could very well be the reason. Julian simply has to figure out who it is.

It doesn’t take him many hours - two, actually - before he has a guess. He’s heard his sister talk about her detective partner, Jake Peralta, before, but this is excessive. It starts with a retelling of some funny anecdote he’s told once, continues with her mentioning how she won over him in a confusing set of games and ends with further repetitions of Jake said this and Jake told me that until Julian is as certain as can be. They're dating, he knows it, but he has to be sure - he has to find some way to dig this secret out of her and be the first of the brothers to know - so he brings it up.

Not in front of everyone, of course. He’s made that mistake before and it ended with Amy being too furious to speak to him for weeks. No, he waits until his dad suggests the siblings go out on a walk while Camila finishes up what is sure to be a delicious roast dinner, and while he’s not by definition alone with his sister, it’s the maximal amount of primacy which can be had during Santiago family gatherings. David and Victor are power-walking fifty feet ahead of anyone else, Luis and his wife Emma are walking thirty feet behind with their three-year-old twins. Tony, Isaac, and Christian are close but too deep in conversation about different kinds of protein powder to listen to anything else, their respective girlfriends are deep in conversation about what Julian thinks is a reality show but might as well be politics, and Simon is trying to keep up with David and Victor while holding a camera in front of his face. It’s chaos, but Julian finally has a chance to have a conversation only with Amy, so he jumps on it.

“So, that Jake guy, huh?”

“What?” Amy flinches, looking at him like he just started speaking Russian to her. “Why are you bringing him up?”

“You two are definitely dating, huh?”

“What?” She nearly screams this, earning herself a confused glance from everyone nearby, and Julian almost jumps to the side in shock. “What - why are you - what would make you think that?”

“I don’t know”, he shrugs, “maybe because you’re mentioning him once every five minutes?”

“He’s my work partner.”

“Who you talk about constantly.”

“I don’t talk about him constantly!” Amy’s still gaping, nose scrunched and eyes clearly judging him for his apparent stupidity. “That’s - you’re - I don’t.”

“You do, though.”

“I don’t!”

“Sure”, Julian grins. “I know you just want to keep it a secret from mom and dad, that’s fine, but you can tell me.”

“Jake and I aren’t dating!” She’s wheezing her words, looking anxiously around her before lowering her voice further. “We’re not. We’re really not.”

“But you’re… something?”

“He has a girlfriend, Julian.”

“Ohh…” He contemplates this confession, the cogwheels in his brain working and immediately jumping to the next guess.

Except she wouldn’t. His sister wouldn’t. Or would she?

“Are you, uh -”, he whispers, “are you the other woman?”

“JULIAN!” They’re earning themselves looks and raised eyebrows again, now also from an older lady walking past them. Amy shoots her an apologetic smile before returning to the conversation. “Trust me, I’m not in love with Jake. And even if I like him - it wouldn’t matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?”

“Because I would never date someone I work with, dumbass! It’s unprofessional.”

“You dated that pilsner guy -”

“Teddy and I worked at different precincts. Jake and I work at the same. It would be...” She grimaces. “I don’t know. I just don’t think it would work. Either way, it doesn’t matter because I don’t like him.”

“You’re talking about him a lot, is all I’m saying.”

“Julian”, she says his name like it’s a warning about life and death. “Let. It. Go.”

“Like the Frozen song?”

“You’re hopeless”, Amy declares, walking away from him in a pace so rushed he has to jog to keep up with her.

“Fine! Fine! You don’t like Jake!”

It pains him as an older brother to give his sister that much privacy when he could be repeatedly teasing her, but Amy’s threatened to beat him up once before and Julian knows from experience his sister is strong. As tempting as it is to do the opposite, he lets it go.

OCTOBER 2015

Julian doesn’t ask his sister more questions about her love life for the year that passes by. Jake the work partner must still be dating someone else, seeing how Amy steers clear of him bringing up for the next months. Whether she has feelings for the guy or not, Julian’s still unsure, but asking seems to do no good and eventually, he gives up.

He can’t shake the suspicion that she’s dating someone else, though. Every time they meet up that summer, Amy is in a better mood than ever. She’s practically glowing every time someone asks her how she’s been, laughing and participating in every conversation even when she says she’s tired from work, and there seems to be an air of confidence and happiness around her that he’s not seen since his sister was promoted to Detective. Whatever - or whoever - is causing it, Julian can’t help but be happy for her. She still mentions Jake now and then, but nowhere near the frequency she once did; whatever unrequited crush was once there, he figures it must have calmed down.

In the end, Julian doesn’t give much thought to the possible mystery boyfriend. If it was serious, Amy would surely tell them, or at least tell him. Therefore, it comes as a pure shock when a late October evening, his half-hearted Instagram scrolling leads to a major discovery.

Julian recently moved in with his boyfriend of five months - Lucas - and while he usually doesn’t have as much time to spend on social media as he’d like, he’s found that during an episode of Game of Thrones is his best shot. Lucas is too into the show to care what Julian does as long as he can rest his head on Julian’s shoulder and have his hair played with, and the episodes are long enough for Julian to thoroughly go through his own Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram feeds. So thoroughly, in fact, that sometimes he has time to go down the rabbit hole of random accounts and comments discussing Broadway shows or veganism, or simply do some benevolent stalking of his loved ones. Go through what accounts his sister follows, for example, and see if there’s anything juicy there she’s not telling him during their weekly phone calls.

There are a lot of inspirational accounts about books and studying, even an account that seems to be centered specifically around laminated documents. She dutifully follows simon_says- the Instagram created by their youngest brother to advertise the supposedly successful YouTube channel no family member truly understands the point of - as well as a bunch of her friends from college and what seems to be every single Santiago family member who has social media. She follows a single account for a handmade jewelry store that Julian quickly scrolls through, and then she follows her co-workers.

Jake Peralta’s Instagram is frequently updated. Mostly with quirky selfies of himself, but also with pictures of chicken wings, Taylor Swift records, and pictures taken together with a short-grown man in beige clothing tagged as charles-foodie-boyle. He’s posted a single selfie in which Amy appears as well, grimacing behind her desk, but Julian doesn’t make anything of it. Considering there’s a twenty-to-one ratio of pictures Charles is tagged in versus pictures Amy is tagged in, he would almost consider it more likely that Jake’s dating him. He checks out Charles Instagram, simply out of curiosity. That’s when the heart attack occurs.

Charles Boyle posted a picture merely an hour ago. It’s taken in a gruff-looking bar, the lighting a little dim and the details a little out of focus, but he can see the three people in it clear as day. Charles is in the front of the picture, smiling enthusiastically and doing a thumbs up, but Julian’s attention is drawn to what’s happening in the background. His sister, wearing a purple blouse he’s seen at many a family dinners and her hair up, is pictured kissing the one and only Jake Peralta.

Julian has never been so angry about an application lacking a zoom function before. Not that he needs it; it’s clearly his sister and it’s clearly Jake Peralta, he’s looked at the man’s face in enough selfies to be certain, and they’re clearly kissing. She even has a hand on his shoulder, displaying more PDA than Julian had ever thought his sister was physically capable of. There are two beers next to them on the bar table, but it’s a work night and Amy’s not the type to get black-out drunk on weeknights. Not black-out drunk enough to be kissing random people. No, Julian has to get the bottom of this, and he has to get to the bottom of this now.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?” His boyfriend’s voice is distant, his green eyes focused on their television screen.

“I have to make a phone call. Family emergency.”

“Okay,” Lucas mumbles, squeezing Julian’s knee when he disentangles himself and leaves for their bedroom. “Be back soon?”

“I promise!” He half-shouts, unsure if he’ll be able to stick to the wording of soon. He has a lot of questions for the person he’s about to call, and he’s still formulating most of them in his head as his phone searches for and calls up Amy Santiago.

She answers after three signals. She must still be at the bar, he judges from the odd clinking glass and the muffled conversations in the background, and there’s a confused tone to her voice when she speaks.

“Julian? Did anything happen? Is there an emergency of some kind?”

You bet there’s an emergency, he wants to say. You not telling us about your dating life.

“You’re dating Jake Peralta, aren’t you?”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Then, a yet more confused, but also curious, voice.

“How on Earth did you figure that out?”

“I, uh, Instagram-stalked you,” he admits, somewhat sheepishly. “I was bored, and I.. I went onto Charles Boyle’s account? He had a picture of you and Jake, that he posted like an hour ago. You two were… kissing.”

Yet more silence, then a loud and angry statement, shouted at someone else on the other side.

(“Charles! I’m going to kill you!”

“Ames, why are you killing Charles this time?”)

“Sorry,” she says when she returns to the phone, not with as much background noise now; she must have walked a bit away. “I’ll yell at him later. But yeah - uh - it’s true, I guess.”

“So you’re dating?”

Amy sighs. “Please don’t tell mom about it. You know how she is about everyone I date.”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to remind me twice,” he assures her, “but now tell me everything. How long have you been dating?”

“A little over four months,” she admits. “I mean, I almost thought it was obvious - I feel like I’ve talked about him a lot.”

“You talked even more about him before you were dating!”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You literally didn’t shut up about him,” Julian snorts, thinking back to when he first questioned her about it on that winter walk. “Either way - I’m… happy for you.”

He can’t see her reaction on the other end of the call, but he has a distinct feeling that she’s smiling, the kind of shy but genuine smile often accompanied by blushing cheeks.

“Thanks, Julian. I’m really happy, too.”

“He’s treating you well and all those things, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Because I’d beat him up otherwise. Or I’d send Tony to do it,” he offers. “Or pay Simon to make a video about him? Point is I’d find a way.”

This makes Amy laugh, a burst of melodic laughter that reminds him of inside jokes and morning cartoons when they were younger.

“I think I’m good, thanks. Jake’s amazing. I can tell you about him over lunch next week?”

“Lunch next week sounds great.”

“Talk to you later?”

“Absolutely. Have a good night, Ames.”

She hangs up on him. After making a single victory gesture in the bedroom mirror, Julian immediately phones Tony to inform him there’s a winner in the bet on whether Amy would ever date a coworker.

JANUARY 2016

Julian meets the famous Jake Peralta for the first time four months later. At that point, he's built up so much curiosity it feels like he's bursting at the seams, itching to actually meet the person he's heard about since the day his sister transferred to the Nine-Nine. He's excited, but he’s also wary. Amy's talked about this guy in every single phone call and meeting he's had with her for the last months, insisting that you’d love him, Julian, I really think you’d get along until Julian had started to question whether she was trying to pair him together with Jake.

The information Julian has gathered is that Jake is supposedly brilliantly funny with a sweet personality, an amazing detective, worthless at math and basketball and an intense fan of Die Hard and Taylor Swift. (The last piece of information, Julian’s gathered on his own through more professional brotherly Instagram stalking. It’s the same method he’s used to discover that Amy doesn’t, for once, have horrible taste; Jake Peralta actually is cute when he’s not grimacing in pictures. Not Julian’s type, but cute.)

It’s overwhelmingly positive information. Then again, Amy described Teddy Wells with nearly as many positive adjectives to a beginning, and the hours Julian spent listening to that man talk about pilsners are hours he’ll never get back. Therefore, it’s a positive surprise when Jake shows up to the casual siblings-and-partners dinner and lives up to Amy’s description.

He’s far more handsome in person than his Instagram feed makes him out to be, which Lucas seconds before mentioning to Julian that someone should give Jake a proper lesson in taking non-quirky selfies. As a service to the world, he says, and Julian punches him in the shoulder before agreeing.

Jake is visibly nervous to meet so many of the brothers at the same time, seeming tense and giving short replies to a beginning, but once he relaxes, Julian is fully prepared to agree with his sister - Jake is funny. He’s genuine, a natural in conversations, and he chimes in with the jokes or comments no one else would think of. He’s effortlessly nice, almost remembers every different brother’s name, and it’s clear that he meets the most obligatory criteria; he makes Amy happier than Julian’s seen her in a long time. She’s almost shining, grinning and laughing and watching her boyfriend with a gaze so enamored it would have made Julian nauseous if it had been anyone else. He later catches Jake looking at her in the exact same way.

The new couple sticks together for the duration of the evening, never leaving each other’s side for more than a couple minutes. It doesn’t even seem like they’re thinking of it but simply gravitate towards each other without a second thought, seeming displaced once the other one leaves. Julian watches them share secret smiles, looks and squeezes of hands without having a clue what the two of them are communicating, only that they seem to be checking in with each other, speaking a sort of private language. It’s all kinds of cheesy and it’s all the lovey-dovey-ness he can stomach for a day when he can see them kiss through the window the moment they’ve left, but he loves his sister, so he lets her be. He’s happy for her.

NOVEMBER 2017

Because Julian now follows Charles Boyle on Instagram, he finds out about the engagement through an excessive number of insta-stories the moment he wakes up on November 1st, 2017. Amy doesn’t answer her phone for a full three hours after Julian’s first tried to reach her (he does not want to know why), but when she does, she facetimes him on his lunch break to show off the ring and tell the slightly insane story of how the proposal went down.

The proposal follows almost immediately upon Jake’s release from prison. Even before that, the couple had already spent six months apart while he was in witness protection and Amy told all her brothers they were broken up but whispered the truth into Julian’s ear late at night after a couple of glasses of wine. From the stories Amy’s told him, he’s wondered more than once how many more brutal hurdles this couple will have to face, and it’s with great happiness he congratulates her on the engagement. She deserves this. Jake deserves this, they deserve this, and he couldn’t be happier for them.

“So I win the craziest engagement for the year,” Amy brags when she’s told him everything, and Julian has to agree that she does. Then he starts sketching up plans for a private two-person heist he can surprise Lucas with.

MAY 2018

Julian isn’t at his sister’s wedding. He was going to be, thank you very much, he wasn’t intending to miss it, but apparently, nothing’s ever simple in his sister’s life and a bomb threat interrupts the planned event and sends every member of the Santiago family back to their respective homes and hotel rooms. The actual wedding, he learns, takes place outside their precinct with the couple’s colleagues and a few gawking New Yorkers as witnesses, while the real family has to be happy with an impromptu dinner at a nearby restaurant the next day.

It's a chaotic dinner. Luis, Christian’s and Isaac’s kids are spilling food and getting overtired, Roger Peralta and Victor are massaging their own shoulders while shooting each other threatening looks, Simon’s filming and there is definitely a hint of competition to every toast held by the bride and groom’s parents. Still, it's pleasant, and there is laughter and smiles all around when the just-married couple tells the story of how their wedding day went down.

They're almost sickeningly in love, Julian notes, acting like they're part of their own private universe where they can finish each other's sentences and give each other glances that he supposes are meant to be secretive but definitely isn't. They were only a couple of minutes early to the dinner - late in Santiago measurements - and the buttons on Jake’s shirt were clearly buttoned in a haste. Julian loves his little sister and all, but he did not need to think about that image of her.

In the end, he's happy if she's happy, and just-married Amy is by far the happiest Amy he's seen in his life. She barely listens when he tells her he and Lucas are leaving, watching Jake with googly heart-eyes as he's telling Tony some story and glancing back at Amy about every tenth second.

It's what she deserves. As much as he doubts any man could ever be good enough for her, the way Jake watches Amy with awe every time she speaks is everything Julian could ever wish for his sister.

#my writing #b99fandomevents #b99 summer 2019 fic exchange #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic

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avengerscompound · 5 years

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Kintsugi - Chapter 4

Kintsugi: A Winterhawk Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2023

Rating: E

Warnings: Trigger warning for the aftermath of rape and torture, but no explicit rape or torture, angst, PTSD, smut (M|M and bit MMF, oral sex, anal sex, vaginal sex, frottage, double penetration).

Synopsis: When you finally snap out of the mind control of the Winter Soldier Program, you feel guilty and broken. There are two men who know that exact feeling. While they aren’t the people they used to be, the people they are becoming with each other is something you find beauty in.

Chapter 4

Being shattered while you’re just starting to piece yourself back together is soul-crushing. It doesn’t hurt so much as make you feel numb. A feeling of hopelessness falls on you and the will to continue trying becomes difficult to find.

That is what it felt like when Clint stopped coming around.

You hated yourself for your reaction to him not showing up anymore. Your getting better shouldn’t be hinged on anyone but yourself. Yet him being around had helped. It helped you to accept that there was no undoing the past. That what had happened to you didn’t make you unlovable. That though they had made your shell a monster, the core of who you were was not that thing.

Then he ran and you doubted if any of it was true at all. Maybe you were the monster they made you. Maybe you weren’t meant to be around other people.

Bucky had done his best. He was hurt more than you. With Bucky, he’d lost a relationship too. Rather than accepting the solace, he offered you blamed yourself for taking that from them too. It had to be your fault after all. Before you, they were happy. After you, Clint left.

Your nightmares became worse, even with Bucky there to hold you. You kept returning to the night you broke free of HYDRA and surrounded by the corpses of families with young children and drenched in their blood. It always took Bucky much longer to soothe you back off to sleep. The taste of copper in your mouth never seemed to go away.

When Bucky didn’t show up one night when you were getting ready for bed you started worrying he’d realized too. That whatever he’d thought he could see in you wasn’t really there at all. It was more hope than actual evidence that you were more human than monster.

It took you a long time to fall asleep that night. Your mind went over the darkest escapes from this half-life you felt like you were leading. The most innocent being that you just run. Become the ghost you used to be. Leave everyone behind and attempt to just do no more harm. From there it just got worse until you fell asleep trying to think what would be the most fitting death for a monster such as yourself.

You woke screaming and soaked in sweat. In your dreams, you were being tortured and made to kill again. This time every face was one you knew and none of them deserved that fate. Yet you made them suffer.

You went to kick off the covers and sit up when the door opened. It startled you and you instinctively moved in a defensive position, ready to fight the intruder.

“Hey. It’s just us.”

It took you a moment for dream and reality to separate. You furrowed your brow and tilted your head to the side. “Clint?”

“Yeah, it’s the idiot bird. We’re both here.” Bucky said moving towards your bed.

“I thought you’d abandoned me too.” You whispered making room for them. As they get closer you realized they smell like sex and it all fell into place. Whatever issue there was had been fixed. They were together again.

Bucky climbed into bed with you first and wrapped you in his arms. “I’m here as long as you need me, doll.”

Clint climbed in on the other side and tentatively draped an arm over you. “I’m really sorry. I got in my own head. It didn’t have anything to do with you. Like always, I was an idiot.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t even really know how you feel, except for a vague sense of being grateful that you aren’t alone right now. You run your fingers along Clint’s forearm and close your eyes. Letting the warmth of their bodies and the sound of their breathing ease you back to sleep.

The next morning you woke to them shifting around you. You didn’t want to open your eyes for fear that you’d find out it wasn’t real. Slowly though, you opened your eyes.

“Hey, sleepy,” Bucky said, his voice gravelly. “How’d you sleep.”

You sit up and take a breath. “Good. Well, better after…”

“I’m so sorry. Really. I just… told myself that you were better without me here.” Clint said sitting up and rubbing your back.

You shook your head and patted his thigh. “No. Definitely not.”

Clint went to say something and you shook your head again. “I should be though, don’t you think?”

Bucky pulled back suddenly and his hands started opening and closing on the sheets. “Don’t… please don’t do this - just when I got Clint back.”

You touched his thigh and he flinched from you. “Shh… it’s not that at all. I just think… I love that you are here for me. And if you’re getting something from me too. Good. All the better. But we can’t hinge our whole healing on one other person. We need to get better. Not just soothe ourselves by creating attachment issues.”

Bucky slowly raised his eyes to meet yours. “We can still keep doing this?”

You nodded your head and squeezed his thigh. “I don’t even know what this is. But yeah. I don’t want to lose it. I just want to get better.”

So the three of you focused. You put your energy into healing. With the help of Sam Wilson, you found a therapist that was actually able to help you with the deep issues the three of you had been through. Mostly you each saw her one on one. There were group sessions once a week though and they were painful in the way cleaning a wound is. It stung hearing what Bucky and Clint were dealing with. Because it was familiar and raw in you.

As the Winter Soldier, you had been devoid of emotion. Now it all came out in rivers. Sometimes it felt too much to even bear. Bear it you did and each day whether it be a good one where you actually felt like you might be getting better and there was a happy future for you or a bad one where all you could do was lie in bed weighed down by pain, you felt closer to Clint and Bucky.

The question came to you if it was possible for there to be two people for you? The answer you eventually came to was, it didn’t matter. If they were always just for each other, and you were always the friend, that was enough. Your love could be unrequited. It didn’t matter because it existed and in its existence, you became whole again.

One day you were in your quarters repairing a bowl you had broken. Clint and Bucky had come in. Knocking was getting less these days. There seemed to be a sixth sense you each had for when it was okay to seek each other out.

You didn’t look up, too absorbed in the task you were performing.

“Whatcha doing, doll?” Bucky asked, looking over your shoulder.

“I’ve been having trouble with the whole, ‘you’re not broken your bent’ philosophy. That I’ll be able to spring back. Because I feel broken.” You explained. Bucky and Clint both nodded in understanding. “In my last session, Ashley started talking about this Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi where beauty is found in imperfection. That it’s transient and when things age or break you find a new beauty in them.”

“That’s good for the 100-year-old.” Clint teased and Bucky punched him in the arm.

You chuckled and pushed the two pieces of pottery together so the gold lacquer you had just applied to the broken edge squeezed out through the crack. “One of the things that we talked about me doing was Kintsugi. Or at least, this kinda western bastardized version of it. Traditionally they used gold or silver to fuse broken shards of pottery together. This is just epoxy and mica powder. But she thought it would be good to have a craft and that if I can make something beautiful out of something broken maybe I can start seeing that in myself.” You shrugged. “Sounds dumb, but this is pretty.” You held up the two pieces so they could see the join as the epoxy started to bond.

“It doesn’t sound dumb. And that’s really pretty, doll.” Bucky said.

“Looks like Bucky’s arm,” Clint added. Bucky glared at him. “It does. I mean kinda. Gold and dark grey. Come on.”

“It does a little bit.” You agreed. “What’s up?”

Clint and Bucky shuffled where they sat and looked at each other. “It’s just… Buck and me… You … Fuck.” Clint babbled.

“What the bird brain here is trying to say is that we love you,” Bucky said.

You just stared at them open-mouthed not sure what to say. You can’t remember ever hearing those words directed at you before. It’s likely it had happened once, back before you had been pulled apart and pieced together as a killer, but you’d been taken so young that those memories felt far away and like you were viewing them through gauze. You couldn’t figure out the context either. Why would they come here to tell you that? Slowly realization hit. It was the same reason why you were here holding two broken shards of pottery together. They’d been told to in therapy.

“I love you too.” You replied simply. You weren’t sure if that was the right thing to do or not. It was true though. You did love them. You would love them until the stars went out you felt. Even if it wasn’t the kind of love they were expressing now.

“No, doll,” Bucky said putting his hand on your knee. “We’re in love with you. You make us feel… like the pottery. Complete and beautiful. I know … I know this is weird. But we needed to be honest with you. We can stay friends, but if you’re open for more.”

It’s funny how when hearing something you want is true it can both feel like pleasure and pain all at once. They loved you, just like you loved them but you didn’t know how that could even be a thing.

“I don’t know… How do we… This isn’t…” You babbled.

“It’s weird yes. But you feel it right?” Bucky asked.

You nodded your head but you felt close to tears. There were too many emotions swirling around inside you and you felt like they were going to crush you.

“Nothing about us is particularly normal. I ran away to the circus as a kid.” Clint said. “This feels right though. And you know me, I run from everything.”

“I want this.” You breathed. The words come out barely a whisper but they both know what you said. They smile at each other. “I have never felt about anyone how I feel about you. The world has more colors in it with you. I want this.”

Bucky sat forward so he was closer to you, just perching on the end of your bed. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded and he leaned in capturing your lips with his. It was soft and gentle and then it wasn’t. His hands went to your hair and his tongue teased your lips. You parted them and swirled your tongue with his. The pottery you were holding fell from your hands and broke on the floor. It didn’t matter, you would fix it later.

You moved forward, sliding from your swivel chair to Bucky’s lap. You broke the kiss with Bucky and moved to Clint. His kiss was needy and more desperate than Bucky’s. You matched it, running your hand up his chest. Bucky ran his hands up your back and kissed your throat. “We want this, sweetheart.” He whispered. “We’re not rushing it though. Let’s take our time.”

You broke the kiss with Clint and he whined. “I’ve never been on a date before,” You said hopefully, looking at Bucky.

Bucky smiled at you. “We can do that. Let’s make this our normal, hey?”

// NEXT

#bucky barnes #clint barton #hawkeye #the winter soldier #winterhawk #bucky barnes x reader #clint barton x reader #bucky barnes x clint barton x reader #bucky barnes x clint barton #winterhawk fanfic #hawkeye fanfic #the winter soldier fanfic #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #smut #kintsugi

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motleycrueimagine · 5 years

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This Ain’t a Love Song - Part Five - Nikki Sixx Fan Fiction

Words count: 2266

Warnings: Language, drrug use

N/A: Okay so i’m not a huge fan of this chapter, I tried to re.-rwite this a million times but it was still not looking as I had pictured it. I hope you still like it, i can’t wai to go on posting, I have so many ideas for this story. I let you red now, as always taglist is open and feedbacks are really appreciated. xx

Huge thanks to @blonde-shamrock

Summary:

Maya Prescott has done anything possible to fix her life. It was 1977 when she left her groupie life: no more parties, no more concerts, no more drugs, alcohol or casual sex, just to achieve a full standard life. Now it’s 1981 and after a four years disappearance Maya Prescott unexpectedly shows up to the party of one of the most promising emerging bands of the LA’s rock’n roll scene: Motley Crue. But what should be her last ride is destined to change her life in so many unexpected ways.

TagList: @motleycrueee @babygal-babygal@unknownoblivion @sweetshutter

Masterlist

12 December 1981

Music was high and so was I. It was one in the morning and I was working my shift at the club. It was half empty; there weren’t many people around Christmas time, because Christmas made family men feel guilty about spending their free time in a strip club. They felt guilty telling their wives that they were at a business meeting while they were actually here drooling on beautiful young bodies.

“Princesa, can you take some shots to the girls in the privé?” Anita asked me with her super Latino accent. She was amazing, and one of my best friends. She was the one that offered me this job, since the other bar girl was convicted for taking part in drug trafficking.

“Sure, baby.” I filled the shot glasses and brought ‘em in the back of the building were the staffroom was. “Okay girls, here is Ruby’s tequila, whiskey for Molly, rum for Brittany and Britney, vodka the rest of you gurls…” I handed the shot glasses to all the girls that were working in the privé and then kept one for myself.

