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sadclearance · 4 years ago

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M!reader and hanta sero! toxic toxic manipulative reunion after breakup

how the #26 hero made headlines with his sex tape

pairing: hanta sero x male manipulative reader

summary: hanta sero and y/n meet again after their sex tape is leaked.

warning: sex tape (sero fucking you), manipulative and toxic behavior, implied/referenced past cheating, suicide attemptish, implied/referenced revenge porn

category: angst(?), fluff(?) idrk

word count: 4300

"and then the fucking cashier asked to take a picture!" katsuki bakugo seethed. "i just wanted to get my damn groceries, but everyone's so damn nosy!"

"at least they asked?" mina ashido said, her voice pitched at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

"don't even get me started on the fucking stalkers that don't ask," bakugo growled.

"i don't know how you can live like that," hanta sero laughed at bakugo's misery. "sounds terrible."

is this karma for being amused by bakugo's misfortunes?

the day immediately after, sero is scanning his items after getting everything he needs from the grocery store when the cashier stares at him with wide eyes, glancing between him and the phone in their hand.

"are you cellophane?"

is this what having fans feels like? it's kind of flattering but also annoying that he's being called his hero name during his off time.

"oh, yeah," sero responds with a light laugh, trying to stay polite.

he expects them to ask for a picture or maybe an autograph. what he doesn't expect is snickering.

he vaguely remembers how denki kaminari described being recognized in public for the first time. he was met with taunts from a group of students because a video of him short circuiting had just gone viral.

sero's quirk doesn't even have any drawbacks similar to short circuiting, so he can't think of a possible reason why his cashier would be laughing at him.

he ignores it and finishes checking out because he doesn't want to ask what's wrong with the other person.

when he gets back to his apartment complex, he checks his mail. there's a few bills and postcards from old friends.

the guy next to him bursts out laughing.

he closes his mailbox and gives him a questioning look. that just made it two people that have laughed at him in the past thirty minutes. what's going on?

"you're cellophane, right?"

"uh, yeah?" sero says, completely confused.

"just don't be too loud in this building," the guy says, apparently cracking himself up.

sero is still puzzled. he's been the perfect tenant. the loudest noise that's ever come from his apartment was the merciless explosions from bakugo directed toward kaminari after a particularly bad joke, but that happened two years ago. ever since then, the most that could be heard was maybe kaminari's laughter, but sero doubts that that was even that loud.

when he reaches his floor and opens the door of his apartment, he's greeted with his friends on the couch.

"oh, hey," sero says, shutting the front door with his foot and going toward the kitchen to start organizing his groceries. "i told you guys to start warning me before you come. do i have to start hiding my spare key?"

"we know what you're doing, sero," ashido frowns.

okay, something's up. the pink hero isn't using her normal teasing or upbeat tone, and the television isn't even on.

"what?" sero looks at her with the same expression he wore toward the guy who told him not to be too loud.

"you did this last time, bro," eijiro kirishima gives a disapproving look. "i thought we made it clear back then that we're here for you."

what is kirishima going on about? "last time"? well, sero knows what he's talking about because of the whole "here for you" part. of course he remembers. it was a prominent part of his life because it only happened once, during a time in his life he remembers too well.

see, sero is an easy-going guy. out of everybody in the group, he's probably the most stable.

i mean, ashido is a party animal that drags the group out to upbeat bars at least once a month even when she would do a hundred things she'd regret the next morning. it's not like they didn't like doing it, but she definitely needed supervision.

then, there's kaminari. he's an emotional mess, getting caught up in too many confusing flirty situations. each week, he would have a breakdown in the group chat. "so do you guys think me and x are really flirting? or is this like joke flirting?"

can't forget about kirishima. he's probably the second most stable, but he still has a lot of times where he needs reassurance and comfort.

last but definitely not least, bakugo--the emotionally constipated man who is only the tiniest bit better at communicating his emotions than he was in their first year together.

too long, didn't read: four out of five of the group needed someone to depend on at least once a month.

sero is the one person in their group that didn't necessarily need anybody. this isn't because he keeps shit to himself. he's just fortunate enough to not have any problems that aren't surface level. the most he has to deal with are minor inconveniences like running out of toilet paper, running into a villain on his off day, or getting puked on by ashido on a particularly wild night--nothing that emotionally tears him apart.

well, there was this one time about three years ago when he felt the worst that he ever had before. it was a terrible experience of heartbreak and self-hatred which is why he unfortunately remembers it so well. he kept it all to himself until his friends managed to eventually force it out of him, hence the "we're here for you".

but there is absolutely no reason for them to say "last time" as if it's happening again.