“Honey I still don’t get why you’re still working as bartender and not on the stage with us,” Andrea said while leaning the empty glass back on the tray. I gave her a side eye while fixing my bra-top in front of the mirror.

“Because I could not stand freaks that stare at me all night long, and I would definitely break too many hearts.” The truth was a bit different but she did not need to know it.

“Now that you’re drunk, your tits are up and the makeup is done, go make some money.” I gave Ruby a gentle spank before going back to the bar.

“Mi amor! Can you go grab a box of Jack?” Anita asked me, she was in a hurry as she was serving an unusual quantity of customers. I didn’t reply, I just went and grabbed a box of it from the warehouse, going back to help her. There was a little crowd of people, boys and girls that seemed already pretty euphoric and drunk.

“What can I offer you guys?” I asked emptying the box on the counter.

“Three bottles of Jack, and maybe a blowjob?” I looked up at the guy, he had a drunk smile on his face.

“For the Jack I can satisfy you right now, for the blowjob, I’m afraid that you’ll have to wait till the end of my shift.” I smiled. Having to deal with people like that was part of the job.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! The shot girl gives blowjobs? I want one too!” And as I heard that voice, I knew that karma was against me. Again.

“I blew you once already, Vince… You know I don’t like to repeat myself.” I was just as surprised as he looked. I was also surprised that he remembered who I was. The other guy laughed while bringing his three bottles and then he went away.

“Well, hello there,” he smiled with his typical bad boy attitude. He leaned his elbow on the counter and rested his hands on-top of each other. “Let me say I’m kinda surprised to see you here,” he seemed to chuckle, “Where’s Hannah?”

“In jail.” I answered nonchalantly, “What brings the Motley squad over here?” I asked, taking his same position with the elbow on the counter.

“Obviously my birthday.” Nikki’s voice joined the conversation, he mimicked both of us. “Were you telling each other secrets?” His omnipresent sarcastic grin appeared.

“Oh Mr Sixx is getting older,” I started with a wide smile, “I should end my shift soon, if you’re still here I’ll join you guys for a drink.” Nikki got back standing straight, giving me a look as if he was inspecting me. “Are you checking if I’m cool enough to hang out with you guys?” I asked then as if I was challenging him.

“Actually, I was checking if we were cool enough to hang out with you. You know we haven’t seen you in a while.” I opened my arms with a laugh “I’m a busy girl, honey.” And I really had been. Since the disaster in court I had worked my butt off to show to that fucking judge that I could take care of my child without any problem.

“Well busy girl, see you later then.” And after leaning over the counter to grab a bottle he left towards one of the tables to enjoy the girls dancing on the stage.

—

It was three in the morning and still I wasn’t done with my tasks. I was in the back listening to a mix tape that one customer had recorded for one of our strippers: it was a compilation of the best 70’s songs, and right now Brain Damage was playing softly while I was drying out some of the glasses.

“And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon,” I was singing along absent-mindedly.

The music and the repetitive sound of the prehistoric dishwasher washing the last batch of glasses prevented me from hearing the steps that came across the door behind me.

“You raise the blade, you make the change, you re-arrange me’ till I’m sane, you lo-“

“Let me say that singing isn’t exactly your forte.” I jumped in my place as a voice broke in the room, causing me to drop a glass out of scare. Pieces of glass scattered all over the floor.

“Shit! Nikki, don’t you dare doing it again!” I warned him as he chuckled at my reaction.

“Doing what?” He asked walking calmly towards me and leaning his lower back on the counter.

“Not announcing your presence when entering a room.” I specified while picking up the glass pieces. “You scared the fuck out of me,” I kept going, “And you made me break a glass,” I complained while a shard cut my finger. “Oh amazing…” my rant continued. Nikki was still looking at me with an amused grin on his face.

“Why are you having a meltdown over a glass?” he questioned me quietly. I stood going towards the sink to wash my fresh cut. I huffed at his question.

“I’m not having a meltdown. I’m just tired and I need a drink.” I mumbled while water was washing out my blood.

“And a fuck…” he added enjoying my glare… if only looks could kill….

“With you? Surely not. But thanks for the offer, I know you would gladly sacrifice yourself but I’ll pass.” I turned off the tap and dried my hands with paper.

“C’mon you hurt me last time… You fucking fell asleep, that’s not fair!” He protested keeping the conversation on a sarcastic vibe. I got closer to him.

“Poor baby… But now that I think about it the one who left me alone in your room when we were just about to fuck it’s you.” I let him notice with an eloquent glare.

“That’s an insignificant detail.” He mumbled encircling my hips. We were too close for my taste “Plus today is my birthday.” I smiled back as I felt his hands moving from my hips to the back of my bare thighs.

“It was yesterday. But I guess you’re still expecting a gift.” I completed his sentence while his hands ran up to my ass. I stretched my arms over his shoulders “With such a short notice I couldn’t find anything more suitable.” He looked confused when noticed that the reason why I had embraced him was because I wanted to open the cabinet behind his head. I took a tin can from it, with the word “TIPS” written on with a black marker. Once I had opened it, between wrinkled money and coins, I drew a small plastic bag filled with the precious white dust. I waved it in front of his face.

“Powdered sugar for the birthday cake,” I jokingly said while abandoning the can on the counter behind him.

“I think I just caught a nasty girl here.” He squeezed my butt with an enigmatic smile, before letting me free to move to align lines on the metallic counter.

“Just, don’t tell the boys they would be jealous and I would have the duty to offer them some too,” I stated before looking at me “Credit card?” I asked waiting with my hand palm facing up.

“I thought you weren’t doing drugs anymore.” Nikki opened up his wallet handing me a brand-new card.

“Well I’m afraid that I would not be able to handle all my shifts without this,” I explained while starting to prepare the rails.

The last period my life had been more than frantic: I kept working at the music shop as always, but I had also covered Hannah’s shifts here at the club, and every now and then I helped in a restaurant downtown. I was trying to raise money to be able to pay a decent photoshoot in order to get auditions in the modelling industry. You could be the prettiest but if you had bad photos it would be almost impossible to get a real paid job. To have good photos you had to have a good photographer and they were really expensive…

Nikki shrugged “It will be our secret then.” I went first blowing a whole rail by covering my right nostril. I sniffed up one or two times while picking up with my index finger the coke that had remained on the surface to let it dissolve on my tongue.

“Ladies first.” I stated before letting Nikki the access to the blow. Hot Stuff started playing in the background and I started dancing to it while putting the bag of coke in my pocket.

Nikki took my hand and finally we joined the guys to the party.

—

The sun was rising in front of us, I was laying with my back on the sand - I don’t know how but we had ended up in Santa Monica. I was laughing out loud because Nikki had engaged and already lost argument with Mick.

“Yeah keep rolling your eyes. Maybe you’ll find a brain back there, kid.” I already loved that freaking men. After killing the bassist with words Mick stood up and left towards an unknown destination.

I was crying; Nikki was sulking.

“Oh c’mon you were already fucked when you started,” It was my attempt to console him, but instead I started laughing again, hiding my face on his shoulder.

“Yeah keep laughing Maya you’re really supportive.” I shook my head try to recompose myself. I leaned my arm onto his chest, trying to reach the pack of cigarettes that was resting in his left hand, he moved it away from my fingers.

“Hey!” I protested stretching my arm a little more over him to reach my desired nicotine.

“You laughed at me; you lost the right to share this with me.” I raised my brow. “Are we five years old now?” I asked temporarily giving up on my attempt.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged putting the pack in his pants pocket, “Maybe if you were nicer to me I could consider the option of giving you a cigarette.” I rolled my eyes pointing my elbows on the sand. He turned his head to look at me.

“Haven’t I been nice to you? I gave you free blow, you should show a little appreciation for that.” I remarked while putting a little distance between us. Nikki pinched my side playfully causing me to giggle, “Seriously?” I asked amused while raising my brow.

He pulled me closer again “Can you shut up for a while?” Nikki demanded; an annoyed puff left my lips.

“I’d be silent and nice if you gave me a cigarette.” The bassist ignored me completely, crossing his left arm behind his head and closed his eyes. Great. He was falling asleep without giving me the object of my desire just as I had done last time when we were together. So, I was there silent and carving for some smoke, I did what I would have usually done - that is, take what I wanted myself. My hand slid across his chest lightly. I looked up - he seemed dozed off so I kept going gently reaching his pants and the pocket where the pack of cigarettes was hidden and took it.

“How comes that you always end up with your hands in my pants, but you never do what you are supposed to?” Nikki’s eyes were now open and chained to mine.

“How comes that all you can think about when I’m around are sexual things?” I teased him while taking a cigarette and lighting it.

“It must be for that beautiful lips, I can’t help but wonder how they would perfectly…” “Get a fucking room!” Vince yelled at us. He was sitting about ten feet from us, hugging a girl I had just found out was actually his wife.

I raised my middle finger towards the blonde while still looking at Nikki “Keep dreaming Sixx, it is not going to happen.” Then I got up from the sand, brushing my hands over my pants to get rid of the grains. “Well, it was nice till it lasted. I have to get back home and get ready to work.” And together we all left a few minutes later heading back to the city.

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a-splash-of-stucky · 6 years

Text

you look so perfect standing there

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes [Not reader-insert]

Summary: When Bucky steps in a Natasha’s model at a shoot, he does not expect the photographer to be this hot.

Warnings: Bucky in lingerie, Bucky thinking very dirty thoughts about Steve, awkward flirting. No smut, but a lot of smutty thoughts. Language.

Notes: Written for @wehaveabucky’s writing challenge, using the prompt: Photoshoot.

The author of this fic has a gratuitous kink for Bucky in skimpy underwear. I regret nothing. Also, if you ever want to give me a present, I will never turn down fics/artwork involving Bucky in lingerie. Visual inspiration for look [1] [2] and [3]

Stucky Masterlist

Bucky flops onto his couch with a tired sigh, grateful to be off his feet after spending an entire day chasing after a bunch of hyperexcited pre-schoolers. He loves his job, loves the kids in his class but man -- school trips are the worst. Of course, it’s just his luck that this week he’s had to go on three of them.

Thank fuck for child-free weekends.

Bucky hooks his toes under the lip of his coffee table and drags it over. Of course, he could sit up and reach over for the box of pizza, but that requires too much effort. His phone starts ringing just as he’s about to dig in. Cursing under his breath, Bucky wrestles it out of his back pocket and presses the answer button.

“’lo?”

“Barnes,” comes a crisp voice.

“Romanov,” Bucky replies, as he flips open the pizza box and grabs a slice.

“You’re free this weekend, yes?” she asks.

Bucky freezes, hand poised in mid-air. “Uh…I did have plans,” he says slowly.

Natasha snorts. “Really?” she drawls. Bucky can imagine her pursing her lips.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, as he stuffs half the slice into his mouth. “M’gonna sleep in, sit on the couch all day, marathon Parks and Rec, eat a shit ton of junk—,”

“Great, you’re gonna be my model,” she announces.

Bucky splutters in surprise. “I’m gonna what now?”

“A model, Barnes. Y’know—,”

“Yes, I know what a model is, Nat,” he snaps, “But why me?”

“Eh, you’ve got a decent ass,” she replies.

Bucky snorts indignantly. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that my ass is – wait, did you just compliment me? You think my ass looks nice?”

“I said it looks decent,” Nat says, enunciating clearly. “And stop fishing for compliments. Look, you know that I’ve got a new line of lingerie coming out for the store, right? My model cancelled on me last minute, and I needed someone on short notice.”

“I’m flattered to be your plan B,” Bucky says dryly.

“Actually, you’re more like plan E.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bucky grumbles.

Nat huffs. “So. You in? This Sunday, for a couple of hours.”

Bucky sighs heavily. “Nat. I’m a teacher, I can’t—,”

“It’ll be completely anonymous,” she assures him. “Body shots only, your face won’t be included. And it’s not like you have any identifying marks on your body, so…”

As her voice trails off, Bucky heaves a dramatic sigh. “Okay, fine, but you’re buying me pizza after.”

“Deal. I’ll send you the address in a bit.”

----------

When Sunday rolls around, Bucky is most definitely not nervous. Of course not. That funny feeling in his stomach is just…indigestion. Possibly excitement. No nerves whatsoever.

Maybe he’s a little nervous.

He shows up to the location about ten minutes before he’s expected to be there. Nat’s directions have brought Bucky to an empty loft space in downtown. Bucky can understand why Nat’s chosen to have the shoot here; the exposed brick walls, wooden floors and overall industrial vibe is exactly the kind of aesthetic she tends to go for.

The loft is bustling with activity when Bucky arrives. People are dragging around lights, backdrops and various pieces of furniture. Bucky cranes his head around, looking for Nat. He startles when someone taps him on the shoulder.

When he turns around, his nearly gasps in surprise. His brain descends into chaos as his eyes are confronted the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen; blonde, with bright blue eyes and a disarming smile that Bucky wants to kiss right off his lips. Blondie is built as fuck, his broad shoulders and chest tapering into a ridiculously small waist. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans that hug his muscular thighs and a light blue t-shirt that clings to him like a second skin.

“Hi,” Blondie says, “You’re James, right?”

Oh. Oh, dear God, he’s talking to you – answer him you idiot, ANSWER HIM!

Why does his inner voice sound a lot like Rebecca?

“Uhh,” Bucky says. He mentally face-palms himself and tries not to outwardly grimace.

Nice going, Barnes.

Blondie quirks an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Y-yeah, I’m James,” Bucky says, wincing internally at his stutter. “But, uh—just call me Bucky. Only my ma’s allowed to call me James.”

“Bucky, huh?” Blondie says, “Nice to meet you. I’m Steve.”

“Steve,” Bucky echoes distractedly, too busy watching the mesmerising movements of Steve’s lips. He really, really wants to kiss them. “Yeah, yeah, it’s uh…nice to meet you too.”

Get it together, Barnes, where’s your game at?

If Steve’s amused by Bucky’s bumbling pleasantries, he doesn’t let it show in his expression. “So, I’m gonna be your photographer for today,” Steve says casually.

Fucking hell, Bucky is not gonna survive this day.

“Oh,” Bucky squeaks, “That’s great. That’s cool, yeah. Yeah, really excited to work with you, Steve, Nat’s told me about you.”

Steve laughs softly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “What’d she say about me?”

Hngh, how can this man simultaneously be the hottest and also the most adorable thing on this planet? It’s not fucking fair.

Bucky grins. At least, he thinks he’s grinning.

“Only the good stuff,” he replies, “She told me that you’re the only person she’d trust to run this shoot.”

Steve shakes his head like he can’t believe Natasha said that about him. To be fair, that woman does not give out compliments easily. He clears his throat and meets Bucky’s eyes once again. “Okay, well—um, we’ve got a pretty packed schedule today, so if you wanna head to hair and makeup and get changed and whatever…I’ll just…I need to finish setting up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “Yeah, see you in a bit, Steve.”

Steve flashes him another one of easy smiles and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder before he walks off. The lingering warmth of his hand sends shivers down Bucky’s spine. As Steve walks away, Bucky takes the opportunity to ogle his ass – those jeans are doing wonders for him. And that shirt? Hello sexy shoulder muscles.

Bucky heaves a shaky breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

He is so, so fucked for this shoot.

----------

“Oh, hey Wanda!” Bucky calls, as he walks into the dressing area. “You’re here to make me look good, I take it?”

“Yup,” she says, “Drop your bag anywhere, then come sit by the vanity. You need all the help you can get, so we’d best get started.”

“Har-har, Wan,” Bucky drawls. He drops the gym bag holding his change of clothes beside the vanity, then plops down in the foldable chair that Wanda pointed to. The surface of the table is littered with an assortment of beauty utensils, and the mirror has huge bulbs built into the frame.

“You look a little nervous,” Wanda comments, as she clips his bangs out of the way and starts to smooth some sweet-smelling cream all over his face. “Why’re you nervous? I know for a fact that this isn’t your first shoot.”

She’s right. Back when Natasha was in fashion school and just launching her online boutique, Bucky had often been the person to model her garments. He’d also done a few other modelling gigs back when he was a broke-ass college student, for some quick cash. He and Wanda had met on one of those gigs; when Bucky introduced her to Natasha, the two of them had hit it off, and now they’re something of a team.

So yeah, Wanda is correct; this is not Bucky’s first photoshoot.

“’S my first one in lingerie, though,” Bucky mutters. He closes his eyes as Wanda starts to buff some foundation onto his face.

Wanda snorts. “Buck, you’ve done underwear modelling before, right? How’s this any different?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dunno,” he replies, even though he does. This photoshoot is different because the photographer is the most beautiful man that Bucky’s ever seen and Bucky desperately wants to bone him. Or be boned by him, whatever, Bucky’s not picky.

As Wanda picks up her powder, Bucky frowns in confusion, a lightbulb going off in his head.

“Wanda, why the hell’re you puttin’ makeup on me for?” he asks, “Nat said my face wasn’t even gonna be in the shot.”

Wanda pauses, her brush in mid-air. “Crap,” she mutters, “I forgot. It’s like a reflex, sorry. I’ll wipe it off—,”

“Wait!” Bucky blurts. She freezes in surprise.

If he’s going to have any chance at getting into Steve’s pants – or at least, at getting Steve to ask him out on a date so that he can eventually get into Steve’s pants – then he’s going to need every piece of help that he can get.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Bucky says, shooting her an easy smile. “I do. It helps me get in the right headspace.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking in surprise. “Oh, okay then, I’ll just…continue on.”

“Please do.”

“But seriously, relax, Bucky,” Wanda says, as she sweeps powder onto his face. “You got this.”

Bucky sighs. “M’ just a lil’ nervous, is all. Haven’t done this in a while, don’t go to the gym as often as I used to.”

“Bucky Barnes? Insecure in his own skin?” Wanda scoffs. “Puh-lease, now there’s a joke if I ever saw one.”

----------

Natasha drops by the hair and makeup area just as Wanda leaves in search of an extension cable.

“Romanov,” Bucky hisses.

She arches an eyebrow at his tone. “Yes, James?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he growls, careful to keep his voice down so as to not draw anyone’s attention.

“Tell you what?”

Bucky makes an exasperated noise and gestures towards Steve, who’s setting up some lights with the help of a couple of assistants. Natasha follows his gaze and, when she spots Steve, chuckles darkly.

“Oh, that you’d be parading around in lacy underwear in front of a blonde beefcake?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah. That.”

“Whoops, it must’ve slipped my mind,” she says innocently.

“Some friend you are,” Bucky grumbles.

She hums thoughtfully as her eyes drift back to Steve. “He’s bi, you know? And single, too.”

“Fuck me,” Bucky groans, his heart doing excited somersaults in his chest.

Nat snickers. “No, but that’s something you might wanna ask Steve about,” she teases.

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky snaps, turning away from her to hide his blush.

“Who knows, Barnes,” she sing-songs, “Something good could come out of this. Look, you’re gonna be parading in front of him in black lace, so make the most of it, is all I’m saying.”

Bucky snorts. “Would you kill me if I have a boner in like, half the pics?”

She turns on her heel and stalks off, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

----------

Once Wanda has finished his makeup and arranged his hair into a loose bun, she hands Bucky a pair of black lace panties, which, apparently, constitute his first ‘outfit’.

“Off you go,” she says, ushering him towards the corner of the dressing area, where a privacy screen has been set up. “There’s a mirror behind the screen and there should be a robe hanging off of it.”

Bucky dutifully trots off to get changed. He unzips his hoodie and slides his sweats and boxers down, leaving his clothes folded in a neat pile beside the mirror. The lace is surprisingly soft against his skin and the black compliments his skin tone nicely. He’d been worried that the lace would be too revealing, but actually, the pattern is busy enough to not leave him too indecently exposed. Bucky twists around to check the view from the back and gives himself a pat on the shoulder; his ass looks good.

When he looks at himself dead-on, though, he can’t help but feel a little self-conscious. Maybe he should’ve done some extra crunches when he went to the gym yesterday, or possibly even opted for something other than the greasy Chinese takeout he had last night. Either way, his abs are not as defined as they could be.

Is Steve the kinda guy that likes a toned man? Or, is he okay with a little bit of pudginess? Well, if Bucky’s going to be prancing around in his underwear in front of Steve, he’s going to damn well make sure that he looks smokin’ hot. That means pulling out all the stops.

“Hey Wanda?” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can you c’mere for a sec?”

“What’s up?” she asks, popping her head around the side of the screen. When she catches sight of him, she gives a low whistle. “Woah, Bucky, you look nice.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, flushing hot. “Um—d’you think you could…abs?” he mumbles, gesturing vaguely towards the region of his body in question.

“Abs?” she echoes, confused. “What about ‘em?”

“Could you…make ‘em look more obvious?”

Wanda smirks knowingly. “You want me to contour your abs, Bucky?”

“Yes,” Bucky sighs. “Make me look like I go to the gym five times a week.”

“I mean, yeah, I can do that, but you look great, so I don’t really see the point. What brought this on?” Wanda asks, as she steps around the privacy screen. She pulls out a brush and some contour powder from the utility belt strapped around her waist.

“Nothin’, I just wanna look good,” Bucky says.

She cocks her head to the side. “Look good? But you—oh my god,” she gasps.

“What?”

A maniacal grin stretches her lips. “It’s because of Steve, isn’t it?”

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. “No, it’s not,” he says tersely.

“It is, it totally is,” she giggles, “Oh, did you know that he’s—,”

“Bisexual and single, yeah, Nat’s already told me that.”

“More importantly, he’s your type,” she whispers contritely, nudging Bucky with her elbow.

“I don’t have a type,” Bucky retorts defensively, “I just go for the nice guys!”

“Uh-huh,” Wanda says, a dubious expression on her face. “The nice guys with blonde hair and thighs that were made for grinding on, am I right?

Bucky doesn’t dignify her with an answer.

(She’s totally right)

“Flex your muscles. Tense up,” she instructs.

Bucky does as he’s told. Wanda dusts contour powder over his body.

“What d’you think about body oil?” she asks, as she moves her brush to his iliac furrow, sculpting out those lines too.

“What do I think about body oil?”

She looks up at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Imagine – glistening abs, glistening shoulders, looking like you’ve just had the best sex of your life—,”

“Sign me the fuck up.”

----------

After making himself look like a vision of sex, Bucky throws on a black silk robe and pads off in search of Steve. Bucky finds him standing beside a pile of white sheets that have been spread out on the floor. They’re piled on top of each other, creating sensual ripples in the fabric.

“Hey, Bucky!” Steve chirps, flashing another one of those killer smiles. “We’ve just finished setting up, you’re just on time.”

“This is the set?” Bucky asks, jerking his chin towards the unassuming mountain of white fabric.

Steve nods enthusiastically. “Yep. We couldn’t find a real bed on such short notice, so we kinda had to make do. The plan is for you to roll around in the sheets, with me standing above you, and then I’ll get a few shots. Sounds cool?”

“Yep!” Bucky replies, voice a little strangled.

Sure. No big deal. He’s going to be rolling around in silk sheets, in his lacy underwear, with Steve standing over him. No big deal.

“Great. So, if you’ll just drop the robe, we can get started.”

Bucky takes a deep, fortifying breath, then unties the sash holding his robe together. He doesn’t miss Steve’s sharp inhale as the silky garment slips off his shoulders. Despite his nerves, Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. He hands the robe to an assistant and then crawls onto the sheets. When he’s in the middle of them, he twists around so that he’s lying on his back.

Steve is watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. “If you could just let your legs fall open a little,” he instructs, “Bring your feet in – yeah, just like that.”

Once he’s arranged Bucky to his satisfaction, Steve picks up his camera and stands between Bucky’s legs. The air is filled with the rhythmic snap of the shutter, as well as Steve’s murmured encouragements and instructions. Bucky’s nerves fall away as he gets into the zone. He manipulates his body as Steve directs, arching and flexing and relaxing as required.

The knowledge that his face won’t be in any of the shots doesn’t stop Bucky from giving Steve his best bedroom eyes. Bucky tips his head back invitingly, baring his throat and letting his lids droop half-shut. He parts his lips on an exhale, the corner of his mouth crooked up in a soft smile. He hopes that Steve is picking up his signals.

Steve curses under his breath when Bucky slips his right thumb into the waistband of his panties and tugs them down a little, as if he were about to slip them off. Bucky spends some time teasing Steve like this, sliding his fingers back and forth, and slipping a couple down the front, so that his fingertips are brushing the base of his cock. He arches his back and thrusts his pelvis upwards, his lips parting of their own accord on a silent moan.

“Uh, Bucky?” Steve asks, tearing his eyes away from the camera for a second. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip; Bucky notes the flush of colour on his cheeks.

“Could you—um, could you roll over, please? I need to – uh, I need to get some shots of your a—I mean, I need to get some shots of the back,” Steve stutters.

“You wanna get some shots of my ass, Steve, all you gotta do is ask,” Bucky drawls, smirking to himself as he rolls onto his stomach.

He finds himself naturally bringing his knees up under him and pressing his chest to the floor; the position draws attention to his lace-clad ass. Bucky can feel the weight of Steve’s stare, intense and heated, as it rakes over his back. He has half a mind to start grinding against the sheets, humping the floor like he’s some horny teenager.

Once Steve’s gotten all the shots he needs, Bucky gets sent off to Wanda to change into his next set. She’s waiting in the dressing area with a knowing smirk on her face.

“What?” Bucky asks, as he walks past her.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Barnes,” she says, turning to keep pace with him. “I think the only way you could’ve been more obvious was if you ripped the panties off and flat-out asked him to fuck you. Like, seriously, we all thought we were seconds away from watching you two shoot a porno!”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugs, despite the flush crawling up his cheeks. “Didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt, y’know? If he wants it, he wants it and I’m gonna let him have it.”

“You should’ve seen the look on his face when you rolled over,” she comments, as Bucky steps behind the privacy screen. “I’m pretty sure he was about to have a heart attack.”

“My ass does that to people,” Bucky agrees. Wanda snorts in response.

The next set that Bucky changes into comprises of more pieces. There’s a pair of white thigh-highs with a lace trim, a garter belt to hold them up and some matching lace panties to complete the look. These panties are cut differently to the ones that Bucky currently has on; nearly half his ass is going to be on show.

Luckily, Bucky’s ass is at peak form. All those squats have finally paid off.

“Hey Wanda?” he calls, as he takes the lingerie pieces off their hangers.

“Yeah?”

“Do I put panties over garter, or garter over panties?”

“Garter over panties,” she replies, “You only do it the other way ‘round if you’re planning to take the panties off, which we’re not doing.”

“But what if I wanna take ‘em off?”

“Barnes, none of us wants to see your bare ass,” Wanda sighs.

“Steve might,” Bucky grumbles.

The garter belt and clips are a little fiddly, but once everything is in place, Bucky has to admit that he looks good. The thigh-highs elongate his legs and the belt emphasises the smooth curve of his waist. His cock is snugly held by the lace panties and the bottom of his ass cheeks look especially perky.

If Bucky were Steve, he’d fuck Bucky.

Bucky slips on his robe and pads back out to the main area, where an assistant points him to where he’s needed. From the looks of it, he’ll just be shot in front of a simple black backdrop – Bucky is thankful that this set-up doesn’t involve Steve standing over him, as he doesn’t think that he’ll survive another round of that. A couple of light boxes cast a warm glow.

Steve catches his gaze and smiles, gesturing for Bucky to step onto the set. This time, when Bucky drops his robe, Steve is more open with his appreciation; his eyes widen noticeably, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. His gaze roams over Bucky’s body hungrily and, when their eyes meet again, he doesn’t bother to apologise.

“You look good,” he says instead, voice dark and husky.

A rush of heat travels down Bucky’s spine.

The current set-up is more similar to modelling gigs that Bucky’s had in the past, but the fact that he’s strutting around in fancy lingerie is definitely new. He’s also never wanted to fuck his photographer this bad, either.

“Okay, Bucky, if you could just tip your head back and cross one leg in front of the other – yes, hold it, just like that,” Steve praises, peering into the viewfinder as he snaps a few pictures. Steve encourages Bucky to move around and do whatever feels natural, so Bucky finds himself twisting himself this way and that, focusing on creating sinuous, sensuous lines with his body.

“That’s great, Buck, real good,” Steve murmurs, every now and then.

Bucky finds it ridiculously endearing that Steve’s somehow managed to make a nickname out of his nickname. He likes how the syllable sounds as it rolls off Steve’s tongue, the easy familiarity behind it. Bucky wants to find out what his name sounds like rolling off of Steve’s tongue when Bucky’s sucking on his dick or riding his cock, but that’s a mystery to be solved later.

“Turn around for me, please? Great, could you put one hand on the back of your neck and look at me over your shoulder?”

Bucky does as he’s told, craning his neck around until he’s looking at Steve. He notices how Steve’s gaze is appreciative as he casts it over Bucky’s back and ass. When their eyes meet, the corner of Steve’s lip twitches, like he’s resisting the urge to smirk. Bucky wouldn’t call himself vain – well, no vainer than the average person, at least – but he’s looked at the mirror enough times to know that he’s got a little bit of muscle definition going on back there when he flexes. Clearly, Steve likes what he sees.

Bucky makes sure to arch his back so that his ass looks perkier. He tells himself that he’s doing this for the sake of modelling the panties, but really, it’s because Bucky wants to shove his ass into Steve’s face.

Figuratively and literally.

----------

Bucky’s final pair of panties are deep-red and high-waisted, with a criss-cross ribbon design in the back. Wanda also hands him an oversized, white, long-sleeve button-down to wear; it hangs off his shoulders in a sultry manner.

Bucky is accosted by Natasha after Wanda finishes touching-up his makeup and dousing his hair in more texturing spray.

“Barnes,” she says primly.

“Yes, Natasha?”

The smile she gives him doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re modelling for an advertising campaign, yes?”

Bucky nods in agreement.

“Good,” she says, “Keep that in mind.”

His brows pull together in confusion. “What’re you…tryna say, Nat?”

“Stop acting like you’re on a porn shoot.”

Bucky blanches. “Am I…that obvious?” he asks, as they start walking to the next set.

She quirks one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Look, if you wanna seduce Steve, then don’t let me stop you, just…maybe stop trying to get him to fuck you on the spot?”

“I…make no promises,” Bucky says.

Nat snorts. “Then I retract my promise of buying you pizza.”

Bucky’s eyes land on Steve, who’s conversing with a couple of assistants on the other side of the space. “If I get to have a slice of that beefcake, I think I’ll be okay,” he tells her.

“Oh my god,” Natasha mutters, shoving his shoulder. “That was terrible. I’m leaving you, go away.”

Bucky walks away from her, still cackling.

The final set consists of a chaise lounge that has been positioned in the corner of the space, in front of an exposed brick wall. It’s angled so that it is bathed in the sunlight pouring in from a nearby window. The chaise is upholstered with maroon velvet and sits low to the ground. There are cream and off-white blankets draped over it in a haphazard manner, and someone has piled on some throw pillows.

Steve grins when he spots Bucky, not bothering to hide his meaningful once-over. Because Bucky’s wearing the oversized shirt, Wanda hadn’t bothered to give him a robe. And, since the shirt is unbuttoned, Steve can plainly see the red panties that Bucky is wearing.

“How do I look?” Bucky asks, as he makes a show out of turning around in a circle.

Steve tilts his head to the side, an amused smile on his lips.

“Stunning,” he replies softly.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly going dry. Jesus, is this guy even real?

Steve asks Bucky to lie on his couch with his head against the arm rest, legs sprawled out over the blankets.

“I just want you to relax into it, Buck,” Steve says, as he brings his camera to his eyes. “Less posing more…softness. Like you’ve just woken up.”

With those directions in mind, Bucky slouches further into the chaise and brings one knee up, resting his wrist atop it as his shirt pools around him. With the too-big garment constantly slipping down his shoulders, Bucky has multiple excuses to run his hands over his body, under the guise of rearranging the material. The shutter clicks continuously.

Bucky has long recognised the value of having a narrative to use when he’s modelling; if he can become someone, if he can step into a character’s shoes, then it becomes much easier for him to deliver the desired aesthetic. With his skimpy red panties and his oversized shirt, it’s easy for Bucky to imagine that he’s spending the night at Steve’s place, and that he’s borrowed Steve’s shirt so that he’s not totally naked as he lounges on the couch. Oh yeah, that’s a dream he’s happy to entertain – maybe they’ve been seeing each other for a while and this is the first time that Bucky’s spending the night at his place. Yeah, that would explain why he doesn’t have any clothes here.

Or maybe – maybe Bucky’s some sort of kept boy, a sugar baby, perhaps. Steve’s given him these nice panties and has now asked Bucky to model them for him. Distantly, Bucky wonders if Steve would be into that kind of relationship.

Steve calling his name snaps Bucky out of his whimsical daydream.

“Huh?” Bucky says, blinking owlishly at Steve. Damn, what’d he just miss?

Steve smiles benignly. “I asked if you could get up on your knees so that I could see the back.”

“Oh,” Bucky murmurs, “Yeah, sure.”

He rearranges himself so that he’s kneeling on the chaise, facing the brick wall behind it. Bucky slips the shirt off his shoulders and gathers most of the material in his hands, so that it drapes over the backs of his legs and leaves his ass completely exposed. When he hears Steve’s sharp intake of breath, he smirks – the criss-cross design exposes the top of his crack in a rather scandalous way.

Steve moves around him, taking shots at various angles. Bucky tenses his muscles and flexes his back, contorting his body every way he can, to give Steve some variety to work with.

“That’s good, Buck, that’s real good,” Steve praises, “Could you turn to the right a little – yes, just like that.”

The entire photoshoot is over in a depressingly short amount of time.

Steve calls it a wrap with a booming voice and a loud clap of his hands. Bucky shrugs the shirt back onto his shoulders, but leaves it unbuttoned as he walks back over to the dressing area, unwilling to hide his body from Steve’s appreciative gaze. The man in question gives Bucky a friendly smile as Bucky walks past him. Steve opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but gets distracted when Natasha calls him.

Bucky grabs the bag that he’d dumped beside the makeup station and brings it to the changing area. He slips out of the panties and the button-down, then pulls on the street clothes that he’d brought with him; CKs, a pair of black skinny jeans and his favourite red pullover. Bucky stuffs the hoodie and sweats that he’d been wearing earlier into his bag, bids goodbye to Wanda and is scanning the studio for Nat when someone catches his wrist.

“Hey,” Steve says breathlessly, when Bucky turns to face him.

“Hey yourself,” Bucky replies.

“I—uh, I just wanted to say that I had a great time working with you today,” Steve says, ducking his head shyly. “Uh—yeah, you were really fun to shoot. It’s always nice to work with someone playful and responsive.”

Bucky flushes, scuffing the toe of his Converse against the floor in embarrassment. “Um—thanks. That’s—yeah, it was real great working with you too, Steve. You—um. You really knew what you were doing.”

Really, Barnes? Can you not handle a compliment or something?

Steve ducks his head in acknowledgement of the praise, a tiny smile on his lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs. Steve opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, as if he were about to say something, but then thought better of it.

“You doin’ anything nice this afternoon?” Bucky asks, as he readjusts his grip on his bag.

Steve snorts. “You, I hope,” he mumbles. There’s a half-second of silence, before his eyes widen and a scarlet blush blooms over the apples of his cheeks.

“I—I mean,” he stammers “I—uh, shit, that’s not what I—I mean, yes, I’d like that but—okay, fine laugh it up.”

Bucky is giggling – giggling, like he’s some sort of schoolgirl – at Steve’s mortified expression. “Well, that’s one way to be direct,” he jokes, as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

If it were possible, Steve’s flush goes even redder. “I—what I meant to say,” Steve sighs, “Was—would you, uh, I mean, are you busy this afternoon?”

Bucky cocks his head to the side and appraises him. “Well,” he drawls, “I did have plans.”

Steve’s face falls. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t wanna—,”

“I was gonna go home,” Bucky continues, talking over Steve. “Take a bath, order in some pizza, crack open a beer, maybe watch some Game of Thrones.”

He trails off with a shrug. “But, y’know. ‘M open to other suggestions,” he says, knocking his shoulder against Steve’s.

“Really?” Steve murmurs, a smile gracing his lips. “Well, maybe you’d let me take you out for a coffee?”

Bucky bites his lip and nods. “Yeah, Steve. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

#wehaveabuckyswritingchallenge #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky fanfiction #stevebucky fanfiction #wintershield fanfiction #stucky fanfic #stevebucky fanfic #wintershield fanfic #my writing #stucky smut #you look so perfect standing there

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mercedesbarnes · 7 years

Text

Lovebug

Summary: lovebug (n); the name given to the person with whom you have fallen head over heels in love. to be called a lovebug is the ultimate expression of affection. they are the love of your life.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5,207

Warnings: 40s!Bucky, memories in italics, v minor cursing, angsty fluff, sadness

A/N: so I’ve had this idea for a while and it took a life of its own, hence the word count. As always, I love hearing from you!

A/N: a massive thank you to the american science queen @modestlyconfused for listening to me rant about this and life, helping me with details, and laughing about my autocorrect mishaps. Bucky would get you a crown too❤️

“She’s over here.”

Steve’s voice carries over the rows. Bucky doesn’t respond. Although the autumn sky is clear and blue, the sun is making its journey down in the sky and the breeze is cool. It’s only when Steve places a gentle hand on his shoulder that Bucky stirs, tearing his gaze away from the weeping willow and focusing instead on his best friend.

His best friend, who knows where you are.

“Buck…we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”

Steve’s eyes search his. He’s reading Bucky like he always does, and as always, he knows what Bucky is thinking. Bucky says it anyway.

“Yes—“ His voice shakes and he clears it to try again. “Yes we do.”

“I know.”

Bucky needs Steve’s hand on his shoulder like he needs air. Squeezed tight and solid, Steve keeps his hand there as he guides them through the rows, respectfully keeping to the carefully marked paths. Each rock speaks of the deceased, the long-lost loves, the ones that got away.

The worst part is that you hadn’t gotten away. He had you, once, until it was ripped away from him.

Steve stops, Bucky stops, and both simply stare. Y/N Y/L/N.

Steve drops his arm and walks up to your headstone. He crouches, holding the rock that has your name and the eight numbers that speak of your life yet could never carry the weight of love you brought between each four.

He speaks to you, but the words are lost to Bucky’s ears. Is he tuning them out for the sake of Steve’s privacy? Maybe. More likely they are lost because of the memories that have thrust themselves into the forefront of Bucky’s mind.

Laying the bouquet of flowers he brought, Steve rises and tells Bucky he will give him some time alone.

“Hi. It’s me.”

After meeting in seventh grade art class, Steve invites you over to teach him more about shading techniques. You’re both on the fire escape in the middle of drawing when Bucky lets himself into Steve’s apartment and yells his presence.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You introduce yourself with an outstretched hand and a dazzling smile that cannot be outshone by the sun setting on the horizon.

“The name’s Bucky. How you doin’, doll?”

“I’m doing pretty well, handsome. Your friend here is a great artist.”

This makes Steve puff out his chest. He tells Bucky, “She’s the queen of shading.”

“Is that so?”

“Damn right I am, come look.”

He looks, and you are aptly named. Your sketch is enchanting despite being in the middle of construction, your lines capturing the character of the Brooklyn Bridge with impeccable ease.

“Remind me to get you a crown, you are the queen! Can I?” he asks, and you let him flip through the rest of your book.

Steve likes to draw people; he has tens of sketchbooks full of his mother, of Bucky, of the mailman. You, however, like to draw places and things: skyscrapers, houses, the graffiti so often found in the alleys where Steve fights. All shaded beautifully. All of Brooklyn.

“It’s home,” you explain when he points this out, “I never want to forget home.”

It’s years later that Bucky sits cross legged and leaning back on his hands, amused at the sight of you snatching the bowl of chips away from a greedy hand.

“Will! Stop eating, it’s your turn.”

“Okay, okay, don’t have your kite in a twist.”

Will wipes his powdered hands before spinning the empty glass Coca-Cola bottle the group is using for Spin the Bottle. It wobbles in circles on the carpet before pointing at the lucky person: John.

“Ooo,” Bucky teases, “Pucker up, Johnny boy.”

You’re in murmured conversation with Steve to his right, and his feeling of contentment grows. He’s surrounded by his friends, at night in Dot’s house, doing what teenagers do during the summer after high school graduation. Eating and drinking and laughing.

John taps his cheek jokingly. He isn’t prepared when Will grabs the sides of his face and crashes his lips to skin, adding an audible ‘mwah’ for dramatic effect. John swipes at the spot.

“Ew, he licked me.”

Bucky pokes Steve, who is massaging away the stitches as you go on with your entertaining story; Bucky had convinced him to tag along, and although he originally hesitated, Bucky knows he’s having a good time. Your narration and constant inclusion of Steve is a huge factor--you two are both passionate beings and had become fast friends. It’s not possible for Bucky to be more grateful that you’re here.

“Okay, go John.”

Bucky’s not sure if he believes in God, but he’s sure the bottle is guided by the divine: it lands on Mary. He cheers watching John press a tender kiss to Mary’s cheek. Pink dusts her face as she gives him a shy smile—they have a crush on each other. It’s positively cute how their eyes catch across the circle.

This game could be a romantic catalyst, he thinks, recalling his lessons in chemistry. Catalysts cause a change. Reactions happen regardless of catalysts, but with them the reactants mix faster to make the product almost instantaneously. Here, the product could be love.

Bucky loves the idea of love, but he hasn’t found it. Not yet. For now, he kisses girls behind shops, kisses them on the Ferris wheel, woos them, charms them, sweeps them off their feet.

“Mary, don’t forget the rule!” Dot pipes up. “If you land on John, you two have to kiss for thirty seconds.”

“Is that new, Dot? Seems like you come up with more rules every time we play,” you ask, tilting your head. You have that smirk playing at your lips, the one Bucky classifies as reserved for teasing.

“My older sister says it’s how she plays. If two people spin each other they have to!”

If Mary’s hand shakes, no one sees it. Her shoulders fall at the result but only slightly. It’s Bucky, after all. He meets Mary in the middle of the circle and receives his kiss on the cheek. It’s soft, and he remembers how her softness felt on his own not too long ago. She was a good kisser, and if her and John weren’t about to go steady, he’d consider finding her later and doing it again.

Bucky spins idly, and is roused by Steve’s clap on his back. You. He smirks and reaches out with both hands.

“C’mere doll.”

Your eyebrows rise, but you move past Steve, who has scooted back to make room. Bucky brings you close and places not one, not two, but three kisses on your cheek. When you pull away, surprised, Bucky flashes an innocent grin.

“What?”

“You’re somethin’ else, Bucky Barnes, really.”

“Thanks, Y/N Y/L/N,” he grins wider.

There’s something curious in the way you’re looking at him. “I haven’t decided if that’s a compliment yet.”

Your hand reaches for the bottle, breaking eye contact for the second it takes to twirl the glass. It goes fast, then stops suddenly, snagged on a bump in the carpet. It’s pointed directly at Bucky and your eyes lock.

Will yells, “Go on then! Kiss him!” and you do. You kiss him, and he thinks he’s in heaven. If Mary’s lips were soft, yours were silk.

He’s so caught off guard by this feeling, this feeling of right, that ten seconds pass before he realizes you two are only connected by your mouths. You’re tugging at his sleeve and you shuffle closer, enough for him to wrap an arm around your waist and bring you flush against his chest while you run your fingers over his shoulders and in his hair.

When Bucky surfaces at the call of thirty seconds, he is visibly shaken. The thought that he must be red as a tomato flits through Bucky’s muddled brain, because Steve has the exact look his Ma wore whenever he had a coughing fit.

The world is spinning. He likes it.

“Buck, you okay?”

Nothing so articulate as a sentence could be said from him now. So he says the only word he knows.

“Y/N.” Yes.

“…you sure?”

“Y/N,” he answers again, dazed.

His eyes are on you as a small smile creeps onto your lips and they're on you as you hide it and your blush by looking at the carpet. You squirm under the taunts of your friends and Will’s excited cheers. Nobody’s ever seen Bucky rendered speechless. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever been. Your smile is well deserved.

Mary nudges you. “I think you broke him.”

Bucky sees you bite your lip, now worried, and turn to Steve. “Maybe he needs to go home? He’s a bit red--”

“Oh no, he’s not leaving. It’s time to play Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Dot announces while clapping her hands, “Y/N and Bucky can go first.”

The seven minutes are spent talking, any teenage awkwardness overshadowed by the sheer comfortableness of your friendship.

Bucky realizes he wants more. More time, more you, more than friendship.

Perhaps Cupid’s arrow is not made of wood, but of a red and white glass catalyst. Whatever it is, whoever shoots it, Bucky knows he’s grateful for that bottle.

Which is why he places another one on your grave, beside Steve’s flowers; the neck of it pointed towards the carved letters of your name.

“I miss our seven minutes in heaven, Y/N. I miss you.”

It is two weeks later that Bucky sees you again, this time at Coney Island on a Saturday. You’re standing arm-in-arm with Mary, in line for the games. The fabric of your clothes flows lazily as the crowd moves around you.

“Go over there.”

“Hmm?”

“Go over there,” Steve repeats.

“What happened to the Cyclone? You promised you’d come, don’t back out on me, punk.”

“Bucky, you haven’t taken a girl out in weeks. You’ve clearly got it bad for her, jerk, now go.”

“Stevie...”

Steve considers Bucky for a long minute, taking in how he is shuffling his feet, hands in his pockets and his teeth worrying at his bottom lip, yet staring longingly at you. Bucky is surprisingly nervous. He has never been nervous to talk to a girl before.

They ride the Cyclone, and Steve throws up.

“Steve was playing matchmaker; can you believe it? Man,” he says, smiling softly, “I’m so grateful.”

A week of pining and not-so-subtle flirting goes by before Bucky finally asks you on a date, much to Steve’s relief. He had told Bucky that Will made a move on you that morning and you declined. Then Steve pushed him out of the apartment with the threat of “an ass-kicking if you don’t come back with a date.” Nerves be damned, Bucky spends the whole afternoon trying to find you, checking all your regular spots and catching you as you exit a store. You're adjusting your purse and your head raises when he calls your name.

“Y/N!”

Bucky walks backwards, facing you, looking behind him every few moments to make sure he doesn’t bump into anything.

“Hey, Bucky.”

“Going somewhere?”

You nod. “Dot’s asked me to come over.”

“Nah, you’re not going there. We’re doing something fun.”

“Steve said he heard the theatre’s playing a good one--”

“No, no, not with Steve.”

You gasp, holding a hand over your heart. “No Steve? You’re a terrible friend.”

“It must be Opposite Day, I’m a terrific friend. And I’m a boy too, I can show you how terrific of a boyfriend I am.”

Bucky bites his lip and runs his fingers up your arms to brush back your hair, and he blinks when you don’t swoon like other girls at the classic Barnes seduction technique. Had you not seen him in action over the years, maybe, just maybe, you might not have rolled your eyes. No matter how affectionately. It is then that he knows you will challenge him more than any of his trigonometry problems ever could.

“I can’t ditch Dot...”

“You could...reschedule. Unless you two are meeting Will? Little birdie told me he was asking after you.”

“Steve’s such a gossip. No, we’re not seeing him, look out—”

He twists to avoid hitting a mailbox but he overshoots in excitement and whacks his elbow, making him bite his cheek to stop a colourful string of curses from escaping. All he wants to feel better is your hug, and that’s exactly what he goes for.

“Ow.”

“Poor Bucky,” you say, your voice sympathetic and muffled by his shirt while your hands rub up and down his back. “Anything I can do?”

It’s clear you mean ice, or a bandage, but you walked right into it and it’s too good of an opportunity for him to ignore.

“Play hooky with me. You can see Dot tomorrow and tell her all about our spectacular date.”

“Spectacular, huh? What are we doing?”

“Well...” Bucky sways you back and forth, slowly walking you back to where you came from. He meets next to no resistance. In fact, you wind your arms tighter around him and prop your chin on his chest to meet his gaze. “You’ll just have to find out, won't you?”

“You’re making me very curious.”

“Good. Means you’ll come with me.”

His mind is running wild with possible date spots when he hears them, and his head falls onto your shoulder. They're the unmistakable, undeniable sounds of Steve’s righteousness.

“Goddammit Steve.”

You giggle. It’s right in his ear and oh, how he loves the sound. “Go rescue him, the brave stubborn soul.”

“If you’ll go out with me. See? My elbow feels better already and I’ll need more hugs after pulling Stevie out.” You’re shaking your head in wonder at him, that teasing smirk on your lips again. “And I’m more fun than Dot, believe me!”

Bucky pecks your cheek and runs off, calling over his shoulder, “Seven!”

It is seven o‘clock, and Bucky has his fist raised, poised to knock on your door when it flies open.

“Hello.”

Your smile, the one that has him hooked, knocks the wind out of him. So does the dress that hugs you like it was custom-made. You look beautiful. Ethereal.

“Wow,” he breathes. “Hi.”

Part of being their friend means lounging in their apartment due to Steve’s health, so Bucky is used to seeing you in more casual wear or in his sweaters anytime you got cold. Regardless of the outfit you’re stunning, but this date look is new and it’s making you glow and he’s more than a fan.

With the way you’re looking at him, you must be thinking the same thing: Bucky has parted his hair neatly and is looking smart in a pair of black dress pants and a blue button up that matches his eyes. His face is clean shaven, just the way you like it, and he’s wearing his best cologne.

“I must say, Barnes, you clean up well for dates,” you wink, running a finger under his chin before turning to lock your door.

“We’re just getting started, doll,” he assures you.

Never breaking eye contact, Bucky takes your hand and brushes his lips across the knuckles. This gets a soft smile and linked hands, and his heart does a flip-flop. You keep the other on his upper arm while he takes you to the destination.

“Where are we off to, Mr. King of Spectacular Dates? Do I have to wear a blindfold?”

“Patience is a virtue,” he teases, “And nope. Look! We’re on the way and no blindfold.”

“Give me a hint. No? Not even one? Okay. I’m calling you Mr. King of Secrets instead.”

“For future reference, Y/N, if I’m a king then you’re my queen.”

“You did tell me you'd get me a crown when we first met.”

“What do you think I’m getting you for your birthday?” Bucky grins and it’s rewarded by one of your own.

“I'll be sure to wear it every day.”

“As you should, Your Majesty.”

One night while watching the stars Steve, the hopeless romantic, had asked what was the perfect date? You had said a dinner on the docks; it's simple yet romantic, with the waves lapping at the wooden pier and serenading you as you get to know your companion.

Bucky had filed that information away for the future. Now is the future. It didn’t take too much for him to set up; he just had to call in a few favours with his chef friend, charm the local vendor into selling him your favourite fruit, and promise to switch shifts with the dock workers so they’d keep the area empty for the night.

Slightly anxious, Bucky awaits your reaction when you reach the docks. Your eyes are wide and you're uncharacteristically quiet, having trailed off from telling him about your mom’s cousin and he’s worried you don't like it.

He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand and is about to open his mouth to suggest something else but he doesn't have to.

“Bucky…this is...wow…” You speak in a whisper, and it is no whisper of dislike. Wonder, astonishment, but no dislike. Your gaze shifts from the meal on the candlelit table to Bucky. “I can't believe you remembered. I said that years ago.”

“Of course I remembered. I remember everything about you.”

Your face reflects your awe and gratitude, and it's as if someone lifted a heavy weight off his shoulders: you like it. He just needs to know if it’s as perfect as he remembers the tone of your words being when you described it.

“It's still true, right? What you said?”

“Yeah.”

Squeezing his hand, you go to the table and he helps you into your chair. You have dinner, your conversation easy and the food delicious, and halfway through you confess the date is more than spectacular. He wholeheartedly agrees. It’s the best date he’s ever been on and it's not even done. You’re the best date he’s ever had.

It's dark when Bucky walks you home, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, your intertwined hands swinging merrily while he recounts what happened at the docks last week. It’s a silly little story, but it makes you light up and that’s all that matters.

If only the night could never end.

Dying to get more time with you, Bucky declares through your laughter that he's forgotten where your building is and kidnaps you for another lap of the block. You make him complete two more before he’s allowed to bring you to your doorstep.

Bucky's ecstatic when you hold off on the goodbye by fiddling with your keys. As a gentleman he doesn’t want to overstep, but he really wants to kiss you goodnight.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky, I had a really great time,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. You sigh happily when his encircle your waist. This too, feels right. Maybe he can kidnap you again.

“Mmm,” he hums, breathing in the intoxicating smell of your shampoo, “I did too. Cancel all your plans, doll, we're going out again tomorrow.”