"what are you guys talking about? everyone's being so weird today."

"oh my god," kaminari's jaw falls. "do you seriously not know, or are you pretending like you're okay again?"

"not know what?" today is a day of questions, and he doesn't like it one bit.

"do you not check your fucking phone or something?" bakugo growls with annoyance and the slightest hint of shock. the slight gentleness of his volume gets sero incredibly worried.

"i haven't had time to. why? what's going on?"

the four look at each other, considering if they should enlighten sero on whatever it is.

when sero determines they're taking too long to decide, he takes out his phone from his pocket.

at first, he sees a bunch of text notifications from almost all of his old classmates and coworkers, all asking in various ways if he's okay.

he moves past them and searches up his hero name. what could be so bad that his friends expect him to go back to being as much of a concerning mess as he was the last time they spoke to him like this? he doubts that anything could make him as bad as he was after his breakup with his high school sweetheart.

oh... well, he can admit that seeing his name with a link from an adult video website being the top result and under "trending" doesn't make him feel that great, but he doesn't think that it's that bad.

"there's a video on pornhub with my name on it. is it like a really messed up cosplay of me or something?" sero asks, partially joking. "because if it is, i don't really care, guys. you don't have to worry about stuff like that. i know what it means to be known by the world, and that there are creeps out there that get off to--"

"shut the fuck up and watch the damn video," bakugo scowls.

"you want me to watch porn in front of you?" sero raises an eyebrow, slightly amused--a feeling that clearly isn't being reciprocated by any of the four that are staring at him.

"just watch it," kirishima sighs.

he clicks on it, even if he thinks it's a little weird that his friends want to watch him watch porn. maybe it's so bad that it's funny. he's expecting some weirdo to be wearing a poor version of his hero costume getting bukkaked or something weird like that.

all amusement leaves his body, and his confused smile drops.

it's not some weirdo wearing a knock off cellophane costume. he's greeted with a screen covered by him. wearing nothing.

it's not even the fact that his nude body is exposed on the internet to be shown to anybody and everybody that causes the pit in his stomach. it's because he recognizes the video. he knows what happens in it. he knows who's in it.

he doesn't stop watching as giggling from his phone fills the awkwardly silent room. soon enough, the nineteen year old sero in the video has a cock in his mouth, and his fingers are up the ass of the owner of said cock.

that's not even the worst part. the worst part is the next part, which is where sero from three years ago takes the camera, uses his quirk to tie his ex-love's wrists together, and fucks him while getting everything on camera, including a clear shot of his face.

he watches the entire thing, too frozen to do anything else.

in any other situation, his friends would be teasing the shit out of him. ashido would poke fun at how sero of all people made a sex tape, kaminari would make some stupid pun about how he made a sex tape, kirishima would try to be holding himself back from laughing at how sero used his quirk for such a purpose as tying his partner up for sex, and bakugo would probably call him something along the lines of "plain face cock-sucking bottom bitch", even though the next few scenes that follow show that he's clearly not the last part.

this isn't any other situation, though. this is a sex tape with the one person he fucked over so badly that he still stays up every night thinking about it--regretting it. sero thinks that the universe must think he's one big joke.

"sero?" kaminari asks when sero doesn't speak even after the video ends. it's an awkward situation, really, because as mentioned earlier, his friends just watched him watch himself suck a dick and then proceed to pound into the ass of their former classmate.

he's not nearly as mortified by that as he should be.

he's more mortified that this is trending on every single social platform, not even because he's a pro hero with the world currently looking at his naked body, but because he somehow managed to fuck up y/n's life more than he already had three years ago.

"i'm tired" is the excuse he decides on using as he walks toward his bedroom. "i'll talk to you guys later."

hesitantly, his friends show themselves out, which he's glad for because he really needs some time to process--and wallow--by himself.

sero lies in bed for a while, not sure what to do, before he finally pulls out his phone again and does something that only makes the pit of guilt in his stomach worsen.

DailyHero: Taping Hero: Cellophane and the Video That Everyone's Talking about

HeroWeekly: Cellophane--26th Ranking Hero, Everything We Know About His Video

HeroTribune: Cellophane's Shocking Video

it isn't just hero media networks that are talking about it, though.

CelebrityGossip: Plain Hero Plain No More

since when is he a celebrity? he would find that funny if he wasn't so abashed by today's events.

RecreationalChronicle: How the Tape Hero is Making HeadLines

it makes him slightly amused to think of how that's another one of the stupid puns kaminari would make if the situation wasn't so sensitive.

he clicks on the hero weekly one, which just so happens to be the number one news outlet for hero news. sero's kind of surprised that they said anything about it. they were known for keeping things profession based, and the title of the article frankly sounds like any other drama website. he might be flattered by hero weekly deeming his amateur sex tape important enough to dedicate a whole article to it if he wasn't so plagued with guilt still.

Cellophane--26th Ranking Hero, Everything We Know About His Video

Cellophane, real name Hanta Sero, is the 26th ranking hero in Japan today. This morning, an explicit video featuring him and another man was leaked onto the internet via an adult video website. The original source is unknown, but we can only assume that neither Cellophane or his featured partner was behind revealing this to the public eye.

From what we gather, this video was filmed roughly around or before the first assignment that brought Cellophane lots of recognition. By this time, he was nineteen years old and had graduated the prestigious U.A. Academy a year prior.

The identities in the video are very clear, as there are many clear shots of both participants' faces.

While the video itself is shocking to many, Cellophane's partner is what surprises us the most. Y/n L/n was a hero that graduated alongside Cellophane from U.A. Academy. He was famous for being so fresh out of high school, but after just one year of unbelievable success--around the same time the infamous video was recorded--he went completely off the grid. To this day, nobody has seen him since.

sero stops reading because he feels more shitty the more he reads. he knows what the article is talking about. y/n cut off almost everybody from u.a. after their breakup. his friends tried to assure him that it wasn't his fault, but it was an awful big coincidence that his abrupt disappearance happened the exact day of their breakup.

he wonders what y/n's up to nowadays. is he still in japan? is he still pursuing a heroic lifestyle? perhaps he's been doing what aizawa did. maybe he continues to fight crime, just minus the recognition and media time.

if y/n really is living a peaceful life right now, did sero just shatter that? the world had sort of forgotten he existed at all after a few months of his disappearance, so he probably would've gotten away with roaming the streets freely without being recognized. did sero just ruin that for him?

he needs to know. he needs to try to fix things, even if he knows he can't. he needs to... he needs to talk to him, even after all these years.

when sero asks kaminari to meet him alone, the electric hero's kind of nervous. last time, he was happy with the entirety of their friend group comforting him. why did he want some one-on-one time all of a sudden?

apparently, he was right to be nervous because what sero is asking of him is hard for him to do.

"hey," kaminari says with the best smile he can muster in his anxious state.

"hey," sero greets back, taking a sip of his hot coffee.

"thanks for buying," kaminari says, twirling the straw in his cup with his hand, the ice of the iced coffee moving and crashing together.

"no problem," sero nods.

"what's up?" kaminari asks, putting the tip of the straw that lays in between his fingers into his mouth to take a nice long taste of the sweet treat.

"i need to talk to y/n," sero says, looking down at the coffee between his two hands instead of up into kaminari's eyes.

"i--what?" kaminari asks, almost spitting out his drink.

"i know you still talk to him, and i know why you can't tell me how to find him, but--"

"sero," kaminari frowns at the frantic desperation in his friends voice. "it's not that i can't. i mean, i probably shouldn't, but... that's not why."

"then why?" sero's voice is pleading, but his eyes hold angry frustration.

"look, the thing is, i don't even talk to him that often," kaminari sighs. "we've talked maybe twice since you guys broke up. we're not the friends that we used to be before."

"i understand that there's boundaries that shouldn't be crossed, okay? believe me, i really do, but i really need a chance to talk to him again. if he tells me to go away, i swear i'll drop it. i'll leave him alone. please."

"i know, i know. i know you aren't a stalker ex. just..."

kaminari's lips tighten into a line, a habit he's picked up over the years whenever he's faced with any kind of decision--whether it be deciding what flavor of ice cream he should get, or, apparently, if he should let his best friend see the guy he broke the heart of.

"okay," kaminari hesitates.

"thank you! thank you thank you--"

"don't thank me yet," kaminari says with a weak shake of his head. "before you talk to him, i need you to know that he's not the same person you knew."