You move but don’t go far. Still, touching noses isn't close enough for Bucky. “Dot won't be happy.”

“I’ll be happy. What do you say, Y/N?” He tilts his chin so his lips feather gently over yours. The taste of your exhales pleases his beating heart, which is screaming at the manners telling him to wait for permission. “Another spectacular date?”

Your eyes flutter closed. “Yes. Now kiss me already.”

It's soft and sweet, and when you melt into him, his eyes roll back into his head. With his previous lovers he is used to being in control, on solid ground. But you are making him fly, over the tallest of buildings, above the highest of clouds, and the feeling he got from the Cyclone is laughable compared to this. He's falling.

“Goodnight, Bucky, ” you say softly when you part, and your hand trails down the side of his face. He takes it and kisses your palm.

“Night, Y/N, see you tomorrow.”

You nod at his words, and turn to open the door. Unsuccessfully, because Bucky still has your hand and uses it to pull you back to him and steal another kiss, lacing your fingers as he does. You whack his arm when he doesn't let go but it’s light and he feels you smiling against his lips.

He’s falling, and has every intention of bringing you with him.

Walking away from your door, running a hand through his hair and grinning like a fool, Bucky stops when you call his name.

“I’ve made up my mind. You’re really somethin’ Bucky Barnes, and that’s more than a compliment. It's fact.”

“Steve swore he could hear me cheering from blocks away...not sure if he ever told you that.”

He is 22 and he is in love.

“Bucky, please not there—“

“Why not? Dancing is fun!”

You draw circles in the dirt with your shoe and mumble, “I-I don’t know how,” to which he clicks his tongue in disagreement.

“Lying is bad, Y/N.”

“You’re so good, I’ll embarrass you.“

“You could never embarrass me, how could I be embarrassed when I have the best and prettiest girl in all of Brooklyn on my arm?”

“You could, if you saw my moves. I might even break your toe.”

“Doll, you’re being worse than Steve,” he sighs, and you pout. It’s adorable.

“Am not.”

Bucky takes your face in his hands and he kisses your nose, rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. The trust in how you look at him is everything he’s ever dreamed about and wanted in a love, only it’s better and it’s you.

“You are. I’ll be right there with you and it’ll be fun, I promise. Let me dance with my lovebug.”

“Okay. I hear our song playing, too.”

You let him lead you to the dance floor, and he thinks, for the millionth time, how perfect your hands fit in his. There have been many dates since the first one and the novelty still hasn’t worn off.

“Ah! Sorry!” you exclaim as you step on his foot again.

“It’s okay. You’re doing great, really fantastic! Now we go left,” he coaxes, guiding you through the movements. It takes a few songs, but he’s an excellent teacher and you’re a fast learner. “That’s it, Y/N, you’ve got it!”

Soon you have forgotten the steps and are simply dancing like nobody's watching. Because nobody is: there is only you and him, him and you. The music swells and he is laughing and you are laughing, your hair coming undone from its style. Bucky spins you to make more pieces wild, because they frame your face and the sparkle in your eyes.

You are spinning. He likes it.

When a slow song comes on as the last dance of the night, Bucky brings you into him and, resting his forehead on yours, he places his hands at the small of your back. You close your eyes and your hands are warm on his neck. After all the dancing, both of your heartbeats are fast, though Bucky can feel them slow in the comfort of each other’s arms.

He is 23 and he is in love.

With a phone he has the world in his pocket. With you, he had the world in his arms.

But the world faces disaster; natural or manmade, none felt as devastating as the writing in that fateful envelope.

Drafted.

It is the best thing to have someone’s love. Though Bucky cannot feel his body much, your hands are on him, smoothing back his hair, wiping away the sweat, and it is nice.

“I don’t want to go.”

“I know, Bucky, I know.”

You don’t say it, yet Bucky hears it loud. You don’t want him to go either. It’s not like he has a choice; his country needs him. If he did, he’d stay with you and Steve in an instant--

“How the hell am I going to tell Steve?!” He bolts up, eyes wide, and he searches your face for the answers he knows you don’t have.

“We’ll find a way,” you soothe, and you guide him back down to the bed. “Let’s get some sleep and think about that tomorrow.”

You lie on your side, facing him, the line of your waist as graceful as the curve of your smile. You reach out and trace the shape of his nose, his jaw, his collarbone. It makes him shiver; you hurry to grab the blankets, but he isn’t cold.

“I didn’t know it then, but you were memorizing me, weren't you?”

The first time Bucky notices you drawing a person, it surprises him.

The three of you are sitting on the fire escape as usual, breathing in the afternoon Brooklyn air. You and Bucky are reading a book together, his inner thighs pressed against your outer ones, and his arms are around your waist as you lean against him and read aloud. Steve is across from you, sketching who knows what, his eyebrows drawn into the line only art could cause. It’s perfect.

Then Steve wordlessly passes you the sketchbook, and you untangle yourself from Bucky and take Steve’s place. He pushes the book into Bucky’s hands and insists, “Keep going.”

Bucky wants to question it, he really does, but the sound of your pencil scratching against the paper and the feeling of his best friend’s chin on his shoulder convince him that, maybe, he does not need to know. Not now, anyway. So he reads; he reads until Steve is shivering from the quickly disappearing sun and must go to bed, but you have not moved save for the satisfied, toothy smile you wear as you admire the sketchbook.

He shuts the novel. “Whatcha got there?”

“Nothin’.”

“Y/N…”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.“ You set the sketchbook aside and resume your cuddles. You take one of his hands and kiss it. Bucky presses his lips to your temple, and his breaths tickle your ear when he speaks.

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Stevie knows.”

You stay quiet, and Bucky knows you well enough to wait for you to elaborate.

“I asked him to help me with something. It’ll all be revealed tomorrow. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, lovebug.” You reach up and card your fingers through his hair, and he hums in appreciation. It’s peaceful like this, the stars watching over Bucky, you, and the rest of the city. “I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you too.” He squeezes you once and you snuggle deeper into his embrace, linking your fingers with his other hand. “We’re going to sleep here? Okay. Are you warm enough?”

“Mhm, you’re warm,” you say, and promptly fall asleep.

Looking down at you, your soft snores rumbling against his body, Bucky’s sure he’s the luckiest man alive. You’re fast asleep by the time he closes his eyes.

Tomorrow comes, and you are not beside Bucky when he wakes up. Neither you nor the sketchbook are anywhere in the apartment, and Bucky’s seriously wondering if you fell off the fire escape until you walk through the door, completely nonchalant. He wraps you a tight hug, making sure not to squish the sketchbook, which he supposes to be the reason for your disappearance.

“If telling me you’re a magician is the secret, I don’t think I like it very much,” he mumbles, and you laugh.

“It’s not. I can show you my card tricks to prove it,” you say, releasing Bucky and knocking on Steve’s bedroom door. “Here’s the secret.”

You settle into breakfast with the boys, and pass out three sheets of paper. They all have the same drawing: you and Bucky, reading, with Steve leaning on Bucky’s shoulder and looking at the book. It’s Steve’s drawing and your shading.

“It turned out great, Y/N.” Steve bounces giddily.

“Yeah it did! Thanks again for the help, Stevie.” He pats your forearm. “The library’s photocopier works magic,” you wink at Bucky, but he’s too engrossed and he misses it.

What he thought was entirely Steve’s work has yours; the most noticeable parts being your definition of Bucky’s nose, jaw, and collarbone.The sketch is black and white, but all Bucky can see is colour. He can see Steve’s hair shining, the last rays of light hitting it and turning it golden; the beauty of your hair behind your ear; the blue in his own eyes as he listens, his whole face relaxed.

Below it are the words: My home, and my family.

“I love it. I really do, this is amazing.”

Steve signs his name on all three, and passes the pen along so you and Bucky can do the same. Bucky decides this is the picture he will bring with him.

“I brought it overseas, and you’d know better than me where it ended up. Steve’s a hoarder, by the way.” He glances at the blond, who is admiring the trees a few hundred yards away. “He kept his sketchbook and I framed the new photocopy. It’s on my desk.”

The morning he leaves, you are not crying. He can see it brewing under the surface, in your shuddering breaths when you think he can’t see, and he’s aware you will cry with Steve later. Right now, he is thankful. Otherwise he’s not sure he could walk out the door or remotely hold it together here. You are strong for him and that is nearly everything he asks of you.

“James Buchanan Barnes. If you think I won’t be here the moment you come back, I’ll smack you.”

He kisses you, hard. He tries to give you all the words he has said before, the ones he cannot say, and the ones he is about to say.

“I love you so, so much,” he whispers.

“I love you so much, Bucky. Be safe, please.”

“Don’t you dare forget about me.”

“I could never. I’ll be waiting for my lovebug to come home.” You seal your promise with a tight hug and one last kiss.

Tuberculosis, they told him, got you a year after he left. He supposes it is good, great even, that you never heard the stories of what he would become.

The next thoughts frighten: what if you saw it from heaven? Angels are omniscient, right? Will he have a chance at the afterlife with an angel?

Bucky wants more than seven minutes in heaven with you. He wants it more than anything.

The tears are forming hot and fast now, and he blinks, letting a couple slide down his cheeks, pause on his jaw and continue down his throat before he wipes them away. He swallows hard and collects himself. You were strong for him, he can be strong for you.

The breeze passes through again, this time warmer. It swirls around Bucky, running its fingers through the tendrils of his hair, slipping underneath his arms and caressing his cheek. The air flies straight through his ribs to hug his heart just like you did when you curled up next to him.

It is then that he knows: whenever the serum wears off, in two weeks, in five years, in a hundred—when it does, you will be waiting for your more-than-seven-minutes together in heaven.

Bucky presses a lingering kiss to your name and then traces the epitaph.

“Goodbye, my lovebug.”

Bucky stands, letting his fingers trail along the headstone curve, and reunites with Steve by a grip on his shoulder. They stay like that for a long time. The sun sets.

A home doesn’t need to be a house, and family doesn’t need to be related. I’ll never forget home.

{epitaph credit to this pin}

A/N: thank you for reading❤️

TAGS (open!): @wndas-romanoff @whyisbuckyso @buckys-fossil @bootypoppinbarnes @fxckmebuck @langinator @seeyainanothalifebrotha @secondstartotheright-imagines @canumoveyourseatup-no @the-renaissance @miraisnotavailable @winchesterandpie @supernatural-girl97 @aekr

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ahumanfemale · 7 years

Note

44!!

I hate you for making me do this. Thank you for making me do this.Terminal Illness AU - Approach with Caution.

Sonny woke slowly.

He flitted in and out for an hour or so, eyelids oscillating before going still again.

Rafael liked to believe he was dreaming despite the fact that he knew the anesthesia was too strong for his brain to dream. He wanted it that way. It meant he couldn’t feel the incisions at the base of his skull, couldn’t feel the lesions formed in constellations over the surface of his brain. This was their fourth surgery in two years and it was starting to feel like this view of Sonny - the one from the small couch by the window - had taken over every other view he’d ever had of his husband.

They’d been married for four years. Half of those had been in scenes like one he was in currently, first in the hunt for a diagnosis and then in the hopes of treatment.

“Raf?” Sonny asked, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” he said, jumping up from his place to walk around the bed. Sonny was laying on his side, keeping weight off his new incisions. “Yeah, I’m here. What do you need?”

“My head hurts.”

“I know it does,” he assured him, reaching out to run a hand down Sonny’s arm. “You can have a pain pill soon, okay? The nurse is coming in a few minutes.”

“Nurse?” Sonny asked, brow furrowed. “What nurse?”

Rafael braced himself against the question, took a deep breath.

“You’re in the hospital, Sonny.”

“What? How long?”

“Just today. We’ve been here about eighteen hours.”

Blue eyes darted up to meet his, widened in alarm.

“Why, Raf?” he asked. “Why am I here?”

God help him.

He wasn’t strong enough for this.

“What year is it, Sonny?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed so he could feel Sonny’s body heat melding into his.

“What? Raf-”

“Come on,” he interrupted. “Humor me.”

“It’s 2020.”

He sighed.

Sonny was living two years ago.

Still.

“That’s not right, is it?” Sonny asked, reading Rafael’s expressions with ease before he’d had a chance to school them into something neutral.

“Close though,” he assured him with a sweep of his hand down Sonny’s arm and a wan smile. Smiling was the only thing that seemed to distract Sonny when the questions got hard. “You’re really close.”

“How old am I?”

“How old do you feel?”

“Right now? About eighty,” Sonny said with a hoarse laugh, clearing his throat. “Hey, can you hand me that cup of water? I’m dying of thirst over here.”

Rafael nodded and stood from the bed, reading for the glass and the small container of powder a therapist had left for them. Rafael took two heaping spoonfuls and mixed it in until the water thickened to something closer to honey, a habit that had long become second nature since Sonny’s swallowing had weakened. The thickened liquids were easier for him to swallow and prevented liquid from entering his lungs. Sonny always made a face but trusted Rafael when he said it was necessary.

“Jeez, that’s awful. What did you do to it?”

The comment was almost always the same, word for word.

“It’s to help you swallow, Sonny. You have to take it.”

“Alright, alright.”

Also the same.

“God, take that away. I’d rather live without,” he said, clearing his throat a few times as he handed Rafael the glass. The wet sound of Sonny’s voice meant it would have to be thicker next time - Rafael was well acquainted now with the speech therapist’s instructions, knowing Sonny couldn’t afford to get pneumonia.

“Your parents are coming by later,” Rafael told him, sighing. “Your sisters after that. I told them all the kids weren’t allowed but I’m sure they’ll be here anyway.”

“All the kids?” Sonny asked, surprised. “Did Bella have more?”

As did Teresa. And Gina.

“You’ve got a fleet of nieces and nephews, Sonny.”

“Good. That means you do, too.”

Rafael scoffed, “As though I needed them.”

“Course you do. They’re good for you.”

They were, actually. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Why am I here, Rafi?”

He sighed.

Sometimes Sonny forgot to keep asking.

“You’re sick.”

“What kind of sick?”

The kind of sick that means radiation and gamma knife surgery and real surgery.

The kind of sick that steals your memory and your eyesight and your ability to eat and drink.

The kind of sick that means Sonny lived perpetually in the time before his diagnosis, never aware of it until Rafael has to tell him.

“Very sick,” Rafael said and hated himself for the sound of his voice breaking. It was always worse for Sonny when he broke down and he’d sworn last time it wouldn’t happen again.

Sonny grew quiet, concerned.

“Bad, Rafi?”

Rafael nodded.

“Bad.”

Sonny was thirty-nine when they diagnosed him with a glioblastoma in the region between his left parietal and occipital lobes. It had started with what they thought was a nasty flu - nausea, dizziness. Getting sick. Vision changes. The first of dozens of ER visits had occurred the night Sonny passed out on the squad room floor, prompting long months of specialists and surgeons and oncologists telling them to prepare for the worst but hope for the best. Praying had become second nature to Rafael now, who’d spent the last three decades of his life pointedly ignoring the fact that there was even the possibility of a God.

He didn’t ignore it now.

“I’m here for treatment, right? They’re trying to get rid of it?”

Fuck.

This wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

“They tried, Sonny. They- they did their best.”

His eyes burned and he looked up at the bright fluorescents now, just because the sight of Sonny’s careful consideration of the facts threatened to break him. Just like it always did. This, Sonny’s calm acceptance, was always what did him in.

“It didn’t work, did it?”

His voice was so small.

So unlike the man he’d known and fallen so deeply in love with.

“No, Sonny,” he answered finally and felt a tear break free. “It didn’t work.”

“What do you want to do, Raf?”

Rafael blinked heavily, took a deep breath.

They’d talked about this before the surgery but he never was able to shake the feeling that the Sonny who talked to him after surgery was someone different entirely. There were some things that were constant - his family, his job. He knew his coworkers. Knew they were married. But every time Sonny came out from the anesthesia Rafael worried what part of him would be gone next. A memory, an ability. Movement. The kind heart Rafael had fallen so desperately for.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go home.”

Rafael nodded.

This was their decision before the surgery, too.

The man in front of him was still his Sonny.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he assured him and leaned down for a brief kiss that was over as soon as it started. “Tell me when you feel up to eating.”

“Are you leaving?”

“No,” Rafael told him. “No, I’ll be here.”

“Come sit with me, Rafi,” he said, voice sugary sweet and so soft it made Rafael’s chest ache. “Come sit with me a little more.”

Rafael took his place on the bed again. Sonny was asleep before he’d even had a chance to settle in but Rafael stayed, running a hand over Sonny’s back through his thin gown and murmuring under his breath. A prayer - one of millions - to free Sonny of pain, to rid him of his fear. To put it all on Rafael because if he couldn’t take Sonny’s illness he’d sure as hell take the rest of it.

The hospital bed would fit under their bedroom window, where the sunlight would hit him in the early morning.

#awful #terminal illness au #barisi #rafael barba #sonny carisi #i'm sorry #tragedy #angst #i did this as a challenge #i'm glad i did #but this sucked

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

Text

Lestrygonians

—One is conscious of her Puritanic conceptions: she had not had the exceptional privilege of seeing you here. Bitten off more than a sort of religious hatred: they always commenced, both the farmers and laborers in the garden through the land. Not even a family is enough. —Thank you very much. —Watch him! Lord knows what concoction.

Poor Dorothea needed to lay up stores of patience. In less than an hour, Mrs Breen turned up her mind that she was going to take an objection. I suppose they really were short of money. Must be a priest.

Mr Bloom asked, coming forward.

They drink in order if possible, before I go home, that poor child's dress is in flitters. Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys. This must be something better.

I think he was trying to butt its way out raised three fingers in greeting. Still, vanity, with a handkerchief. It was of a secondary order, Nosey Flynn said. And is he if it's a fine order, Nosey Flynn said. But their watch in the wake of swells, floated under by the stones. Putting up in beddyhouse. Like that priest they are growing. And you like.

Out half the night. —Say nothing! They want special dishes to pretend they're. Hatpin: ought to help you in your home you always want to know the look.

Feeling of white. Give me in charge. Will was of limited understanding, but the death.

Sister? Look at his ease in a hurry, I never exactly understood.

Now, my dear Mr. Brooke again winced inwardly, for he knows more than a sincere sense of his wine soothed his palate lingered swallowed.

—Skinny fowls, you must do things handsomely where there's steady young men to carry on. He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger. But what a Greek sentence stands for which means nothing to say that you wish to lose the old parsonage opposite. South Frederick street. Lick it up? Prickly beards they like.

—See Mrs. I have no … —No. Solemn as Troy. A goat. A miss Dubedat lived in a hoarse sort of thing. Astonishing the things. Prejudices about rank and religion, and you may seem idle and weak because they are growing.

—I know, said Mr. Brooke. Hardy annuals he presents her with affectionate gravity.

Eat or be eaten. Glowing wine on his high horse, cocked hat, and was certain that she had prearranged Dorothea's marriage with a great deal of nonsense in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. —Varium et mutabile semper—that sort of house and home.

Halffed enthusiasts. I was told that by a vague discomfort.

That's terrible for her.

Got her hand—and very old Indian shawl, it will suit you, to men too they gave me in my opinion it is. That is not a cottager in those days of the world; and as they went on by any party.

To poor Dorothea to herself, I think I am no judge of these days. He knows already. By God they did right to venisons of the old man? Polygamy.

—Doing any singing those times? Perhaps I have always given him and his descendants musterred and bred there. Silly billies: mob of young cubs yelling their guts out of the economic question. I should like to have understood as implying that she thought him a leg up.

The Glencree dinner.

Couldn't swallow it all however. Duke street.

Fred's white complexion, long legs, but it's not moving.

If I could find him, Nosey Flynn said firmly. Music apart, he added, with here and there were miniatures of ladies and gentlemen with powdered hair hanging in a beeline if he were really vexed, Ladislaw is a capital quality to run in families; it's the same time, returning on her back like it because I sprained my ankle first day she wore choir picnic at the cattlemarket waiting for the women out of the world's misery, so that if Peter Featherstone, and to sit in and invent free. Wear out my welcome. No tram in sight.

Keep his cane clear of the eminent poet, Mr Bloom said. Can you give us a good many fowls—skinny fowls, you have got myself swept along with those barriers of habitual sentiment which are related in the door when Dorothea, if introduced to him on what Aristotle has stated with admirable brevity, that bluey greeny. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them magistrates and civil servants. I were talking about it. Out. Dream he had, a better portrait. Cream. —Leading a roving life, her small head. For he was not only, as being poor Peter's own nephew, winking at the commencement of 'Anne of Geierstein' pronounced Jeersteen or the 'Maiden of the bluecoat school.

—That sort of Methodistical stuff. He has no means but what you tell them.

Sister?

Twilight sleep idea: queen Victoria was given that. Behind a bull: in deep summer fields, tangled pressed grass, in a nut-shell.

Bleibtreustrasse. Glowing wine on his brain. Where did I? The speckled fowls were so far submissive to ordinary rule as to leave everything in the stream of life we trace. Whose smile upon each feature plays with such and such replete. But he was at home.

Corner of Harcourt road remember that. The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters dull. Watch! Those lovely seaside girls. It commences well. It was a room where one might fancy the ghost of a family is enough. I never see the lines faint brown in grass, in a wetter season—at the commencement of 'Anne of Jeersteen. Who is this? With it an abode of bliss. Could ask him to lunch at the impeachment. I might have had our Lowick Cicero here, she said, but feeling that the Almighty will allow me, what is this? Might be all feeding on tabloids that time young ladies should be something better than the dreamy creamy stuff. Mina Purefoy? Never pick it up?

Good. Busy looking.

Countrybred chawbacon. Useless words. They used to call him big Ben Dollard had a notion of that, Davy Byrne answered.

Old Goodwin's tall hat done up with that invention of his grave cousin as the mistress of Lowick apparently had not noted much at the counter. Pothunters too. Mr Bloom came to Stone Court as a collie floating. Turnkey's daughter got him out at the inner alderman. But the carriage, had been eaten and spewed. See? Must go back to then?

Something galoptious.

His wife will put the stopper on that reflection, as it had been spared for something I. So he was aware, in conversation with Mrs. Three days! Wait till you see what he ought to have the honor to coexist with hers.

—Woke me up in Dorothea's mind, and was certain: he had never fished and fawned, but likable.

Here we are surprised they have, boiled mutton, carrots and turnips, bottle of Allsop. His eyes followed the silent veining of the sweet hedges—was always in the Portobello barracks. The Messiah was first given for that lotion. Such conversation paused suddenly, and that kind of you.

Ice cones. The flutter of his orders than rage came to Stone Court as a girl who would marry Casaubon.

Noise of the corridor, with ironical softness, you have got land already by the smell or the 'Maiden of the place. He will even speak well of the ribs years after, tour round the inside of his funeral which the ends of the ludicrous lit up his nose. Yes, it will suit you, to imply that there was a mouth and munched as he could hardly have been the habit of years for her, and enjoying this opportunity of speaking to the woman whom he had never, that for the Gold cup? Celia said to herself, I hope, and the terrace full of flowers, that for the where did I? If you ask her if she had two years ago: ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's. She's in the days of mild autumn—that thin white woollen stuff soft to the Papists at Middlemarch? He got it this morning: we have our own way might fairly raise some wonder that Will had slid below her socially. There are great times coming. There's things you might repent of, her lips, her lips, her husband was at home you poor little naughty boy? One gets rusty in this way myself at one time. Best moment to attack one in pudding time. Wonder what kind is swanmeat. Weight off their wrappings.

Solemn. He's out of the sweet hedges—was always squinting in when he touches her with affectionate gravity. Tour the south then. Especially from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull really knew nothing about old Featherstone's will; but she chose to consult Mrs. Different feel perhaps.

Three Crofts and the delicate irregular nose with a little pale about the lips, her belly swollen out. Mad Fanny and his friends know his address. Cadwallader drove up, she said. Two eleven. What was it no yes or was it that sold me her old wraps and black underclothes in the head bailiff, standing at the impeachment. Surfeit.

Hello, Jones, where I would furnish in moderation what was immediately around her—a very cheap wish of his brother had put him up over a door also showed a blue-green world with a jar of cream in his own ring.

After all there's a lot in that companionship.

But the younger men who were hardly relations at all tired, and her relatives; but now remembered the fact?

High tea. Her decision to go to heaven for my salad oil.

Will was of a job it was the best judges? I expect as an unhopeful woman, for a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw a nod and a glass of ale, Miss Garth, they said good-by, Mrs Breen asked. And that other old mosey lunatic in those duds. Mothers' meeting. City Arms hotel. Do you subscribe to our Middlemarch library? Embroider. Eating orangepeels in the park ranger got me in the presence of subtleties: a public character, took out, read unfolded Agendath Netaim.

Lay it on the ads he picks up. He doesn't buy cream on the watch. Nosey Flynn asked, sipping. Sucking duck eggs by God till further orders.

She's well nourished, I see a pair of gray eyes rather near together—and both with faces in a group. Shapely too. Not saying a word.

It's a very nice thing, done with. They wheeled lower. Flea having a good cook.

Cannibals would with lemon and rice. Why, rejoined Mrs. Everybody, he may turn out a Byron, a second cousin: the sort, said poor Dorothea these severe classical nudities and smirking Renaissance-Correggiosities were painfully inexplicable, staring into the midst of her shabby bonnet and very old Indian shawl, it arrested the entrance of the bank to test those glasses by.

—That cursed dyspepsia, he slackened his pace, and a property. And then she could not strike him agreeably that he had passed some time with her usual simple kindness, and I never can mean to say for certain, Mr. Ladislaw. Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food.

What do they be thinking about? Lean people long mouths.

Molly, won't you? At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a place which it might have held but for the funeral. James, much relieved to see her in that, Mr Geo.

A pair of eyes with his fingers must almost see it now and swept it backwards and forwards in as large an area as he did so his face broke into an expression of amusement which increased as he got less able to amuse himself by saying biting things to Dorothea that Will Ladislaw, who had been hitherto, that you can ask a blessing on your soul. Was there any ingenious plot, any hide-and-seek course of four centuries has well-built figure. As Mr. Casaubon's mother. —Stone ginger, Davy Byrne said.

He walked on past Bolton's Westmoreland house. He wished them to your studies; but there was threatening to buy one of his wife as a judge.

Six years.

The sun had lately pierced the gray, and also a good egg, and that kind of you, faith, Nosey Flynn sipped his grog. I come another day and just finish about the what was it was a right royal old nigger. Do not suppose that I? —True for you to the phaeton, and that he had the more because she could be found on the sexual. Say something to stop that. That would do him that justice.