"i understand," sero nods. he doesn't expects his meeting with him to go well anyway. sure, he hopes it will, but he's mentally prepared himself for the worst outcome, which his brain has decided is for y/n to yell and start throwing things at him.

"i... i don't know how to put it, really, but the few times that we talked, he's sounded... weird. like creepy. i don't know, man," kaminari shudders at the thought, but sero's too caught up in his anxious excitement to really care.

"it's okay. i understand," sero repeats.

"if you're sure," kaminari pauses. "truth is, y/n wants to see you, too."

"really?" sero feels all too hopeful, and he can see the worry paint kaminari's face.

"i don't know if it's in a good way or not," kaminari says carefully. he doesn't want to hurt his friend, but he doesn't want to set him up for disappointment either.

"i'm not expecting anything," sero says, but his words aren't very convincing when there's a clear smile growing on his face.

"just be careful, bro." kaminari writes an address on a piece of paper.

"you don't have to worry about me," sero reassures with a smile.

as he wanders through the streets, he's shaky and nervous and scared and ecstatic and--just everything.

y/n wants to meet with him. the possibilities are endless, but at least he now knows he won't be turned away--at least not immediately.

he goes between riding in cabs to treading amongst the shadows on the street, changing whenever someone recognizes him from the trending news.

he endures long hours of stares and whispers, encouraging himself with the thought of being able to see y/n again soon, whether that be a good thing or not.

"fiftieth floor of paragon hotel..." sero mutters to himself as he presses on the cold metal button. lots of questions come to mind, like where will y/n be? he didn't get a room number with the address. how will y/n react? will he stay civil? will he give him a chance to explain himself? did he only want sero to come so he could vent out his anger and frustrations?

when the elevator doors open, he sees a single door.

he hesitantly turns the knob until he's hit with a cold breeze from the night air.

oh.

it's the roof.

his brain's new worst conclusion is that y/n's going to push him off, but he's more okay with that than he should be. he has a quirk that can save him even if that happens, and if anything, he thinks it'll help him feel a little less guilty about everything he's done to make y/n's life more shitty.

"y/n," he calls out softly when he sees y/n just standing there, looking up at the big white moon in the sky.

nothing's really changed. his appearance isn't much different from the last time they saw each other, and sero's still enamored by how the stars above could never compare to the bright light that is y/n.

but that's not something he should be thinking about right now. his head shouldn't be filled with hopeful thoughts.

the object of his love to this day turns around upon hearing his name.

"sero," he greets with a smile. "you made it."

"yeah. i did," sero hesitantly steps closer to y/n. "listen, y/n, i'm..."

fuck. why is that the only thing he can get out of his mouth? he has so much to say--he's been thinking about it every night for the past three years--every hour for the past few days. so why is his mind blank now of all times?

"how're things with... i can't even remember her name," y/n laughs a little, and sero frowns. he doesn't know why he's laughing about the mistake that's been haunting him forever, but he swallows down those feelings. people grieve differently, and if anybody had a right to how they react to that night, it's y/n.

"i'm sorry," sero finally manages out. "she... i haven't talked to her since then. she's not a part of my life."

a casual "weird" is y/n's only comment before he turns back to look at the moon.

"you know... you know she never meant anything, right? we were--"

"'we were drunk, and i was lonely, but that's not an excuse, but she meant nothing, and you're the only one i want'," y/n finishes for him.

sero's heart sinks. has he been playing that night over and over in his head, too? has it been hurting him all this time as well?

"i remember." y/n's smile is still there, albeit more grim, and it unsettles sero.

"yeah..." and sero doesn't know what else to say because apparently, after years of mulling it over in his head, he hasn't come up with anything better than his initial rambles of regret. though, he still has something else to apologize for-- "i'm sorry. i swear it wasn't me who leaked it. i deleted--or at least i thought i deleted my copy years ago. maybe i didn't do it right. i don't know. i can't imagine how hard this must be for you. god, i'm so sorry. i managed to ruin everything all over again a whole three--"

"sero," y/n interrupts, sitting on the low ledge, eyes still on the sky.

"yeah?" sero swallows thickly at how desperate he sounds. he hates how messy his words are--hates how they pour out sounding so slow and stupid.

"do you love me?" y/n asks.

"what?" sero completely blanks. did he hear him right?