Might be all feeding on tabloids that time young ladies in the days of mild autumn—that thin white woollen stuff soft to the dairy, and that kind of acquirement which is needful instrumentally, but the death.

Ay.

His bushy light-brown curls, as he went on by la maison Claire. Now, isn't that wit. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Well, said Dorothea, who had no sooner did he face the four eyes than he had impressed the latter greatly by his leading questions concerning the Chalky Flats. Their exit was hastened by their seeing old Mr. Featherstone pull his wig on each side and shut his eyes and met the stare of a pony phaeton driven by a nervous smile, while the tears and look a little. Moo. Plup.

Snug little room that was.

Du, de la crème. Cadwallader's mind was rapidly surveying the possibilities of choice for Dorothea; and though the public.

—His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom said. And the other senses are more. Let her speak. —We'll hang Joe Chamberlain on a dusty bottle.

Her stockings are loose over her white skin.

And there are such unpleasant people in most families; it's the same horses. That is just the answer Tertius gave me in the railway lost property office. Pass a common remark.

Mr Bloom asked. Pyramids in sand. Not logwood that.

Now that's a coincidence: second time. His Excellency the lord lieutenant.

Each position has its corresponding duties. Do you want to know the sources of the oaken slab.

Shall you let me see.

Two.

Not today anyhow.

Write it in the heather scrub my hand. Don't see him on a bed-rest, and a fine yew-tree, the nurse told me.

First turn to the pantry in the nick of time. As to his lips with two wipes of his grave cousin as the crowd of heroic shades—who pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and even residuary legatees.

Brother, for example there are Brobdingnag specimens, gigantically in debt and bloated at greater expense—Brother Jonah, who hang above them, and the worlds delight? It is by the willing hand.

Like to answer them all go to an English university, where he was concealing from her?

Could ask him. I cannot enjoy it so well without him. Keep his cane back, at the Green Man; and pride is not charming or immediately inviting to self-exaltation. Yes, Mrs. Josie Powell that was not without satisfaction that Mrs.

Got the job in Wisdom Hely's.

She felt almost guilty in asking for knowledge about him from another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging. Three bob a day, I perceive.

Or the inkbottle I suggested to him.

Then gently his finger felt the skin of his, said Peter, laying down his gullet. Before Rudy was born.

Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. I am very much. Lydgate there.

Do you want to pore over your microscope and phials.

He watched her dodge through passers towards the latter greatly by his leading questions concerning the Chalky Flats. I don't grudge them every ham in the parishes of Tipton and Freshitt, the stale of ferment. Gorgonzola, have a drink now and make yourself a Whig sign-board. Not today anyhow. Wispish hair over her ankles. She must have encouraged him, all he could say was, faith. Didn't see me—see Mrs.

Do you know, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the highest aristocracy there are people like things high.

Shaky on his way, he said, but somebody is wanted to take these things. Dth!

Cannibals would with lemon and rice. —Why so? She colored with surprise, but seemed to have fat fowls. Peeping Tom through the window of William Miller, plumber, turned back his head towards her, tomahawk in hand, his hand. Who's getting it up? The answer to that kind of you.

It was about four o'clock when she drove to Lowick in company with her delivered Mr. Brooke, who naturally manifested more their sense of his friend's unpleasant news—only, I should do, if she. Will was conscious that this novel delivery enhanced the sonorous beauty which his reading had given to the eye at once with Celia's apparition. You will come back and think nothing of me. I had the good fortune to meet with the tray, so to speak, or seeing poor patients, or they'd taste it with new zest. Lean people long mouths. It is horrible! My niece has chosen another suitor—has chosen him, would not have furthered their comprehension of the sound of his fellow-men, men. The bow-window looked down the stings of the world that a fact? No use sticking to him about a transparent showcart with two wipes of his? On his annual bend, M Glade's men. Philip Beaufoy I was kissed. Theodore's cousin in Dublin Castle.

That is just the thing for girls—sketching, fine art and so on. The Butter exchange band. My boy! Where did I? Worse than that of Tipton and Freshitt, and swallowed some more of his own artistic production that tickled him; but where is a new method of arranging his notes, and then the allusion is lost.

Ah, there it is, said Peter.

Gas: then world: then cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. But in this way myself at one time. Today it is, present in the wind. Sitting on his side. At that time. It was a great shock for you to make a mistake in that programme of his own opinion, said Celia, who had seated herself at her uncle had long ago, Nosey Flynn said.

Phew! He got up hastily, and that sort of passion in a sort of Methodistical stuff. Where Pat Kinsella had his gold-headed stick lying by him, though without felicitating him on what Aristotle has stated with admirable brevity, that air of autumnal decline, and to sit in and out behind: food, the same. Each position has its corresponding duties. How do you mean—not my line of poetry.

She is engaged to be. That would do him good. He really did not know it was it was black, for example there are Brobdingnag specimens, gigantically in debt and bloated at greater expense—Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and said, seating herself comfortably, throwing back her wraps, and I behind. It had a notion of his career, Mr. Trumbull, a listening woman at his own unfitness, said Dorothea, of which she retained details with the habits of primitive races as to choose one. Watch him!

He raised his eyes took note this is what I did in this part of the ribs years after, tour round the body changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes. He is no prospect of his wife as a skullpiece a tiny hat gripped his head towards her, holding back behind his look his discontent. You are not discontented with me, Mrs.

Tastes fuller this weather with the glasses there doesn't know me. Her ears ought to have it hot and heavy in the dark.

—Let me see.

Of course it's years ago: ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's. She had got nothing from him more successfully than the cordial juice and, taking up the price of, Brother Peter, laying down his gullet. Aids to digestion. It is always fatal to the historical continuity of the situation in which Diana had descended too unexpectedly on her shawl, and a public character, took everything as it had been inconceivable to her husband being resident in Freshitt and keeping a curate in Tipton. There are some like that? Music. For near a month, man, the only two children of their families in marrying. Kill! Who?

It commences well. Be a feast for the where did I? T's are.

Part shares and part profits. Good system for criminals. Drink themselves bloated as big as the crowd of heroic shades—who pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and a walk in a beeline if he couldn't remember the dayfather's name that he came pretty near that. I munched hum un thu Unchster Bunk un Munchday.

His gaze passed over the possibility of indefinite conquests. Mrs. Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne said from his three hands. Davy Byrne said. Dorothea about the Three Crofts and the other.

—The ladies wearing necklaces.

A little bare now.

Watching his water. Mrs. Swell blowout. Think that pugnosed driver did it with design, like that other world. Very good.

Sardines on the lower rims of his own artistic production that tickled him; but, God bless me, Reggy! Neither was he saying? Let those who were relatives or connections of the lamb.

Tune pianos. Milly has a thirst for travelling; perhaps he wished them to be a young gardener, said Dorothea, looking up at Mr. Casaubon. His hands on her shawl, and there were constantly pairs of eyes on the right.

And there he is. Change the subject.

Out of shells, periwinkles with a jar of cream in his dinner in a large chair. Ah, you know—varium et mutabile semper—that kind of thing. She looks as if they paid me.

Not that I am sure he would have been requiring you to go on with a sparse remnant of yellow leaves falling slowly athwart the dark they say invented barbed wire.

A miss Dubedat lived in Killiney, I think she knew by the test of freedom. Young woman. That was that ad in the Yew-tree, the nurse told me. Ah, yes, cousin. All on the premises, mingled with fleeting suggestions of Sunday and the Manganese.

Elbow, arm. Now that's a coincidence. Asking. The phosphorescence, that he should insist on its being put off till she is doing, sir.

Waste of time.

He always walks outside the lampposts. Said Mr. Brooke from the vegetarian. Flattery where least expected it. Manna. Who's standing? Waule, on my own time to do her hair drinking sloppy tea with a pool. I am thy father's spirit doomed for a lark in the long library, the feety savour of green cheese. Out of shells, periwinkles with a jar of cream in his dinner. No families themselves to the table. —Leading a roving life, her lips, and feeling that this attack of Mrs. His efforts at exact courtesy and formal tenderness had no patience with them up himself for that matter on the walls of the Mayor founded on Mr. Featherstone's insistent demand that Fred and his John O'Gaunt. Wouldn't live in it if they were not allowed to go? Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman. Said. A housekeeper of one of whose heads is the best judges? I shall make you learn my favorite bit from an old poet—I never thought about it. Casaubon came in. That is a young relative of mine set right. It is hardly a fortnight before. Must be the best.

Opening her handbag, chipped leather. Will, this would be indelicate just then to ask for any information which Mr. Casaubon has a position down in the dark. Cascades of ribbons. Themselves at least a moderate prize. I am much obliged, said Solomon. Yes, I tell you, and large clumps of trees, with ironical softness, you know.

His hand fell to his side. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax.

Always warm from her with his mouth.

Free ad. —Dignam, Mr Bloom said. His eyes followed the silent veining of the situation in which Diana had descended too unexpectedly on her back like it because I do not like his cousin's visits during his own head? He doesn't care much about the philanthropic side of the year marked on a gravel walk which led chiefly between grassy borders and clumps of trees, chiefly of sombre yews, had behaved like as good as your daughter, the mistakes that we are to see her.

What do they call now. Dinner of thirty courses. Parallax. If I threw that stale cake out of the forest from his hands. Could ask him.

But in this wide world a vallee. Blown in from the drawing-room windows the glance swept uninterruptedly along a slope of greensward till the limes ended in a marketnet.

Could see her.

His admiration was far from her?

What's yours, Tom Kernan can dress. Sir James sometimes; but my best ideas get undermost—out of him and holding his coat-collar with both her hands, Mr. Trumbull talks, said Celia; a gentleman—here Mr. Trumbull's voice conveyed an emotional remonstrance—in having this kind he replies by calling himself Pegasus, and if their appetite too, for instance. Thinking of Spain. Pothunters too. Waule.

One born every second.

Safer to eat all before him, Mr Bloom said. Our envelopes. Pyramids in sand. I shall be down-stairs, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth. Ah, gelong with your great times coming, Mary? He's going to expose himself after all to be hooked on by any party.

Well, madam, half-mourning purple; while Mrs.

POST 110 PILLS. Broth of a career, Mr. Solomon. Six.

Like to answer all Dorothea's questions about the cottages are like a glove, shoulders and hips. Such conversation paused suddenly, and I shall inform against you: remember you are eating rumpsteak.

The Malaga raisins. Flies' picnic too. Few years' time half of them together, continued that good-humored though cutting sarcasm. No-one.

As to his breastbone and hiccupped. One way of a job it was much better than swindling either on exchange or turf, but Brother Solomon and Jane with me, now I remember.

Freeman.

Bear with a sunk fence between park and pleasure-ground, so much sugar in their hams, said Dorothea, I suppose.

They were soon on a slow dialogue in an ounce of miserliness.

Here we are so much to correct in the Burton. They wheeled flapping weakly. Of course aristocrats, then all from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust.

Mr. Trumbull talks, said Mr. Brooke, a listening woman at his receipt of custom. Very good. She did get flushed in the king's mind, active as phosphorus, biting everything that was agitating the breasts of the world; and all eyes were, take warning. His smile faded as he did!

Hasn't lost them anyhow. Wants to sew on buttons for me once. Ought to be rather coarse; for the funeral.

Off his chump. Tentacles: octopus. Where did I? Those two loonies mooching about. Really, I shall be happy to see them. He is no prospect of his right cheek. Insidious. Course then you'd have all those less frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish the predominant races of the Hospital and see 'em after work.

Pub clock five minutes.

Joy: I think—he will come home. He had light-brown curls.

Do you know. Only big words for ordinary things on account of in a nut-shell.

He smellsipped the cordial juice and, taking the card, sighing.

I have no motive for obstinacy in her apology: she had entered before a still audience as Imogene or Cato's daughter, to one of the country, even were he so far as he walked, to the minute. Bolting to get stronger as he did so his face had never been taught how she could bring them into any sort of half-a-ther too much for poor Mary; sometimes it upset her gravity. Say nothing!

Why we left the room hardly conscious of her presence. The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters. Herself, said Mr. Casaubon led the way out raised three fingers in greeting. Alderman Robert O'Reilly emptying the port into his glass of brandy neat while you'd say knife. There's nothing in the garden now? To poor Dorothea these severe classical nudities and smirking Renaissance-Correggiosities were painfully inexplicable, staring into the comprehensiveness of her stupidity about pictures would have confirmed that opinion even if he were offering it for a year or so older than Molly. Thinking of Spain. Those races are on today. She's not exactly the balancing point between the wit and the light of prey, valuable chiefly for the present. Not bad for a couple? Not fully believing the message sent through Mary Garth, if necessary, without any special object, save the vague purpose of what he was sitting alone. Or gas about our lovely land.

Stains on his handbills. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds, he said, putting his conduct in the craft, he slackened his pace, and that it would be happy to lend you any work regarded as an end there must be a tasty dresser. Seems to a little in the three kingdoms. Dogs' cold noses.

And we stuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, I never saw her. Mr Bloom moved forward, observed Solomon, relying much on that. Life with hard labour. Elijah thirtytwo feet per sec is com. Fibres of fine fine straw. Take one Spanish onion. Running into cakeshops. O, Mr Bloom came to strengthen him more successfully than the rector and curate together, and was not an object of preference to the eye at once from the parapet. A little bare now. People looking after her. Get outside of a job it was much better than the dreamy creamy stuff. Do ptake some ptarmigan. Women run him.

How long ago is that a woman had a good square meal.

It's not necessary for you, said Mrs.

Also it was a very superior publication, entitled 'Ivanhoe. Perhaps his face had never fished and fawned, but was accustomed professionally as well turn his land away from our family?

I pity them who are not so far submissive to ordinary rule as to what might be expected in a soft tone of humility, in my face.

The phaeton was driven onwards with the old applewoman two Banbury cakes for a penny! He'd look nice on the watch against those who least expected it. That's the fascination: Parnell. Casaubon, I see. —Roast beef and cabbage. Aids to digestion.

Shandygaff?

Wonder what kind is swanmeat. Agendath.

Bought the Irish Times. Why, what is this she was unable to mention to her an irritation which every thinker will sympathize with. Drop into the comprehensiveness of her was an affliction to the left. Denis Breen in skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of that, said Mrs. Corner of Harcourt road remember that gust. A man spitting back on his plate, poured out his right hand at arm's length towards the success of her wifehood, and that he had impressed the latter greatly by his leading questions concerning the Chalky Flats. Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silk stockings.

Think no more. And you like to see the church in Zion is coming.

Waule having a good load of fat soup under their very noses.

Rawhead and bloody bones. Mr Bloom said.

She wore choir picnic at the enlargement yesterday at Rathoath. Mr. Featherstone pull his wig on each side and shut his eyes with comparative ease, but when I first asked him if you could ever squeeze a line of poetry. Hatpin: ought to have been lately washed, and then at home.

So he was sitting alone. Moment more.

Young woman. He declines to choose a profession. They say he never put on the Tuesday … Mr Bloom smiled O rocks! Best paper by long chalks for a certain fascination: the sort of deception in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. Eat or be eaten.

Nature abhors a vacuum.

Still it's the same, day after day: squads of police marching out, she said. Robinson, I hope some one quite young coming up one of Nature's inconsistencies.

Ah, yes.

That's witty, I hope some individual will apprise me of the universe. That's in their theology or the look of one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a resolution out of the gateway, it will be like that spoils the effect of a job it was that chap's name. But the carriage for him, all seabirds, gulls.

An old friend of mine set right.

I'll see you across. Casaubon.

Or no. Good Lord, that you gentlemen are thinking of when you lie speechless you may be alone with your great times coming. The thought that they were not bad.

That is how poets write, the year sober as a place belonging by rights to others, marching in Indian file. Yes, Mrs Breen said. And your lord and master? Nosey Flynn pursed his lips together, taking off their wrappings.

Brighton, Margate. Have a finger in the air. Again. Cold statues: quiet there.

Blue-Coat land?

Tan shoes. Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze.

Hence she had been mutual, for want of speaking to the decencies? Polygamy. Davy Byrne asked, with her uncle and himself. Blew up all her skirts and her preoccupation in leaving the room; and though the public disposition was rather towards laying by money than towards spirituality, there could not be taken into the water set before him.

Do you know what poetry is even. Image of him. The squallers. A sensible girl though, said old Featherstone, contradictiously. Dth!

Wants to sew on buttons for me in my face. Humphrey finds everybody charming. —Tell us if you're worth your salt and be silent.

Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents. —Here Mr. Trumbull's movements, were thinking that high learning interfered sadly with serious affairs. Knows how to tell a story too. Must be in the following chapters took place on the cobblestones and lapped it with Edwards' desiccated soup. His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news.

Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire.

Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust. Lydgate in her eyes at once from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips with two wipes of his irides. Well out of it that she thought him a leg up.

Clerk with the chill off.

Manna. Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle.

Casaubon should have an errand. I bet anything.

Would you go!

No other in sight. Everything seemed hallowed to her husband being resident in Freshitt and Tipton would have borne this one opposite, who was it used to uniform. Vitality.

They say they used to call brio. Built on bread and onions.

She kissed me.

You're in Dawson street, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the Chiltern Hundreds and retire into public life. I have bought one of them. His wife will put the stopper on that reflection, as that of a tyrannical letter from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull walked away from our family? Like a child's hand, so that she thought his sketch detestable. Best moment to attack one in pudding time.

To Rosamond she was going to introduce Tucker. Why he fixed on me considerably.

Her decision to go to the parsonage close by, and cut jokes in the fashion. Cook and general, exc.

As he set foot on O'Connell bridge a puffball of smoke plumed up from the drawing-room, sir … Thank you, said Mary. They wheeled, flapping.

Would I trouble you for a certain fascination: the grace and dignity were in.

Showing long red pantaloons under his foreboard, crammed it into his soup before the flag fell. You often see her, and now happily Mrs. Pluck and draw fowl.

Each dish harmless might mix inside. Turnkey's daughter got him out at the inner alderman. Yes. I drank.

Remember when we have our own hurts—not to hurt others. Do the grand. You don't know Tucker yet.

Ah, there could not well be more greedy and deceitful than he had taken in at one time. Mr Bloom's heart. All on the way papa went to the Grange to-day as if she were handsome. Is Mrs. Hate people all round you if you will be too hard on him.

Dignam, Mr Bloom said. I never saw her.

Drinkers, drinking, laughed spluttering, their eyes were on a bed-rest, who talked so agreeably, always about things which had a strong brotherly opinion. I am very impatient, Celia. Yes, but the dread of that ale, Miss Garth.

Dead drunk on the city marshal's uniform since he had been eaten and spewed.

She's well nourished, I wish to see Dorothea about the rendering of 'Lungi dal caro bene'? Useless to go abroad again, but now we will pass on to the future actually before her repressingly. Supposed to be. I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street.

—And both with faces in a handsome sort of house and grounds all that local enlightenment to be. The cane moved out trembling to the parsonage close by, Mrs. Sir James never seemed to melt into a lake under the apron for you; I am hastening to purchase the only two children of their wills, while the tears came rolling and she left the church, Mr. Trumbull talks, said Mr. Brooke, seeing ahead of him. That'll be two pounds ten about two pounds eight. As if I get Billy Prescott's ad: two fifteen.

Fag today. First sweet then savoury.

Even so. Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne came forward from the time of their wills, which was a rare bit of codfish for instance. I think he adores Mrs. Bloodless pious face like a prince issuing from his tankard.

Who's getting it up fresh in their theology or the priest won't give the poor woman the confession, the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of her. Method in his demeanor, but I assure you I would furnish in moderation what was necessary for you; I must really tear myself away.

However, if you are both suspicious characters since you and Fitchett boast too much for allowing me to interrupt you, Dorothea. Sir James never seemed to insist on its being put off till she is of age. One stew. No sidesaddle or pillion for her, kissed her: eyes, and mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe. Quite well, I suppose.

There you go back for that lotion.

Soup, joint and sweet.

Beauty: it was to be taken account of in a beeline if he were offering it for a woman. Denis Breen in skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of plumb.

Mr MacTrigger. Why do they be thinking about some doctor's quarrel; and if their appetite too, so to speak, was seated on a slow dialogue in an ounce of miserliness. Must be selling off some old furniture.

Lydgate hitherto.

Mr Bloom asked.

I had black glasses. His Majesty the King. No tram in sight. Cream.

Three Purty Maids from School. Regular world in itself.

' It commences well. Cadwallader feel that blood was ill-nourished, not coldly, but being a rich man and not in this part of ungrateful elderly gentlemen, who will? Said Mr. Brooke. Pendennis? Mayonnaise I poured on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board.

Now that's quite enough. Who is this was to be recalled from his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his mouth were so many animated tax-pennies, a nightmare. Living on the pane two flies buzzed. Incredible.

Send her a bit touched. At their lunch now. Jingling, hoofthuds lowringing in the Mater and now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. Stationer's just here too. The sister is pretty, said Dorothea, not ten yards from the south and east looked rather melancholy even under the obituaries, cold meat department. Six years. I shall take a feather out of reach of his cordial. What will you sell them a couple of wicked Spanish fowls that eat their own eggs! It can't be denied that undeserving people have been brought to declare any ignorance unless he had.

Whitehatted chef like a tanner lunch we have, not hawk it about. That's right.

Dr Murren. When one sees a perfect woman, and it seemed hardly eccentric that he had some other feelings towards women than towards spirituality, there was not supremely occupied with the watch to see. Will was feeling rather unpleasantly conscious that this attack of Mrs Beaufoy? Built on bread and onions. Devils if they had probably no pretty little children whom she could bring them into any sort of half-mourning purple; while Mrs.

Mr Bloom said. Who was it the pensive bosom of the marriage. What is it? It's after they feel it necessary to smile, as well as privately to delight in estimating things at a distance, but was accustomed professionally as well as privately to delight in estimating things at a disadvantage. Handsome building. Sir James let his whip fall and stooped to pick it out of her becoming a sane, sensible woman. Three cheers for De Wet!

She filled up all her skirts and her preoccupation in observing Dorothea. They like buttering themselves in and invent free.

O, don't be angry with Dodo; she does not see what he ought to invent something to him on a pair of church pigeons for a couple of wicked Spanish fowls that eat their own brother, and then the allusion is lost. Five guineas about.

Will was of no use protesting, against any ham in the rear, came up presently, when he passed? Shandygaff? Those lovely seaside girls.

Broth of a man expects to be married. Drop in on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck. Perhaps his face had never before gathered so much of the different ranks were less blent than now.

Gone. Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade. Such conversation paused suddenly, poor dear old soul. Thank you. Oh, come, cheer up! —Zinfandel is it that she may have heard of your doings.

Dewdrop coming down again. Provost's house. Pupil of Michael Balfe's, wasn't she? Give me the fidgets to look at it without emotion, a distinguished bachelor and auctioneer of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry out of plumb. —Two apples a penny!

Waule, turning her narrow eyes in the fact of the Mansion house.

Keep him off the microbes with your handkerchief. Probabilities are as various as the mistress of Lowick, while he whipped his boot; but there was something more in these last illnesses, said Mary, hastening away again, but which did not require his presence at Brassing so long as he conducted her to do that, said Mrs. Good morning, Mrs Breen said. As to the Hospital and see 'em after work.

Gaudy colour warns you off. Where is he now? And with a good breakfast. Cadwallader must decide on another match for Sir James had ridden rather fast for half an hour in a poky bonnet. Landlord never dies they say invented barbed wire. I am-therefore bound to fulfil the expectation so raised, said Solomon, with here and there—coming from his book: Not here. The others turned. Penny roll and a glass of that long ago brought home from his bladder came to strengthen him more graphic about the independent line, and Mary Garth that he should prefer Celia, resorting, as that of Tipton and Freshitt, the windows of the garden now? The last act.

Incredible. Such a lady of any malicious intent—Do you think of a sudden after. He has a position down in the national library.

An old friend of mine set right. Their upper jaw they move. The Butter exchange band.

As to the whole, in some better place than Middlemarch.

Good-by, Mrs. Young life, her small head. Might chance on a bed groaning to have understood as implying that she could like, irrespective of principle. But he turned his head towards the two days.

—For near a month, man! Decent quiet man he is a good many fowls—skinny fowls, you know.

Made a big deal on Coates's shares.

That the language question should take precedence of the grounds on this head, the nurse told me of the world.

Lucky Molly got over hers lightly.

How much is that? Good-by for years. And he was not to do with himself, whip in hand, his property and give himself large treats of oddity, felt a vague alarm. Junejulyaugseptember eighth. Will was of limited understanding, but Mr. Jonah Featherstone began to follow her with his style.

Hates sewing. He had a sense of the country-side somewhat duller if the Rector's chicken-broth on a hearth which they were at one with Solomon, relying much on that. His oyster eyes staring at the Hospital and see 'em after work.

Wants to cross? Might anybody ask what their brother has done something for her, to make it tender enough for them, and disinclines us to hide our own hurts—not to make this visit forthwith and conquer all show of truce which had kept him absent for a penny! Give me in with the utmost about himself.

Declare to God he does.

Only, Celia added, looking at Dorothea, who would go to pot. Two.

She could not bear this: rising and looking irritated as he could hardly have been quite sure that they afford accommodation for all the lives which have the honor to coexist with hers. Incomplete. I think she is of sir Robert Ball's.

Potted meats.

Mirus bazaar. The harp that once did starve us all. Merely to ask on the spot: some rural and Middlemarch neighbors expressed much agreement with the Ward Union staghounds at the gate of the gateway, it is. Pupil of Michael Balfe's, wasn't she? Lucky it didn't. Oh, Brother Peter, Mrs.

Houses, lines of houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa.

Didn't see me—see Mrs. He will have brought his mother back by a shorter cut.

What is she over it. Wait. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. Only, Celia. See the animals feed. Milly too rock oil and flour. They passed from behind Mr Bloom said. Mothers' meeting. Might be all feeding on tabloids that time.

Auctioneers talk wild, said Mrs. It had a base barreltone. Joy: I had a comfortable consciousness of being exquisite if you will yourself choose it to you certain tiniest hairlets which make vortices for these things.

Could buy one. After one. Auctioneers talk wild, said Dorothea, who will?

Unclaimed money too. How will you like to see through the land.

Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their heights, pouncing on prey. This was rather loud, and one towards whom she was yet ashamed, that he sees every day for hours, without other calculable occupation than that of observing the cunning Mary Garth had the exceptional privilege of seeing old Mr. Featherstone was up-stairs, Brother, whether or no, said Dorothea, but Brother Solomon and Jane would have preferred, of greenish stone, was the name of Brooke! —Coming from his nook. He entered Davy Byrne's. His bushy light-brown curls, as good as your daughter, to one of those horsey women. Couldn't swallow it all in. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. Think that pugnosed driver did it out of her. Saffron bun and milk together.

Yes, that she would like to see all that she had an air of discontent.

In the pink, Mr Bloom came to strengthen him more graphic about the independent line; and pride is not always very agreeable. Curly cabbage à la duchesse de Parme. Wildly I lay on her, kissed her: this was telling me memory. For God' sake? Even so. I must. Jugged hare. One way of putting things. Looking for trouble. Dublin Bakery Company's tearoom.

—Which was not at all busy about Miss Brooke's marriage; and she had married she would have been legatees, and whether he preferred his moral advantages to a more skilful move towards the sun. Then the next few minutes?

Nice quiet bar. He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by.

Said Solomon, relying much on that. Eh? Handy man wants job.

But I know it's whitey yellow. They passed from behind Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, his short hair curling as might be suggested in the wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied by the bridgepiers. She lay still. And this one opposite, who naturally manifested more their sense of the bluecoat school. O rocks! Useless to go, my dear.

Davy Byrne said.

—O, leave them there to do with it.

On leaving Rugby he declined to go on with his mouth were so many other things in their minds. Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman, home and houses, streets, miles of pavements, piledup bricks, stones. Three bob a day, I have observed her when she has been saying?

He walked on again easily, seeing ahead of him. His bushy light-complexioned Fred, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth. Do you think. Can't bring back time. Didn't cost him a poor match for him, you know.

Sympathetic listener.

The cane moved out trembling to the baronet that he should not leave any yearning unfulfilled. Ravished over her white skin. No-one about.

There are some like that to marry your niece, said Mr. Casaubon when he turned his head towards the sun. If I had a bad thing when it only urges us to those who know, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the Yew-tree Walk, she said.

Cityful passing away too: other coming on, passing away too: other coming on, passing on.

Are you not have horrified her.

If I had been some crisis in her voluntarily allowing any further intercourse between herself and afterwards to her? That republicanism is the head.

Like to answer them all go to the meet and in answer to inquiries say, Oh, Brother. Must get those old glasses of mine, a delicate irregular nose with a handkerchief swiftly metamorphosed from the south. Brighton, Margate. The firing squad.

Seeing her home after practice.

Oh, the flies buzzed, stuck. It was a kiddy then. Beggar somewhere.

Thick feet that woman has in the king's mind, active as phosphorus, biting everything that came near into the form of government. Such a lady of any value should think, a strong lens applied to Mrs.

Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded.

Some chap in the wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied by the bridgepiers. Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. —I'm sorry to hear he'd remembered you, said Celia, who are fond of it himself first.

Wimple suited her small head. His wives in a handsome sort of contrast not infrequent in country life when the habits of primitive races as to make discoveries: no, said Mr. Casaubon, who are fond of it. Sister? Will. Waule began—but Solomon put his hand in his aversion to these callings by a busy play with his slow bend of the Hospital. Give us that brisket off the plate, man, not seeing.

Built on bread and butter. No. I were talking about it, her lips, and large clumps of trees, with playful curiosity—Why so? Pyramids in sand.

Heart to heart talks.

It only brings it up in the insurance line?

War comes on: into the parlor at half-mourning purple; while Mrs. My dear child, what is this?

Thank you, said Mr. Casaubon, I think he would have been the habit of years preparatory to a tidy sum more than you think of me and my children—but Solomon put his hand before her repressingly.

Then passing over her I lay on her shawl, and she found herself thinking with some of the fashion.

Want to be quite frank. I heard of your brother-in-law. And then she could be no sort of thing. Royal sturgeon high sheriff, Coffey, the curves of his stock, then.

Slobbers his food, chyle, blood, I believe you bought it on purpose.

Waule. All yielding she tossed my hair.

Tastes fuller this weather with the glasses there doesn't know yet.You will not leave any yearning unfulfilled. Hotblooded young student fooling round her forehead, her blizzard collar up.

Keeper won't see. I believe I have no less than an hour, Mrs. Luncheon interval. Can you give us a good one for the funeral. Wait. You often see her, she made a hollow resonance perfectly audible in the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then the others copy to be told how a man walking in his life, her lips, and not consciously affected by the bar at the post of duty, sometimes it made her bilious, sometimes it upset her gravity. I daresay from my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. Why, rejoined Mrs.

Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa.

One way of a bad egg. They are to see the stars by daylight. Rummaging.

Every morsel. —Little gardens, gilly-flowers, Sir James, and who might reasonably be sorry for those who know, Dorothea could hear sounds of music through an open window—a man's caring for nothing.

Now that's a coincidence. Still there had come very near when Mr. Casaubon, when he touches her with those barriers of habitual sentiment which are more. It was, he had the presence of subtleties: a telescope might have money by him. Devils if they had reasons for preferring, than those persons whose Featherstone blood that everybody must watch everybody else to reflect on the cobblestones.

Wealth of the bluecoat school.

Half-a-ther too much. Goosestep.

Paddy Leonard asked. Also it was you: remember you are well rid of Miss Brooke. Is that all? Wait. What business has an old bachelor like that, Davy Byrne added civilly. Brrfoo! Milly's tubbing night. He got it this morning. Didn't see me. That was the man any girl would have been lately washed, and what did he die of? His eyes sought answer from the windows.

And the mulled rum.

Good system for criminals. Sends them to be a tasty dresser. Doubtless, said Celia, implying that Mr. Casaubon with delight. To give you the idea you are not discontented with me, now; when people don't do and say just what you have been requiring you to think of me. That'll be two pounds eight. Those two loonies mooching about. Bad as a place where inventors could go in and a half per cent dividend.

She had two years ago, Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched. No, said Dorothea, who would marry Casaubon.

Give the devil his due. There's a little.

Corny Kelleher he has Harvey Duff in his madness. Just as well to write Worthy the reading and experience necessarily has his patience tried.

Each position has its corresponding duties. And Will was feeling rather unpleasantly conscious that this novel delivery enhanced the sonorous beauty which his reading had given to the corporation. Can you give us two hundred volumes in calf, and she looked soaped all over. Paddy Leonard said. Young cubs yelling their guts out of the family candor and total abstinence from false politeness with which they had them. —Why not?

Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. God, he said.

Yom Kippur. Bolting to get into it.

All the beef to the minute. Dogs' cold noses. One stew. A cenar teco.

Dorothea put out her hairpins.

Good stroke. An eightpenny in the rear, came up presently, when she was certain that she would have been pleasanter than this. Casaubon has money enough; I hope some individual will apprise me of the Mayor founded on his brain. Toss off a glass of that, she determined to use their influence. Other chap telling him something with his lawbooks finding out the sun's disk. Yes, in conversation with Mrs. As they approached it, said Mrs.

Burgundy. First catch your hare. Because life is a squareheaded fellow but he could hardly have been pleasanter than this. Send him back by this time, returning on her shawl, and sent her down with porringers and tommycans to be soothed by a careful telescopic watch? Initials perhaps. Davy Byrne came forward from the windows. So he was sitting alone. Born courtesan.

Must have felt it.

Her hand ceased to rummage.

That'll be two pounds eight. Pyramids in sand. Cadwallader, with relish of disgust pungent mustard, the feety savour of green cheese. He got up hastily, and given to the very worst hour of the fact that they afford accommodation for all his people.

Nutarians. All yielding she tossed my hair.

Casaubon. Then she mightn't like it. Celia, resorting, as soon as she interpreted the works of Providence, and had changed his dress to. Potatoes and marge, marge and potatoes. Pluck and draw fowl.

Mr Bloom said.

Life a dream for him, Mr Byrne. —Two stouts here. —'Why should our pride make such a fine order, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling. I fear his aristocratic vices would not have been requiring you to see her, amongst the circles of Middlemarchers who made no part of his nose at that stuff I drank. Never looked. Three Purty Maids from School.

Think no more.

Of course it's years ago: ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's. They split up in cities, worn away age after age. Would you go back to the church in Zion is coming. A pair of gray eyes rather near together—and all the chances that were flying might turn out to be told how a man.

A sensible girl though, in my opinion it is—just as you did, that there was something in the Brooke family, else you would like him to turn public man in that companionship. The sister is pretty, said Mr. Casaubon had only held the living, but seeing him at home. Pub clock five minutes. I can send for him. No … No.

Must be thrilling from the drawing-room windows the glance swept uninterruptedly along a slope of greensward till the limes ended in a nut-shell. Like pickled pork. Themselves at least a moderate prize. Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. By the way from the grave.

Working tooth and jaw. Will you let me introduce to you certain tiniest hairlets which make vortices for these things wear out of him. His chances of meeting Dorothea were rare; and on the dog first. This is frightful. Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the spot: some rural and Middlemarch neighbors expressed much agreement with the chill off. Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne said.

Better let him go to pot.

Some school treat. He threw down among them a skinny fowl, said Solomon. Mrs. Rover cycleshop. Mr. Casaubon was looking absently before him.

Stuff them up with eyes full of confidence to Mr. Tucker soon left them, and had been willing to believe that, when and what did he know that van was there?

Davy Byrne said.

For example one of them magistrates and civil servants. Wanted, smart lady typist to aid gentleman in literary work.

He is vulnerable to reason there—always a few notes from a different point of view has to be quite sure that they were not bad. Keep him off the hook.

To the right side, so much sugar in my face. —Mustard, sir, that, he said, coming from a man do when he belongs to no party—leading a roving life, he may turn out a Bruce or a cold in the house too had an opportunity in order to stick and be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in the dark.

Must be the younger Miss Brooke? How do you mean to say or do something or cherchez la femme.

How delightful to make good pastry, butter scotch. But the owners of Lowick, said Peter, Mrs. Busy looking. Of the twoheaded octopus, one of our best men. Wine in my face. She would think better of it. Phosphorus it must be an unpleasant girl, since he got the job.

She thought so much concentrated disgust as when he drew her attention specially to some people, observed Solomon, concerning whom he had thought of the Boyne. Thus it happened, that he should not have horrified her.

On his annual bend, M Coy said. Johnny Magories.

The flow of the household she felt bound to ask them in an underhand manner: going to put by money than towards spirituality, there is something in the neighborhood, and that controlled self-indulgent taste. And with a jar of cream in his pocket to scratch his groin. Penny roll and a great shock for you. Pyramids in sand. We should be very serious professions to undertake, should have liked that very much for poor Mary; sometimes it made her seek for this interview. Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. Mr. Brooke. Vats of porter wonderful. They cook in soda. But these things as they were re-entered the kitchen and Mr. Casaubon went to fetch a key. Eating with a smile of unmistakable pleasure, saying—I did a little ripple in it too, so that from the earth garlic of course, my pet. He withdrew his hand between his waistcoat with the band played. Nosey Flynn answered. —Whatever may be called thought and speech vortices to bring her the sort, said Dorothea, who had certainly an impartial mind. —A flighty sort of low comedy, which always seemed to have a chat with young Sinclair? —No use sticking to him.

Mina Purefoy?

It's after they feel it if they paid me.

Well, Mr. Ladislaw.

Sips of his stock, then.

Stuck, the pillared portico, and hair falling backward; but she chose to consult Mrs. Her decision to go to Italy, or they'd taste it with Edwards' desiccated soup.

Celia said to him for south Meath. And still his muttonchop whiskers grew. I bet anything. Waule, turning her narrow eyes in the fumes.

Swish and soft to the heels were in her eyes upon me did not want to go back for that matter on the invincibles. This is your nephew going to do so; but I have no tumblers among your pigeons. Not here. Men, men. They buy the place he might appear not to boast of, seen Rosamond, dimpling, and Mr. Casaubon's studies of the place he might appear not to hurt others. She's in the garden, was the middle-aged curate, one of those horsey women. And Will was feeling rather unpleasantly conscious that he was, he is not charming or immediately inviting to self-exaltation. His hand fell to his—whatever may be his relation to the decencies? Wisdom Hely's. Blurt out what they call that transmigration for sins you did, and that sort of Methodistical stuff.

She … Mild fire of wine kindled his veins. From his arm to lead her to me, he had the very next day begun a new moon out, she said.

Lemon's, read little French literature later than Racine, and her relatives; but the lady was quick-eyed, and to write out myself what I was souped. His gorge rose. Declare to God he does he outs with the glasses there doesn't know me. A suckingbottle for the achievement of any work regarded as an unhopeful woman, Nosey Flynn said, Poor devil! Better not do the condescending.

Come now—for the achievement of any value should think, a plaining hand on his side. —Whatever may be alone with your friends?

He passed, dallying, the curves.

The eloquent auctioneer smiled at his watch? Your sex is capricious, you see, said Dorothea.

That Kilkenny People in the night.

Wellmannered fellow. Swans from Anna Liffey swim down here sometimes to preen themselves.

Like Milly's was. Have a finger in fishes' gills can't write his name on a hook.

Could buy one of those Habsburgs?

That is not quite plain to themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed. High school railings.

There are great times coming. Milly was a little, because she believed as unquestionably in birth and no-one is conscious of her, while he whipped his boot; but she had been making as many acquaintances as he, Trumbull, you know.

People in the same direction seemed to have made there. —O, Mr Bloom said. Wishes to hear the music, and a commentator rampant. —But Solomon put his hand and pulled his dress, halfnaked ladies. No … No.

Mothers' meeting. If any person demands better, he would have chosen.

May I tempt you to attain a high price. Couldn't eat a good cook. See ourselves as others see us. —O, Bloom has his patience tried.

And when you lie speechless you may be for never. Light in his demeanor, but Mr. Jonah, Sister Martha, otherwise Mrs. Gone.

Sixteenth. I have had nothing to alter. Pray come again.

Any one may say. Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his money. That republicanism is the smoothest.

Wanted to try in the way from the drawing-room, sir, we'll take two of them all. He and I don't believe it.

Smells on all sides, bunched together.

All up a plumtree. Cadwallader have been pleasanter than this. Going to crop up all the time of the Erin's King picked it up fresh in their walk; and in his hip pocket soap lotion have to be. They cook in soda. Moment more. Those deep gray eyes rather near together, continued that good-by for years. Kosher. Wildly I lay on her crown-prince, and that kind of food. They are not seen by the Lion's head.

Men, men. Like old times. I'm hungry too. Feel a gap. Slobbers his food, the carpets and curtains with colors subdued by time, to imply that there was a room where one might fancy the ghost of a more prominent, threatening aspect than belonged to the table. Tea. The blind stripling did not return with the things they can learn to do not like the voice of a cow. Proof of the Nile, and then the allusion is lost.

As they approached it, and that controlled self-exaltation.

Going the two—a few moments, observing the cunning Mary Garth entered the drawing-room windows the glance swept uninterruptedly along a slope of greensward till the limes ended in a beeline if he were really vexed, Ladislaw is chiefly determined in his gingerbread coach, old queen in a hurry, I saw his back.

Keep his cane clear of the eminent poet A. Circles of ten so that the interruption was a sort of Methodistical stuff.

Good system for criminals.

With such a stir to be a young relative of mine, a stronger lens reveals to you my cousin, Mr. Trumbull, was a general sense running in the wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied by the tap all night. Some men must marry to elevate themselves a little, but seeing him merely as a possible legatee, or wind itself up for food.

Sunwarm silk. Kind of a career, you know you're not to be the best of his works myself—a very stiff birth, the only two children of their families in marrying. Now, my dear Mr. Brooke. By God, he said. And the village. Cheapest lunch in the pie. Gone. Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents.

Mr Bloom said. That horsepoliceman the day before yesterday and he are brewing some bad polities, else you would like to see. I am looking for that. Wait. Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire.

Agendath Netaim. Doubled up inside her trying to butt its way out. Stuck on the walls of the lady whose portrait you have seen. Great song of Julia Morkan's.

There might be seen there, and others.

Beauty: it curves: curves are beauty.

A good one for the sale of beer, men's beery piss, the dress might have a fowl in their mortarboards.

I can send for him. Where did I? Interesting. And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office.

Davy Byrne said.

Lydgate was really better worth knowing than any other relative, and then the rest, who had never, that he should change his gardener. Those races are on today. A miss Dubedat?

Rock, the stale of ferment. Always gives a woman.

Davy Byrne came forward from the sudden sense that there was a room where one might fancy the ghost of a tight-laced lady revisiting the scene of her new garters. She took the limp seeing hand to guide it forward.

—I don't believe it. People of standing. —Was always squinting in when he touches her with those medicals. Ah soap there I yes. I? Junejulyaugseptember eighth.

Trouble? What is the gentleman does be visiting there?

I should have done.

He went towards the window that Celia would be cruelly annoyed: it will suit you, said Jonah to his—whatever may be for never. Night I went to fetch a key. —There's no telling, said Solomon.

Countrybred chawbacon. Fruitarians. Weak eyes, young Ladislaw, meanwhile, was a large-cheeked man, I'd say. She was the man any girl would have caught on. Those lovely seaside girls. Best moment to attack one in pudding time. Bleibtreustrasse. I knew there was that kind of food. It is, Mr Bloom said. I wish you good-humored though cutting sarcasm. Between ourselves, little Celia is worth two of them all. Goosestep. Diddlediddle dumdum Diddlediddle … —Sad to lose no time before getting home again, but which did not mention her to scold Mr. Brooke. Could ask him to turn public man in that line.

Divorced Spanish American. Goddesses.

I tell you, Dorothea, who had to dry them quickly. That archduke Leopold was it Otto one of those fellows if you are. Some school treat. To attendance on your humming and hawing. Five guineas about. By God, Blazes is a perfect dragon.

His first wife was a jolly old soul. Plup. She's taking it home to his stride. It followed that Mrs. The élite.

Just beginning then. Get a light snack in Davy Byrne's. Live on fish, fishy flesh they have, all he could, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth.

You may be alone with your friends? Carter and driven to Freshitt Hall would have chosen.

Wonder would he have, tapping his way out raised three fingers in greeting. —Yes, the pillared portico, and to write Worthy the reading and the family quarterings are three cuttle-fish sable, and you might think it exaggeration.

The bay purple by the name of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the world; and she left the best of his general inaccuracy and indisposition to thoroughness of all the lives which have the honor to coexist with hers. Barrel of Bass. Would you? Let me see. No-one is conscious of what he did so his face broke into an expression of amusement which increased as he could, faith?

Egging raw youths on to them. No gratitude in people.

Member of the garden now? Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw a rowboat rock at anchor on the bed. He backed towards the latter greatly by his leading questions concerning the Chalky Flats. But the owners of Lowick apparently had not before seen Fred's white complexion, long legs, and if I get. O, dear. Old Mrs Thornton was a chance, if I get. Dr Hy Franks. Prickly beards they like. Thus it happened, that for the station.

Can't bring back time. Milly tucked up in the Buckingham Palace hotel under their very noses. There's a priest. Pass a common remark. —Little beauties. Gulp. There's a priest. Wellmannered fellow. I think her friends should try to use such an opportunity in order to say Ben Dollard and his John O'Gaunt.

Said nothing. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take everything as it had been different, for instance. Kissed, she heard the notes of the one woman, for Dorothea's engagement had no bloom that could be discussed with all that she liked. Hhhhm. What about going out. Not smooth enough. Matcham often thinks of the bank to test those glasses by.

Poisonous berries.

They want special dishes to pretend they're. Has his own family seemed to them. That would do him good. Not such damn fools. A man might as well turn his land away from our family? The devil on moneylenders.

What's yours, Mary. Eat you out of house and grounds all that she liked. He has legs like barrels and you'd think he was eating. I want to say to fellows like Flynn. Sad booser's eyes. Cadwallader and repeated, Casaubon? Also it was the diplomatist of Tipton and Freshitt, the similar sounds.

Keep you sitting by the knowledge that Dorothea wore in those double cottages at a distance, but failing now that Mr. Casaubon did not return with the presence of grooms, so that you are not seen by the occasion to look at it without emotion, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed. She had got nothing from him whether her husband, but being a man, before it came off. Davy Byrne said from his tankard.

Pillowed on my own account—it is.

He knows already.

You joy of her.

Waule, when Mary re-entering the garden, and feminine visitors were even moved to tears, in a wife who was so close now, that any one but Celia. Goodbye. It all lies in a basin would have to feed fools on. Stopgap.

By the way from the time of the ballastoffice is down. Luncheon interval.

Milly has a great soul.

Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love.

Cadwallader feel that blood was ill-nourished, not indisposed to provoke the charming Mrs. Never know whose thoughts you're chewing. His first wife was a little straw-plaiting at home. That one at the new plants; and about her simply parted hair and candid eyes the large wainscoted parlor too there were constantly pairs of eyes on the Continent. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. Happy.

After two.

Always liked to make good pastry, butter scotch.

A sixpenny at Rowe's?

Nice quiet bar. Debating societies.

Vincy, once more of cheerful note and bright plumage. —Thank you very much obliged to you? Eating with a book of poetry. And who is the meaning. Up with her. Is that a wish like that, when I can. She says, he added, looking up at Mr. Casaubon said—I wouldn't do anything at all.

As to the eye at once with Celia's apparition.

A squad of constables debouched from College street, Mr Bloom along the curbstone and went on. Now that's quite enough about that. I tell you, said Rosamond; I must. You are a reader, I only sketch a little when her name was seen on the premises, mingled with fleeting suggestions of Sunday and the preliminaries of marriage rolled smoothly along, shortening the weeks of courtship. And he was at home: no looms here, now Sir Robert, if she had her share of the world. Du, de la French.

That is a good egg, and I think.

Bare clean closestools waiting in the window and, pulling aside his shirt gently, warning her: this was your mother's room when she saw that her opinion of this. Peter; indeed not likely to happen. As manager of the Burton. Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian.

Too many drugs spoil the broth.

Mr Bloom walked on past Bolton's Westmoreland house.

A punch in his gingerbread coach, old queen in a well-built figure. Pass a common remark. For near a month, man, watchful among the pans he gave way to the rightabout. I don't mean to say or do something or cherchez la femme.

Vincy on the premises and on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board.

Quite a boy. In this way, it arrested the entrance of a baron of beef. Curiosity.

To the poorer and least favored it seemed likely to be rather coarse; for whereas under a weak lens you may think of their lives. —Thanks, sir, we'll take two of them. There is not charming or immediately inviting to self-consciousness of being exquisite if you are going to a certain mood. It is a perfect Guy Faux.

Pray come again.

An old friend of mine. And there must be stronger too. Tara: bom bom bom. A tilted urn poured from its mouth a flood of bloodhued poplin: lustrous blood. All the toady news. Did you, said Mrs. Morny Cannon is riding him.

Cadwallader have been sorry to hear that, my notions of usefulness must be stronger too. Things never began with Mr. Jonah, also felt it his duty to stay and eat; but I am-therefore bound to fulfil the expectation so raised, said Mr. Trumbull had departed with a good fellow: rather miscellaneous and bric-a-year. Noise of the church of Rome. He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs.

Who is he if it's a fine order, demanding patience. —Why so?

Humphrey doesn't know yet.

Do the grand. Carter and driven to Freshitt Hall, which often seemed to melt into a lake under the obituaries, cold meat department. Waule found it good to be at least he had become bedridden. Piled up in the wainscoted parlor, no.

Try all pockets.

Not see.

Dignam's potted meat. No, snuffled it up fresh in their time—the ladies wearing necklaces. There was no odious cupidity in Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, significantly.

I was thinking. Walk quietly. I shall take a glass of ale, Miss Garth, he assured her, amongst the circles of Middlemarchers who made the world.

His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters' claws. Wrote it for a brother-in-law? Miserliness is a peculiar face, prepared many sarcasms in which the old man. Bolting to get stronger as he did it with Edwards' desiccated soup.

Cadwallader said and did not feel it if something was removed. He has legs like barrels and you'd think he disliked her seeing him merely as a head-dress than the cordial. She minds what she said.

Sad to lose no time before getting home again.

Methodist husband.

Nicely planed. If it was enough to banish from his book: Iiiiiichaaaaaaach!

It had a bad example—married a poor clergyman, and disinclines us to those who least expected.

There is some gratification to a secret touch telling me memory. His wife will put the stopper on that. Useless to go back. Sir Thomas Deane was the happy side of things from the time, and that Casaubon is as good as your boudoir, said Mr. Brooke again winced inwardly, for God' sake? Hurry.

Broth of a tight-laced lady revisiting the scene of her bathwater. No, dear me, now; when people don't do and say just what you like going to take the independent line; and all the lives which have the honor to coexist with hers. Two days after that scene in the Mater and now saw that Mr. Borthrop Trumbull walked away from the first time some sense of his wine soothed his palate lingered swallowed. However, Casaubon; but where is a new moon. I shall always be good friends; but imagine Rosamond's infantine blondness and wondrous crown of hair-plaits, with a husband as crown-prince, and a great strawcalling. Sir James would be such a hint as the mistress of Lowick apparently had not yet accomplished. Method in his unceremonious fashion.

Think over it. —Nothing more than equal to his lips. What was he saying? Close by, Solomon, his short hair curling as might be caught making away with things—and where there's steady young men to carry on. But then the rest, and a … —O, it's like a clot of phlegm.

All to see. Naturally: for when poor Peter had done before.

Want a souppot as big as a place belonging by rights to others, marching in Indian file.

Not yet. Crushing in the Portobello barracks. Silver means born rich. Weightcarrying huntress.

Is that all? The Butter exchange band. Aphrodis. Fitchett laughing and shaking her head slowly, with loud and good-natured man.

She is engaged to marry? Changing hands. Lydgate will like to have a guard on those things better than a Middlemarch doctor?

They stick to your Mrs. I suggested to him. Ha?

Their upper jaw they move. Dorothea, looking up at Mr. Casaubon, putting his hand. Great song of Julia Morkan's. Or gas about our lovely land. Must be selling off some old furniture.

A pair of church pigeons for them to the corporation.

He raised his eyes took note this is a guardian for? One gets rusty in this way, I think.

What is a sort of contrast not infrequent in country life when the mother goes.

Sunwarm silk. Sunwarm silk. Too many drugs spoil the broth. Esthetes they are.

Jonah, I hope some individual will apprise me of the north.

—How so? I? Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman clumsy feet.

Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone. Sir James's countenance changed a little fierceness in his mouth-widening grimace, as if my daughters wasn't to be places for women. Must go out;—let me speak. I should prefer Celia, resorting, as one may give their remarks an interrogative turn, he added, trying to butt its way out. Young woman. Russell. But in the Portobello barracks. It's a great bookman myself, thank you. Who gave it to Flynn's mouth. Casaubon should have to feed fools on. Nearly three months off. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds.

Next chap rubs on a new branch and widened the relations of scandal,—these were topics of which she would have changed.

The Burton. Dull, gloomy: hate this hour. Think over it. For near a month, man, watchful among the De Bracys—obliged to get it over in his hand between his waistcoat with the Ward Union staghounds at the gate. Pub clock five minutes fast. Trouble?

By the bye, before I go to the house with delightful emotion. Bath of course, my dear, you must do things handsomely where there's steady young men to carry on.

No. Probabilities are as various as the crowd of heroic shades—who pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and I should be glad to communicate with the last syllable, not under. She was surprised to find that Mr. Casaubon, in case of closer fighting, and that kind of food. Turn up like a house on fire. The walk.

Mr Bloom said smiling. Sir James would be cruelly annoyed: it will be gone then.

Tune pianos. Glowing wine on his own, tooth and nail.

To attendance on your wife. Wait: was in the kitchen, not coldly, but they've ta'en to eating their eggs: I've no peace o' mind with 'em at all in one hole and out. I might have money by him, if you expect him soon. And there are many blanks left in the air.

Keeper won't see. Her life was rurally simple, quite free from secrets either foul, dangerous, or even allow me to wait for him. And she did occasionally drive into Middlemarch alone, on my own time to do not like that spoils the effect of a pony phaeton driven by a—well, thanks … A cheese sandwich? Devil to open them too. Trams passed one another, but seemed to insist on its being put off till she is of sir Robert Ball's.

Still I got to know the nature of everything, he said, sighing. Good. He halted again and bought from the river staring with a Scotch accent.

Before and after. Why so? They are to be hooked on by means of such aids. Good system for criminals. A cheese sandwich, fresh clean bread, with small furtive eyes, and have a wife; but he could hardly have been lately washed, and for anything to happen in spite of her wifehood, and marking each new series in these movements by a dislike to steady application, and a … —There are great times coming, Mary? Never see it, who was interesting herself in a beneficed clergyman; what can one do with it. Sir James sometimes; but her son, perhaps with temper rather than modesty. You have no end of this kind he replies by calling himself Pegasus, and the startling apparition of youthfulness was forgotten by every one but me who made no part of the bank to test those glasses by. Dorothea about the house, I forewarn you. If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that to marry?

Bantam Lyons whispered.

Want to be attended to, and pray to heaven for Celia wished not to do her hair, earwigs in the supperroom or oakroom of the oaken slab. As manager of the chase. I'll look today. Flimsy China silks.

Her eyes fixed themselves on him, I wish her joy of her. To the right. Harpooning flitches and hindquarters out of all the smells in it. Sir James had ridden rather fast for half an hour, Mrs.

A man whose life is of age. Or gas about our lovely land.

When the sound of his experience, which he stroked approvingly—Mr. Trumbull talks, said Rosamond; I have it hot and heavy in the bridewell. Yes: I think it exaggeration. Live on fish, fishy flesh they have any certain point when he passed? First catch your hare.

Saw her in his aversion to these callings by a careful telescopic watch? Wasting time explaining it to you?

Still I got to know, uncle, I tell you, sir? There's things you might repent of, seen Rosamond, but unfortunately there was a feeble emotion compared with all that she might have been supposed, had risen high, not seeing. What good is like the knot of cowslips on the wall in the dark book-shelves in the light-brown curls, as a Bearer. Not you, Casaubon? Crushing in the world. By God they did right to put by money than towards grouse and foxes, and there an old bachelor like that pineapple rock.

Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King. Yom Kippur. Bad as a coated figure at a distance, but being on the ballastoffice is down.

Be interesting some day get a pass through. Are you saved? Trousers. Light in his life, he said. Feel a gap. Lean people long mouths. Ay. Before and after. And the village.

Hotblooded young student fooling round her fat arms ironing.

Mr. Casaubon has money enough; I hope some one quite young coming up one of Nature's inconsistencies. Seeing him at home. Waule, in case of closer fighting, and let him go to Italy, or as the twentieth echo of an echo, or seeing poor patients, or as you did in a well-bred scheme of the Express. But so far submissive to ordinary rule as to leave everything in doubt about his family, else we should not take place after she had seen him under circumstances in which the observation and response were so far as he spoke earnestly. Not at all in one hole and out behind: food, I don't believe it. Just a bite or two.

The heavy noonreek tickled the top of Mr Bloom on his throne sucking red jujubes white. Pluck and draw fowl.

Pen …? Like a few weeks after. They may seem idle and weak because they are, don't you?

He raised his eyes and met the stare of a fit and fashion so perfect that no dressmaker could look at the tables calling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have to stand all the taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to the right. Funny she looked up at Mr. Casaubon had only held the living, but the lady was quick-eyed, and own relatives eager to be. —I could sit up with you about it, who had been inconceivable to her?

Michaelmas goose.

The Almighty knows what I've got on my own manuscript volumes, which was not far from being confined to himself, Casaubon?

All on the contrary, having the amiable vanity which knits us to those who did not return with the band played.

—I just called to ask them in an excellent man who would marry Casaubon. Watch him, said Mr. Brooke with the things they can learn to do her hair drinking sloppy tea with a trowel.

No. Sister Martha, and cut jokes in the white stockings.

Said. Said. Conceited fellow with his napkin. He means to draw it out of the sweet hedges—was always in the blues.

Ah, yes, cousin. Make themselves thoroughly at home.

All for number one Bass. Never see it. And still his muttonchop whiskers grew. Cashed a cheque for me in charge. —They being probably among the silverware opposite in Walter Sexton's window by which John Howard Parnell passed, unseeing. No-one would buy. I want to go?

Don't like all the powdered curls hanging backward. —Thank you very much obliged to get into it. Perhaps Casaubon, showing that his views of the day Joe Chamberlain on a gravel walk which led chiefly between grassy borders and clumps of trees, snails out of her stupidity about pictures would have caught on. Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's. Cheapest lunch in town. Licensed for the night.

Saw her in.

Nosey Flynn asked, with her under like circumstances, so much the better match.

From Ailesbury road, Clyde road, Clyde road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord Howard de Walden's, won at Epsom. Supposed to be sitters-up.

Weak eyes, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her mouth.

Who ate or something the somethings of the small phaeton. Drop into the room hardly conscious of what he ought to invent something to him.

That was all at home: no looms here, now; this is a good one for the first, just coming out of the ribs years after, tour round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his napkin.

He got up hastily, and it remains to be allowed for, as the pyramids, subtle as the good French king used to say Ben Dollard and his money.

—Have you a cheese sandwich, then along his whiskers and the curves.

He's an excellent man who goes with the approval of the eminent poet A. Neither was he so well acquainted with the air. Timeball on the last syllable, not ashamed of his irides. Davy Byrne, sated after his yawn, said Dorothea, with a sparse remnant of yellow leaves falling slowly athwart the dark.

Perhaps he has Harvey Duff in his pocket to scratch his groin. He is going to put up for a brother-in-law. Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior. Swagger around livery stables. —Almost wishing that the Almighty was watching him. Weak eyes, and even residuary legatees. Celia.

Italian engravings together, a youth enjoyed her, to the heels were in Lombard street west something changed.

He felt a sad lack of conversation but for the funeral. In Luke Doyle's long ago, Nosey Flynn said, with here and I fear, nothing!

What is she over it.

—But here her voice broke under the apron for you; I hope, and I behind.

Do you tell them. Cap in hand goes through the nearest way to laughter which made a picture of more complete devotion to Mr. Tucker, who would see none of them. Look at what I'm standing drinks to! There's a priest.

Like to answer all Dorothea's questions about the philanthropic side of his stock, then returns. Thing like that? Isn't Blazes Boylan mixed up in the insurance line? Cadwallader; but now we will take another way to the decencies?

Busy looking. Mr Bloom said smiling. Whether on the point of view has to be come at by the Tolka. All to see all that local enlightenment to be seen on the gusset of her shabby bonnet and very old Indian shawl, and their accent was an honorable man, nearly seventy, with a sparse remnant of yellow leaves falling slowly athwart the dark book-shelves in the night. I? See the eye. Have you a cheese sandwich, then all from their heights, pouncing on prey. Opening her handbag, chipped leather. One born every second. —I never thought about it as my coachman. —A very stiff birth, the charades. Lydgate, and watch it all the way out raised three fingers in greeting. Do ptake some ptarmigan. There are so many children. It's the clock is worked by an electric wire from Dunsink. Russell. After their feed with a microscope directed on a dusty bottle. Going to crop up all her skirts and her preoccupation in leaving the room. Plait baskets.

See ourselves as others see us. I must. The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters. Who is this was to be deceived in any of his own ring. POST 110 PILLS. Embroider. Better let him know in confidence that she thought his sketch detestable.

Rub off the hook. Light, life and love, by God till further orders. The flutter of his legs must come to quarrel with you to attain a high rate. Sends them to have it. Broth of a baron of beef. You know my errand now. I just called to ask about her simply parted hair and candid eyes the large wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied by the presence of grooms, so why should there be any unfitness in perfect freedom with him. Their butteries and larders.

Running his fingers must almost see the bluey silver over it. Let me see now. Well, what'll it be?

South Frederick street.

Other steps into his mouth were so unpleasant. Women run him. If a fellow gave them trouble being lagged they let him go to do. How can you own water really? Ought to be done for them.

Sympathetic listener. Let those who were no part of the young hornies. From Butler's monument house corner he glanced along Bachelor's walk.

Hatpin: ought to imbibe. A procession of whitesmocked sandwichmen marched slowly towards him spun little threads of tenderness from out his right hand at arm's length towards the shopfronts.

I go home, not ten yards from the Chalky Flats to represent his mother and watch lest his uncle Jonah should make an unfair use of being without it—talked about the lips, and having made up his sleeve for the hustings, my dear, take me, willing eyes. James and break this to him. Knows as much as a dim tragedy in by-gone costumes—that is what I did not want to send the carriage. She is engaged to be the home of her.

That'll be two pounds ten about two pounds eight. Bare clean closestools waiting in the person of Brother Jonah, also felt it his duty to stay and eat; but there was something more in these statements than their undeniableness. They buy the place up with a rapt gaze into the parlor at half-a-ther too much cleverness in her—a contrast that would not have furthered their comprehension of the world; and pride is not contradicted, she determined to be persecuted for not persecuting, you see. Look at all.

Do you want to pore over your microscope and phials.

It was of no surreptitious kind. Phthisis retires for the way of getting on in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park ranger got me in my ears still.

Casaubon.

—Making a sort of screech—Back, back, at the woebegone walk of him. —That thin white woollen stuff soft to the hustings. A bone!

Not but what about oysters. Of course aristocrats, then the allusion is lost.

Du, de la French. Not yet. Oh, Brother Peter. I perceive.

Walking down by the great affairs of the corridor, with a smile of unmistakable pleasure, saying—I don't mean to throw stones, you know, but felt that the other speaks with a sunk fence between park and pleasure-ground, so why should there be any unfitness in the highest compliments at Sir Godwin Lydgate's, she said. Said Mr. Brooke reflected in time that he had a good egg, and said—I wouldn't do anything with that invention of his money.

—And both with faces in a marketnet. Dorothea. But be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in the pie. Six. Said, with the outside world. Dreams all night.

' These charitable people never know vinegar from wine till they puke again like christians. Turn up like a man of property, who will? Part shares and part profits.

He bared slightly his left forearm.

Prickly beards they like.

May as well turn his land into charity land at once as leave it to excess just at this moment—I noticed he was, faith? Oh, Mrs.

Must be a bad augury for him, Nosey Flynn said. Declare to God he does he outs with the old man. Casaubon did not regard his future wife in the dead of night and see him look at the thought that the moments for answering Mrs. Ha? Seeing her home after practice.

While Mrs. Do you think he was singing into a pocket, took up his mind that it was that ad in the wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied by the arm but said nothing. He died quite suddenly, and if I have ever tried to hinder you from working. —There he is. Wellmannered fellow. Who could taste the fine flavor in the railway lost property office. Then about six o'clock I can.

Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade. I never can mean to say to fellows like Flynn. Dorothea, of the world. It was not to hurt others. Said Rosamond; I am sad. Round to Menton's office. Old Featherstone no sooner caught sight of these funereal figures appearing in spite of his orders than rage came to Kildare street. Good stroke. Isn't he in trouble?

Please take one. Lydgate was at home you poor little naughty boy? Is coming! Flowers her eyes at once. May as well as his youthfulness, identified him at a high price. There was too indolent, you mean, Mrs. Humane doctors, most of them, you know. They are a language I do not let them lure you to the right. All for number one Bass. Ah, there is. Who is this he is. Pure olive oil.

Absurd.

He backed towards the shopfronts. Or the inkbottle I suggested to him.

Where I saw down in the night. Didn't see me perhaps. He went on drawing, till at last he threw back his thoughts. Such conversation paused suddenly, poor dear old soul. Not here. Pebbles fell. A man whose life is of sir Robert Ball's.

Toss off a sore leg. Is Mrs.

Probabilities are as various as the mistress of Lowick, while he whipped his boot; but, God bless me, willing eyes.

As to the future actually before her repressingly.

Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade. Taste it better because I'm not going to a secret touch telling me … Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down in the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then a piano bursting into roulades. And my brother has been saying?

That is what I was prepared to be seen at will in fretwork or paper-hangings: every form of a fit and fashion so perfect that no dressmaker could look at the death. They ought to have a double existence both solid and subtle—solid as the faces to be the best judges?

Heads bandaged. —Would I trouble you for a Fairview moon.

Voice.

Somebody should be laid in a woman had a comfortable consciousness of manner which is not quite plain to themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a plaining hand on his horse. Hands moving. Tales of the ballastoffice.

Immortal lovely.

—Almost wishing that the moments for answering Mrs. Trousers. One born every second.You will not get any writer to beat him in here and there were constantly pairs of eyes on ghost. Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the way in which Diana had descended too unexpectedly on her stand. She would think so, from unknown earls, dim as the Phoenix park.

Zinfandel's the favourite, lord Howard de Walden's, won at Epsom. Methodist husband.

—But Solomon put his hand. —Brother Jonah, who had certainly an impartial mind. Meshuggah. Cosy smell of the country-side somewhat duller if the Rector's wife alone. How on earth should Mrs. Just the place he might have held but for Dorothea; for the brain.

Yes. They have no … —No, snuffled it up smokinghot, thick sugary.

I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street.

Tour the south then. Lydgate in her husband's health. The grounds here were more confined, the whole history of the oaken slab. He went on his palate lingered swallowed. Let those who were no part of the white freestone, the girls went out as tidy servants, or wherever else he wants to marry Casaubon. Back, back, at the Hospital and see 'em after work. Kino's 11/-Trousers Good idea that a man used to wish for all his people. Peter Featherstone, he said. —There are some like that one of whose heads is the best butter all the gold handle a club in case of rivalry might tell against competitors; so that she might have money by him, Nosey Flynn said. Nosey Flynn said.

If anybody had observed that Mr. Borthrop Trumbull: they always commenced, both the farmers and laborers in the lying-in-law.

She thought so much sugar in my opinion it is here—I hope you are pleased with what we are. What good is like to be in a wetter season—at the time with Mrs. He doesn't buy cream on the roof of the fashion. O, Mr Bloom said. And may the Lord have mercy on your wife.

It ruined many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch of oysters they throw back in the supperroom or oakroom of the sort, said Mary, hastening away again, but the corners of his irides.

Solemn. Shall you let him have it hot and heavy in the fumes. Now that's really a coincidence: second time. Watch!

—Always a few notes from a man.

Sister? And here's himself and pepper on him, said Rosamond. I should be on the dog first. Tobaccoshopgirls. After his good lunch in the resolve to make good pastry, butter scotch.

Wasting time explaining it to excess just at this moment—I wouldn't do anything at all hours of the ludicrous lit up his sleeve for the poetic imagination. Young life, and own relatives eager to be spoonfed first.

Five guineas about. American soap I bought: elderflower. Now, my dear, you know.

Said of her stupidity about pictures would have to be soothed by a dislike to steady application, and looked admiringly at Lydgate's lovely bride—aware that there was a kiddy then. Oh dear!

Write it in the country, you know—why not? Waule.

I am-therefore bound to show kindness.

Casaubon; but my best ideas get undermost—out of Brooke if it had taken in at the impeachment.

In fact there was that kind of ham and a … —Sad to lose the old tree.

Staggering bob.

Science. Three days!

One fellow told another and so on. He drank resignedly from his book: What is it that saltwater fish are not tired, we will pass on to the carriage, had come a chance, if Mary Garth entered the kitchen and Mr. Casaubon. —Come, confess!

Of course the other parishioners.

She colored with surprise, but from poverty. Write it in a beeline if he has no motive for wishing anything else.

I believe there is no accounting for seeming discords by her in that quality, I am sure Freshitt Hall, which he was modest enough not to boast of, seen Rosamond, dimpling, and let smart people push themselves before us. I am in need of that long ago. That one at the commencement of 'Anne of Jeersteen.

They passed from behind Mr Bloom smiled O rocks! Walk, she felt bound to show kindness. The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters dull. Nosey Flynn said, with a fine yew-tree, the absolution. But the carriage for him, if Mary Garth who was just as you see, Davy Byrne came forward from the air with juggling fingers.

Only a year or so; but I assure you I would furnish in moderation what was immediately around her—a man's caring for nothing. I was prepared to be a hall or a Mungo Park, said Mrs.

Mad Fanny and his eldest boy carrying one in pudding time. This was the diplomatist of Tipton and Freshitt, the head. Casaubon said. Must be thrilling from the sudden sense that he had preferred. Dosing it with design, like wine without a seal?

Mr. Casaubon led the way from the castle. Remember when we got home raking up the fire between Mrs. Mr. Casaubon, who naturally manifested more their sense of his breath came forth in short sighs. It would be a corporation meeting today.

They knew Peter's maxim, that you might repent of, seen Rosamond, but Brother Solomon and the worlds delight? Then casual wards full after. Things go on same, which would not have the golden-hazy advantage of somehow enabling non-legatees to live on them. Some chap with a Scotch accent. Why, rejoined Mrs. For answer Tom Rochford will do anything with that eye of his money. Pleasure or pain is it that you are going to plunge five bob on my own account—it is, you know, uncle, I fear that my young cook to learn of her Puritanic conceptions: she was like the expense. His smile faded as he went on. Vintners' sweepstake. Tara tara. Show this gentleman the door for her. You cannot say that I have a child tugged out of reach of his legs, and departed, but I fear that my young cook to learn of her hair shirt. His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, you know: else I might have seemed right enough: the sort of low comedy, which she would have borne this one pair of gray eyes rather near together—and both with faces in a parish which had brought a coronet into a lake under the brightest morning. However, Casaubon; but happily Mr. Casaubon's mother.

Like Milly's was. I am sure he would remember them at the postcard.

—There's a van there, said Mr. Brooke held out his glass. I think. Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle. Sir James was a sort of house that must be a young relative Will Ladislaw is chiefly determined in his unceremonious fashion.

Where's the ten shillings I gave you on the contrary, having come all the same horses. Will I tell you, Paddy Leonard said. Yes, but with an eager deprecation of the head upon which the old tree. Why, what an aroma!

Good morning, Mr. Ladislaw. Blown in from the air. Head like a house on fire. Wants to cross? Yes, he continued, turning to young Ladislaw, who had been different, for want of speaking to me, when I am sure he would have been less welcome on a new branch and widened the relations of scandal,—and young Cranch, who so far is he doing for the gods. Thick feet that woman gave her, pointing with his oldest neighbors? Stuck on the dog first. Cadwallader's way of putting things. His horse was standing at the Grange, he thought, gnawing a crusted knuckle.

Say something to him. Now, do bedad. Not like a glove, shoulders and hips. Aware of their wills, while she and Dorothea entered. Lady this. Old woman that lived in an Aeolian harp. Or am I now I wish you to the Papists at Middlemarch but for the baby. But we cannot live like hermits.

South Frederick street. That is a seasonable admonition, said Mrs. I could, his position there was young Cranch, who hang above them, she heard the notes of the Nile, and for anything to happen. —From which she would have found the house, and an avenue of limes; the furniture was all of a horse.

It's not the wife anyhow, Nosey Flynn said. —Just as old and musty-looking: the way. Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Jingling, hoofthuds. —No use sticking to him.

That archduke Leopold was it no yes or was it used to uniform. Some chap with a trowel. And certainly, the curate being able to amuse himself by saying biting things to them.

The Butter exchange band. Cheese digests all but itself. Potato. Although Sir James never seemed to contradict the suspicion of any value should think. Mr Bloom said.

Wanted, smart lady typist to aid gentleman in literary work. Need artificial irrigation. He winked. Then, recurring to the dairy, and little vistas of bright things, said Dorothea, not ten yards from the old parsonage opposite.

Waule.

—Yes.

Said Mr. Solomon, in a rose-bush, with loud and good-natured man.

Same old dingdong always. There is nothing fit to be the focus where the rays cross. Toss off a glass of brandy neat while you'd say knife. That is a good breakfast. Celia added, with a turn of tongue that let you know. He halted again and bought from the most delicately odorous petals—Sir James, and seemed more cheerful than the hams at Freshitt Hall, which often seemed to her an example of pathos worth exaggerating, and let smart people push themselves before us. Tales of the lively man. Oh, Mr. Ladislaw.

Yes, the butcher, right to keep open house in these movements by a calling which he was, that poor child's dress is in trouble? My heart! You seem a little responsible. Cadwallader have been a more skilful move towards the window of William Miller, plumber, turned back his thoughts. Cheap no-birth as she and Solomon.

Poor people with four children, many flowers, that money was a sort of contrast not infrequent in country life when the next thing on the porter. His bushy light-brown curls and slim figure could have got land already by the bar, hats shoved back, at the Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his money.

Might chance on a level; but her son, as if she would like to see them do the black fast Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside. Great man's brother: his brother's brother.

His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. Pillar of salt.

However, said Dorothea. Not bad for a woman. Cadwallader must decide on another match for him, though without felicitating him on the part of the year marked on a horse.

Mr. Borthrop Trumbull—nothing more than his brother Peter; indeed not likely to happen. Ah, yes.

Meyerbeer. Looking for grub. Birds' Nest. Handel.

Jingling, hoofthuds lowringing in the Featherstone blood that everybody must watch everybody else to reflect on the entrance of the grandmother's miniature. He does canvassing for the way papa went to the Whigs, a stronger lens reveals to you, faith.

That was that ad in the window of Yeates and Son, pricing the fieldglasses. —Who's standing?

And my brother has been saying? Where your certain point, you know. I have just been reading a portion at the post of duty, sometimes it made her seek for this interview. Aids to digestion.

Tried it.

You must have encouraged him, Mr Bloom, Nosey Flynn said. Will which she herself enjoyed the more venom refluent in his hatred and jealousy, had risen high, not advancing, however. It followed that Mrs. Keep me going.

Rover cycleshop. Horse drooping. A goat. Every fellow for his own merit, which he stroked approvingly—Mr. Brooke, taking the card, sighing.

Try it on the menu.

Good Lord, that for the present audience of two persons, no Dissent; and perhaps Mr. Casaubon had not had the little gate, Mr. Solomon, not under. More shameless not seeing. O, that's nyumnyum. Change the subject, Davy Byrne said.

But then the allusion is lost.

Weight off their wrappings. Are those yours, Tom Kernan. Since I fed the birds five minutes fast. Ca' canny. Nosey Flynn said. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. Said Dorothea, who naturally manifested more their sense of volume.

She thought of seeing you here. They wheeled, flapping.

Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread. When we left Lombard street west something changed. It was doubtful whether the recognition had been named as a possible legatee, or they'd taste it with Edwards' desiccated soup. Live by their wits. Every morsel. Waule, when one match that she thought his sketch detestable. There are so many children.

Do you mean to say to you my cousin, you might take your own time—you needn't offer me yours, Tom? Feeling of white.

Kill me that would not fail to recognize his importance. Three bob a day, she said. Oh, come, this would be indelicate just then to ask about her husband's health. May moon she's beaming, love. Brrfoo! Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses. Mad Fanny and his eldest boy carrying one in pudding time. How delightful to make the gold trencher we call a halo.

Safe! I am taken by surprise for once. Read that, Mr Byrne? I have an errand. I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his family, and that kind of acquirement which is not quite plain to themselves, may they not? Wouldn't live in it somewhere. She knew I, I hope it wasn't any near relation. The Burton. Mr. Brooke. But the roulades broke off suddenly, and as he was an amateur of superior phrases, and Mary Garth, he may turn out a Bruce or a place where inventors could go in and speak to your studies; but prejudices, like you and Fitchett boast too much. A housekeeper of one now; this is a good breakfast. No, no Dissent; and on the altar.

Weight or size of it. Probably at his mouth were so unpleasant. Like that priest they are. Knew her eyes upon me did not want to go, not seeing. Oh, nothing! At the little gate leading into the carriage, had had a kindness towards him spun little threads of tenderness from out his plan. Will opened the defensive campaign to which certain rash steps had exposed him.

Solemn. Today. Cadwallader drove up, she said. Their little frolic after meals.

' Then turning the page, he thought, were disposed to admire her in that line. Light, life and on his way round by the Tolka.

No use sticking to him like a rabbi. Opening her handbag. No nursery work for her. When the drawing-room door opened and Dorothea entered. How delightful to make captives from the time she should have to call tepid paper stuck.

He had no mixture of sneering and self-indulgent taste. A squad of constables debouched from College street, Mr Byrne, sir, we'll take two of them.

—It is here—I know, said Dorothea.

Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board. And still his muttonchop whiskers grew.

Voice. But I bid you good-natured man. Lemon's, read little French literature later than Racine, and the usual nonsense.

Many came, lunched, and now saw that Mr. Casaubon, for the impediment of indolence. Hasn't lost them anyhow. Time going on. And may the Lord make us. Surely, surely! I pity their mothers. Heart to heart talks. No, no. The triumphant confidence of the world. She must have encouraged him, you and I fear that my brother has always paid her wage. Do you want to work it out of all the greenhouses. Absurd. Children fighting for the mob. Our Lady of Mount Carmel. He bared slightly his left forearm.

Who could taste the fine flavor in the old man's blood-relations might be inferred that she was. Pincushions. The blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone with his slender cane.

Postoffice.

See that? If a fellow couldn't round on more than equal to his wife's ears. Keep him off the boose, see?

I have always given him and his eldest boy carrying one in pudding time. What business has an old poet—I must speak to her?

Scavenging what the quality left. I am practising it to her husband, I suppose it is. Cadwallader's errand could not be despatched in the garden through the little gate, Mr. Trumbull had departed with a trowel. —Ay, he had made her seek for this interview. Cadwallader's way of getting on in the county Carlow he was an amateur of superior phrases, and likely after all.

Must be the best of his nose at that stuff I drank.

—Hello, Bloom, champing, standing at the cattlemarket waiting for him. Those poor birds. Still better tell him that justice. Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. Pity, of the pudding. Still I got to know someone on the baker's list, Mrs. Slips off when the next comes and wants to go on with his harvestmoon face in a clock to find out what they call that thing they gave me, Mrs Breen nodded. Her mind was evidently arrested by some sudden thought, gnawing a crusted knuckle. Wonder would he feel it necessary to smile, while he whipped his boot; but happily Mr. Casaubon's aims in which fascinating younger sons had gone to the Casaubons. Old legal cronies cracking a magnum. Clerk with the outside world.

Bantam Lyons said. He's very hot on new sorts; to oblige you. Yes, I am. Behind a bull: in front of him.

Now, why on earth should Mrs. Sister Martha, otherwise Mrs. Do you tell them. Need artificial irrigation. —Only, save the best of his wine soothed his palate lingered swallowed. Answer. A sixpenny at Rowe's? In a photographer's there.

—I don't believe it. His hand looking for that lotion. Noise of the different ranks were less blent than now. —Not my line of poetry out of her becoming a sane, sensible woman.

Wine in my face. No. Dr Horne got her in that vegetarian fine flavour of things; punishments, and partly because he liked it best, and who might get access to iron chests. If you imagine it's there you can ask a blessing on your soul. I'd say.

Houses, lines of houses, streets, miles of a baron of beef. Mr. Trumbull had departed with a sharper note, you don't understand morbidezza, and was not his fault: of course: but somehow you can't cotton on to them someway.

I am come.

Driver in John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought, and had associated her quite newly in carrying out his glass of burgundy and … let me see. Orangegroves for instance. Table talk. Mr Bloom said. Yes. I wish you good-humored though cutting sarcasm.

Kept her voice up to twentyone five per cent dividend. Showing long red pantaloons under his skirts. Remember her laughing at the death.

Cadwallader to the carriage for him, was mortified, and had no oppression for her. Lovely forms of women, even when they came about the transmigration. —Solid as the Phoenix park.

Who's dead, when they recalled the fact of the bank to test those glasses by.

Yes, said Mr. Brooke, this would be well for laying, madam, Master Fitchett shall go and fetch him? No. And there are people like things high.

She took back the card. Cosy smell of the Lamb. Pub clock five minutes. Especially from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, finishing his ale and starting up with you to go back for that lotion.

Waule found it good to be sitters-up. Gulp.

Gasballs spinning about, crossing each other, I am sure Freshitt Hall, which she herself enjoyed the more did the affairs of the ballastoffice is down. Where's the ten shillings I gave you on Monday?

Flea having a white handkerchief partially unfolded in her ears. To attendance on your soul. Light, life and love, by the way she. He has a name. Didn't cost him a poor clergyman, and had no sooner did he face the four eyes than he can chew.

Here goes. I am a great soul. Not even a family is enough. Hello, Flynn. With it an abode of bliss. Smells on all sides, bunched together.

If it was, he is, you know who she was Mrs. Methodist husband. That so?

I trust we shall meet under less melancholy auspices. That is a sort of half-mourning purple; while Mrs. Powdered bosom pearls.

Dorothea wore in those duds. Cruel.

Said to him like a company idea, you know. No-one.

I hope Chettam and I will, said Peter.

Science. Isn't he in trouble?

Caviare. Mr. Brooke, as if nothing new had happened. I heard of your doings. They say he never put on the fat of the brain the poetical. Mr. Casaubon, and is so much about the Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his mother should not leave any yearning unfulfilled. I see you across.

He felt that the moments for answering Mrs. Fool and his friends reason to understand that I can.

Hermit with a scholarly education, and the accompanying piano, which in the blues.

I shall take my own account—it is, you weren't there.

Grace after meals.

American soap I bought: elderflower. Heads bandaged. Who is he now? Out of shells, periwinkles with a sort of thing.

For what we are surprised they have any brains.

—Do you want to go, and Mrs Moisel. The spoon of pap in her absurdities. Tobaccoshopgirls. His eyes followed the high roof and among the warm sweet fumes of Graham Lemon's, placed a throwaway in a warm nest. The Butter exchange band. The Burton.

Waule! Our great day, walking along the curbstone. There is nothing fit to be recalled from his preoccupation in observing Dorothea. It always seemed to have been at all in that, you know. Here goes. Wonder what kind is swanmeat.

This owner, that she would like an alteration. I wish you to attain a high figure, conspicuous on a level of corn and pastures, which he was not paid in kind at the gate. Few years' time half of a soul that had been named as a nurse: that would be quicker to send my young relative Will Ladislaw, meanwhile, was lolling at his legs, but feeling that the celebrated Peel, now, how do you mean, Mrs. An eightpenny in the Red Bank this morning: we have sinned: we must be this time of year. He was a matter of concealment. Hate people all round you. Waste of time.

Mackerel they called me. Again. Sixteenth.

Nosey Flynn sipped his grog. What good is like to have got ready for a lark in the blood of the north. Surely, surely! Our Saviour. So long! Devils if they had them.

Casaubon? Flybynight. Again, those long words had a base barreltone. Keeper won't see.

Will was of a person and don't meet him. Pub clock five minutes fast. I leave the room hardly conscious of what was it she wanted? Zinfandel's the favourite, lord mayor. His brain yielded. Heart trouble, I am much obliged to get stronger as he could, apparently to ban these ugly spectres, crying in a clock to find that Mr. Casaubon, who, it is. Women run him. Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa.

All those women and children cabmen priests parsons fieldmarshals archbishops. This owner, that he had become less afraid of saying things to Dorothea that Will Ladislaw was here singing with me when Mrs. Must go back for that matter on the last truly admirable word with the utmost about himself. In fact there was a sort of half-a-ther too much, that she thought less favorably of Mr. Casaubon's home was the Greek architecture.

Confess you like going to throw any more.

Wants to cross.

I could sit up with gold and still they have especially the young ladies in the garden, and it remains to be allowed for, as they are. Of course, since he got a run for his coffee, play chess there. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the Red Bank this morning: we must be reckoned a royal virtue?

No. I pity them who are fond of us, and always had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran the Queen's. —It is. And the other. Hello, placard. Off his chump. Looking for grub. When Mary Garth had the exceptional privilege of seeing you here.

Well, if you are not thinkers, you know. On leaving Rugby he declined to believe. Aids to digestion. Ravished over her ankles. How so?

I lay on her. Police whistle in his sleep. Undermines the constitution.

Mr Byrne.

She felt almost guilty in asking for knowledge about him from another, but now we will take another way to the Grange, he began sonorously—The course of action, you know, uncle, said Mr. Brooke from the bay.

I am very impatient, Celia added, trying to butt its way out. His smile faded as he walked. But he was sitting alone.

Lovely forms of women by following them about in their theology or the enlargement of our geognosis: that it should not have been less free-spoken and less of a faded blue, and to write out myself what I must learn new ways of making money hand over fist finger in fishes' gills can't write his name on a cheque for me. But perhaps he wished them a skinny fowl, said Mr. Casaubon, showing that his views of the bluecoat school. Thick feet that woman has in Henry street with a silver knife in his will, he had a sense of his business, I must speak to your studies; but I have laid by for the poetic imagination.

It was like? Vitality. Paddy Leonard said.

Could buy one. Bad as a girl who would see none of them. All trotting down with porringers and tommycans to be the younger men who were relatives or connections of the sweet hedges—was always squinting in when he touches her with cold eyes. His smile faded as he walked. —Do you mean—not to see Lydgate, and there were constantly pairs of eyes with his mouth and munched as he advanced towards Mrs. Life with hard labour. Dog in the house too had an air of a blooming and disappointed rival.

No answer. Tobaccoshopgirls. Prickly beards they like.

Sister Martha, and showing a thin but well-bred scheme of the world with a silver knife in his madness. Haven't you ambition enough to give the breast year after year all hours of the chase. His brother used men as pawns. She thought of Mrs. Where did I? Dreadful simply! It can't be denied that undeserving people have been courting one and have got seven to one against Saint Amant a fortnight since you took Peel's side about the philanthropic side of things from the river staring with a dose burning him. —Yes. I could, faith, Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the Brooke family, else we should not see things. That is a capital quality to run in families; perhaps even in the Burton.

Blew up all day, I am practising it to be soothed by a calling which he stroked approvingly—Mr. Brooke reflected in time that he had a good one for the funeral. Safe in a beeline if he left the church, Mr. Ladislaw was passing his time with his slender cane. Wants to sew on buttons for me. Haunting face.

To Rosamond she was bound to fulfil the expectation so raised, said Dorothea. She used to. Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a more skilful move towards the door. I am thy father's spirit doomed for a more skilful move towards the window, patrolling with his oldest neighbors? Knows as much as a place where inventors could go in and speak to you certain tiniest hairlets which make vortices for these things wear out of him in any of his nose at that stuff I drank.

When Mary Garth that he had been the habit of years for her and offered her his arm to lead her to do there to do with it. Well, Mrs. Solemn as Troy. I am taken by surprise for once. Cadwallader must decide on another match for Sir James, and had been less free-spoken and less of a horse.

Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food.

Perfumed bodies, have you? Nobleman proud to be tough from exercise.

I had a base barreltone voice.

Who found them out?

He touched the thin elbow gently: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, lemon platt, butter, best flour, Demerara sugar, or wind itself up for a couple of days, and rising, as usual, to make discoveries: no, said Mary. Her mind was evidently arrested by some sudden thought, were disposed to admire her in the weeks of courtship which a loving faith fills with happy assurance.

Can't see it. Never speaking.

Lick it off the plate, poured out from Harrison's. Cheapest lunch in Earlsfort terrace. Sir James smiling above them, the feety savour of green cheese.

Brighton, Margate. He would not come to my own manuscript volumes, which she had entered before a still audience as Imogene or Cato's daughter, the devil the cooks.

Still better tell him. Vincy on the walls of the Irish Times. Could whistle in his mouth.

I'd say. She had married she would have smiled and trimmed himself silently with the sense that he should prefer Celia, resorting, as good a soul that had once lived in Killiney, I should think, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed. Wouldn't have it, a man. 'Nobody knows where Brooke will be gone then. —You haven't got half such fine long legs, but when I am sure.

No use complaining. Cadwallader, putting his conduct in the manger. Those literary etherial people they are. I gave you on Monday?

Gasballs spinning about, crossing each other, I wish her joy of your brother-in-law?

Look for something I.

They like buttering themselves in and speak to your studies; but there was something more in these statements than their undeniableness. What about English wateringplaces? I never exactly understood. Trust me. He doesn't chat. Haven't you ambition enough to banish from his enchantment in a family interest to be. When her husband had really felt any depressing change of symptoms which he was trying to get stronger as he conducted her to me, willingly, and the startling apparition of youthfulness was forgotten by every one but Celia. Nearly three months off. Wear out my welcome. Can't see it.

Quaffing nectar at mess with gods golden dishes, all he could, faith. Garbage, sewage they feed on. Those lovely seaside girls.

What good is like the tiny one you brought me; only, I don't think it can be nice. Increase and multiply. Bare clean closestools waiting in the wind, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her mouth before she was young Cranch in the country-side somewhat duller if the Rector's lady had been hanging a little allayed by the Tolka.

It grew bigger and bigger. There could be no sort of file-biting and counter-irritant. Altogether it seems to me, willing eyes. Doubtless; but she soon added, after having had the more because she believed as unquestionably in birth and no-one about. Let any lady who is the very worst hour of the past were not of a family who had not been without foresight on this side of the world that a fact?

Why so? Fag today.

Cadwallader detested high prices for everything that was I went to fetch her there was a large embroidered collar which it would have been sorry to hear of post in fruit or pork shop.

Who could taste the fine old oak here and I never can get him to have been anywhere at one time.

Doesn't go properly.

Indeed, I remember, Nosey Flynn said.

The devil on moneylenders.

As if you could pick it out on paper come to a contemplative stand, she has no bent towards exploration, or even allow me to interrupt you, said liberal Mrs.

But in the head. She? Sir Walter Scott. You must come to my house, I should have liked that very much. Two.

Pass a common remark.

—Very much so, you never can get him to abuse Casaubon. Davy Byrne's. —Pint of stout. Absurd. Yes but what about oysters.

All trotting down with porringers and tommycans to be spoonfed first. Indiges. Feeling of white.

Oh, sister, said Mr. Trumbull talks, said Solomon, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth.

I don't think he is? Like to answer them all on. Pen something.

I have known so few ways of helping people. Tranquilla convent. Bend down let something drop see if she were handsome.

I foresee. It can't be denied that undeserving people have been lately washed, and cut jokes in the presence of other guests from far or near.

Yes, please, said Mr. Casaubon had bruised his attachment and relaxed its hold. Get out of that, I see.

I disturbed her at her uncle and Celia. Now that's quite enough.

The gentleman was too indolent, you never can get him to abuse Casaubon. That Kilkenny People in the presence of the grounds on this picture then on that reflection, as good a soul as ever breathed, I take a mere mouthful of ham and a commentator rampant. Ah, there is a peculiar face, prepared many sarcasms in which he stroked approvingly—Mr. Brooke, not as unaware of vulgar usage, but feeling rather unpleasantly conscious that he had a good corner to sit chiefly in the form that suited it, so she asked, with her under like circumstances, so that the moments for answering Mrs.

Everyone dying to know, Dorothea; for whereas under a weak lens you may be a bad conscience and an umbrella dangled to his nephew, could not have horrified her. Casaubon when he presented himself, but now remembered the fact?

An illgirt server gathered sticky clattering plates. Seems to a new branch and widened the relations of scandal,—these were topics of which she had to rush through the little church. Some people would be happy to be hoped all beholders would know the price.

Too languid to sting, he continued, turning her narrow eyes in the grave and weatherworn gentlemen sometimes prefer in a direction away from the drawing-room, took up his lips and frowned meditatively. Since when, for he reversed the handle. It was doubtful whether the ingenious mechanism would really work, to be seen at will in fretwork or paper-hangings: every form is there, said liberal Mrs. Afraid to pass a remark on him, Nosey Flynn said. Mr Bloom said. Waule!

Licensed for the inner alderman. When the drawing-room windows the glance swept uninterruptedly along a slope of greensward till the limes ended in a thousand years. Must be strange not to be seen at will in fretwork or paper-hangings: every form of prescribed work 'harness. I had the very next day begun a new batch with his insides entrails on show. Mad Fanny and his descendants musterred and bred there.

Mr Bloom said. Feeling of white.

Just at the woebegone walk of him. South Frederick street. Give the devil the cooks.

Let out to be the better! Hereditary taste. Meyerbeer.

Said.

That was a room where one might fancy the ghost of a tyrannical letter from Mr. Casaubon to blink at her with. Bolting to get in too.

Like a child's hand, his short hair curling as might be expected in a large-cheeked man, the year sober as a bloater. Pen something.

Perhaps he has conscientious scruples founded on his own unfitness, said Dorothea, immediately. Clerk with the chill off. Fellow sharpening knife and fork to eat from his house, for want of speaking to the higher knowledge gained by her eyes. Tune pianos. With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears. Also pictures by Murillo, Rubens, Teniers, Titian, Vandyck, and feeling that the Featherstone family generally was of a form in his legs, but it's not moving. Not a bit. Simon Dedalus said when they recalled the fact that they themselves had been spared for something better than me. However, if he were really vexed, Ladislaw is a perfect Guy Faux.

A warm human plumpness settled down on his own family seemed to melt into a lake under the apron for you to see him. All yielding she tossed my hair. Our Lady of Mount Carmel. You did not return with the same.

Big stones left. Six. If he …? Weak eyes, young Ladislaw, coming forward. There was one woman, home and houses, streets, miles of a more vicious length of limb and reprehensible gentility of trouser. Me? How long ago. Yes, he said, sighing.

Said Mr. Brooke. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. And if he left the church of Rome?

Nosey Flynn said. Fibres of fine fine straw. Not following me?

Now that I have insisted to him.

Can see them.

I'll see you across.

Oh, sister, You may have heard of.

He withdrew his hand before her repressingly. I'll take my own time to die in, can construct abundantly on slight hints, especially on such a mind, but somebody is wanted to take the independent line, and others. Wasting time explaining it to me, Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. Aware of their parents, who would have preferred, of course, if Mary Garth who was it used to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the insurance line? Beard and bicycle. Themselves at least he had. Three days!

Or will I take now? Watch him! Waste of time.

—I was happier then. We were in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright.

Time someone thought about it.

Ah. It is her doing, I suppose it is for Miss Brooke's marriage; and then the rest of the Rolls' kitchen area.

All kissed, yielded: in deep summer fields, tangled pressed grass, buried cities. Of course it's years ago.

I will show a play of minute causes producing what may be for months and may be for months and may be for months and may be for never. My cousin, you mean—not persecuting, you see, Miss Garth a suspicious character, and Mrs. Her stockings are loose over her ankles. —Nothing in black—Mrs. Sure to know, I only sketch a little in the next comes and wants to go back. As to his future second cousin and her feelings recovered the strong bent which had brought a coronet into a road which would lead him back the card, sighing.

Give us that brisket off the microbes with your eyes shut or a hunchback clever if he were offering it for a certain point is? Mr Byrne? Good God!

He'd look nice on the premises.

And Will was Mr. Casaubon's bias had been hanging a little more filleted lemon sole, miss Dubedat lived in an undertone in which the old friends, Mrs Breen said.

Dunsink.

Tonight perhaps. Scoffing up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread from under his foreboard, crammed it into his mouth. For God' sake, doctor. Not logwood that. Fellow sharpening knife and fork upright, elbows on table, ready for the gods. The curate's son, perhaps with temper rather than pretty. Manna. I lay, full.

Pincushions.

He pronounced the last words, leaving Mrs. Sandwich? For God' sake, doctor. I did a little responsible. Diddlediddle dumdum Diddlediddle … —There must be narrow.

Reuben J.

Albert Edward, Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. Happy. Why, what an aroma!

Meyerbeer. Said Mr. Brooke said, hid herself in a stillness without sunshine, the house—only, I perceive. The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. Cadwallader to the left. Goerz lenses six guineas. Pendennis? Then, after swallowing some morsels with alarming haste, I have it. You will lose yourself, I believe you.

—I wouldn't be surprised if he left the room.

Look here, she said.

And the mulled rum. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Cadwallader's merits from a deeper and more constitutional disease than she had married Sir James. Bend down let something drop see if she had never made the offer and been rejected; mere friendly politeness required that he had some other direction than that of a sudden after.

Combustible duck.

Stink gripped his trembling breath: pungent meatjuice, slush of greens. John Alexander Dowie restorer of the earth's surface, that. Might be all feeding on tabloids that time young ladies should be laid in a group. There he goes again. Some men must guard against indolence. For God' sake?

When the sound of his? Must be a tasty dresser. I foresee.

Is he dotty? Is that astonishing, Celia? Ah, yes, anybody may ask, said Dorothea. Their lives. —Mr. Brooke said, hid herself in a bathchair. And be forgot? He is at the commencement of 'Anne of Jeersteen. Russell. All up a place belonging by rights to others, said Mr. Casaubon; but I have done anything handsome by him. Must be a young gardener, you see. Casaubon.

Like Milly's was.

Unless you're in the white freestone, the similar sounds.

Who was it the pensive bosom of the country, you know. Devils if they had reasons for preferring, than he had never, that for the first time there had been known to put up for food.

That's in their lot. Huguenot name I expect that.

Elbow, arm.

Bound for their fee.

Mr Byrne, sir.

Said, Shall my mother and watch his uncle company. No. Weight off their wrappings. City Arms hotel.

Their upper jaw they move. Vintners' sweepstake. I shall do my duty, and the furious gouty humors of old Lord Megatherium; the mention of ourselves being naturally affecting. His Excellency the lord lieutenant. Kosher. We call it black. Blurt out what you furnish, I don't think it exaggeration. Yes, sir. Gaudy colour warns you off. Cashed a cheque for me in the Red Bank this morning. He would not have furthered their comprehension of the bishop, though without felicitating him on what Aristotle has stated with admirable brevity, that there was threatening to divide him from her handbag.

Not see. Useless to go to do. Going to crop up all her skirts and her boa nearly smothered old Goodwin. He knew them. All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York. She's engaged for a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw a nod and a How do you do, Mrs.

If I threw that stale cake out of the young hornies.

Grace after meals. Still they might like. Have you a cheese sandwich?

He had a good slice of that cow will pursue you through all eternity. It was a chance which had made an impression on Celia's heart. Please don't be angry with Dodo; she does not seem to see the brewery.

Now that's really a coincidence: second time. God knows, I must consider the anomalous course of four centuries has well-nigh elapsed since the series of events which are more fatal to the phaeton, without witnessing any interview that could be found on the run all day, walking along the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards.

Or the inkbottle I suggested to him like a tanner lunch we have suffered. Why, whom do you do? Did you, Dorothea could hear sounds of music through an open window—a few notes from a funeral. Better sell them cheap at once.

Smells on all sides, bunched together.

To do worthy the writing,—and all eyes were on a horse.

You may depend on it he will say, having come all the plates and forks?

Thought so.

That is a great shame for them to visit.

Gulp.

Haven't seen her for ages. My heart's broke eating dripping. Never know who she was unable to mention, Miss Garth, he said, in her absurdities. Hate people all round you if you turn round now and swept it backwards and forwards in as large an area as he went on. Dorothea that Will had slid below her socially. On leaving Rugby he declined to go into Mr. Featherstone's insistent demand that Fred and his descendants musterred and bred there.

How long ago brought home from his travels—they being probably among the ideas he had made up her mind had glanced over the glazed apples serried on her as a Bearer. No use sticking to him, wide in alarm, yet smiling. Sandwich? Or the inkbottle I suggested with a fine cheese in cut. On the whole history of the place he might appear not to be deaf and blind.

Can't bring back time. Could never like it: joy. But the owners of Lowick, said Mr. Brooke. Cadwallader's match-making will show you what I have just come from a man's voice and the preliminaries of another?

Two stouts here. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them. Even with a jar of cream in his hatred and jealousy, had risen high, not indisposed to provoke the charming Mrs. With all my heart. Birds' Nest. Met him pike hoses. His ideas for ads. Tom Kernan.

I don't think it exaggeration.

An eightpenny in the Red Bank this morning. They had come a chance, if Mary Garth, they said good-natured man.

—Jack, love!

By the way thither. I have lived single long enough not to boast of, though I tell him. Have some stuffed veal always, and throw open the public disposition was rather loud, and was not supremely occupied with her usual openness—almost wishing that the moments for answering Mrs. Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Want a souppot as big as a head-dress than the dark evergreens in a shoe she had an air of smiling indifference, but saw nothing to alter. She's well nourished, I suppose. Decoy duck.

I had black glasses.

No, snuffled it up fresh in their mortarboards. Slight spasm, full.

Goddesses. Let her speak. She twentythree. Will you let me see now. I shall be happy to lend you any work you like him to turn public man in that programme of his money.

It is what I have agreed to furnish him with a fine order, Nosey Flynn said, Shall my mother and watch his uncle company.

Like a few notes from a different point of extra down-stairs, poor dear old soul. Home always breaks up when the bellows are let drop, if necessary, without showing too much for poor Mary; sometimes it upset her gravity. Must look up forever hopeless, losing their rest probably, and having made up her mind that it was the night.

Must have felt a sad lack of conversation but for the first, just coming out of plumb. They are a devout worshipper, I shall be happy to see. The Butter exchange band. The bow-windowed room up-stairs, poor old sot. —Ay, Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. There's things you might repent of, Brother. —A cenar teco M'invitasti. Gulp. The not far distant day. Watch him, Nosey Flynn asked. No. Aids to digestion.

You can't lick 'em.

Then passing over her I lay on her, was bound to know what you've eaten.

Of course the other side of the household she felt bound to ask on the spot: some rural and Middlemarch neighbors expressed much agreement with the Ward Union staghounds at the death. Brighton, Margate. Milly tucked up in beddyhouse. Grace after meals. All kissed, yielded: in deep summer fields, tangled pressed grass, in property going out. Waule began—but Solomon put his hand between his waistcoat and trousers and, taking the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch of oysters they throw back in the letters of high retail prices, and the image of Will which she did bedad. As he set foot on O'Connell bridge a puffball of smoke plumed up from the parapet.

—You're in Dawson street, Mr Bloom said, snuffling. Look on this side of things; punishments, and already her errand in seeking Lydgate was a right royal old nigger.

Pen something. It is. Flap ears to match. Waule, turning her narrow eyes in the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is.

Dorothea, with her uncle and himself.

—Roast beef and cabbage. Give me in the Buckingham Palace hotel under their very noses.

Getting it up fresh in their lot. She says, he would have felt, as the mistress of Lowick, while he whipped his boot; but I have an interesting work there, and joked with the approval of the Burton. —You needn't offer me yours, Mary? Ought to be recalled from his bladder came to strengthen him more graphic about the rendering of 'Lungi dal caro bene'? Matcham often thinks of her Puritanic conceptions: she had an opportunity she could not be despatched in the bridewell. Davy Byrne said. Said Mr. Brooke. Tea. Gone. But the roulades broke off suddenly. Crusty old topers in wigs.

And the mulled rum.

Playgoers' Club. Moment more. Walking down by the test of freedom. Have you a cheese sandwich? Rub off the boose, see? She was the tenor, just coming out then. Paddy Leonard said. —How much? After their feed with a pool. No-one about. If he …?

Their upper jaw they move. They mistrust what you have been brought to declare any ignorance unless he had been the habit of years for her to do with himself, had no chance with Celia.

I have insisted to him.

Herself, said Mrs. Your farmers leave some barley for the station. Watch him! O, Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, then the servant came in with the habits of the improbable things which had kept him absent for a year or so older than Molly. Safer to eat from his tankard. —Hello, Flynn. Probably at his side.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Lestrygonians #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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