"do you love me?" y/n repeats, fully turning his body to him.

"yes." he doesn't hesitate for even a second, even though he wonders why he's asking that question at such an inappropriate time, because he has no doubt in his mind that he loves y/n and has since the moment they met.

"i don't believe you," y/n smiles as he stands up on the platform.

"what are you doing?" sero asks obliviously.

"what i should have done all those years ago," y/n smiles big, and it scares sero a little. "if you really love me... then you would catch me."

sero barely has time to process what he said before y/n lets himself freefall backwards.

sero's brain hadn't even considered that this would be one of the possible outcomes.

"y/n!" sero screams as he runs toward the ledge. he panics as he watches y/n's body get smaller and smaller the more he falls. he rips off his civilian long sleeve, shoots out his tape to stick onto the floor, before throwing himself off to go after him.

he uses his free elbow to launch his tape at y/n, knowing his own body wouldn't be able to get to him fast enough.

he wants to let out a sigh of relief when he sees that y/n's dangling by the white line rather than falling, but he knows from past experience with hero work that they're not completely safe just yet.

pulling himself up with the clear film he had luckily had the brains to think of placing first, he makes it back onto the roof of the building, slowly pulling his other elbow to haul y/n's body up as well.

"are you fucking crazy?!" he raises his voice for the first time in a long time. he doesn't think he's ever felt this angry and frustrated and mortified in his entire life.

y/n doesn't bother unwrapping himself from the tape as he uses a hand to pull sero's face close, kissing him softly.

and sero can't help but melt, which is the opposite of what he should probably be doing. a simple kiss shouldn't be able to pacify him with a situation like this at hand, but it does.

"you love me," y/n smiles when he pulls away just enough to feel the harsh pants coming from sero--the result of both the terrifying moment he just had to experience and his reaction to kissing y/n again.

"i do," sero nods eagerly, and shit, those aren't the words that are supposed to leave his mouth right now. he's supposed to ask what the hell is wrong with y/n. he's supposed to ask why he would do that. he's supposed to curse and swear and--anything but act like it's all okay.

"you love me," y/n says again before pulling him in for another kiss.

when sero puts his arms around y/n's waist and pulls his body as close as possible to his, he feels the buzz of y/n's phone.

"do you--do you need to get that?" sero asks as he reluctantly pulls away, sounding like a whiny child.

"i'm sure it's nothing important," y/n says before throwing his phone off of the roof, and sero pulls him back hungrily, because as strange as that action was, sero can't bring himself to care when the love of his life is back in his arms after three long years.

[12:39am] reporter to y/n: i got myself a promotion! been an honor working with you. again, thank you so much for selling it to me.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

a/n;

i wrote part of this in may last year because i thought the title was funny then i didn't know how to end it but then i got this sero request so

not proofread but when is it ever

#hanta sero #hanta sero x male reader #bnha x male reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero academia x male reader #mha #mha x male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #sero hanta #anime x male reader

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highfunctioningflailgirl · 4 years ago

Text

My notes on Lethal White episode 3

As usual, my poorly sorted and not-really-filtered thoughts on “Lethal White”, episode 3. Continued under the cut because ALL THE SPOILERS!

We’re back with Robin and cling-wrapped Chiswell. Holliday plays Robin’s tenuously controlled panic very well. The subtle trembling, the tears she forces back. She’s so good. 👏🏼

A two-week jump. These always jar me. Did that happen in the book?🤨

Another mention of Strike talking with Wardle, and again we don’t get to see him. Dang. I really miss his leather-jacketed wry humour. 😔

Of course they’re meeting at “The White Horse”. Where else? *Rosmersholm vibes*

The reveal about the bones was a bit anti-climactic, wasn’t it? It had a better effect with the skull, in the book. And how do you “accidentally” shoot a horse, even when it’s a small one? How much more are we supposed to hate Freddie? (This episode is just full of terribly behaving men)

Who are the kids playing with the dog? Pringle and Pong? Were those their ridiculous nicknames?

And here comes the “Knives Out” scene. 🔪The Chiswell family is such a loving bunch. *coughs*

Did you see the playful tension between Raff and Robin? And that little disconcerted look Cormoran casts them? Bit jealous, Corm? 😏

Raff’s sarcastic little throw-in remarks are really making this scene more fun. Gotta give him that: he adds a bit of “black sheep” dash to the family!

“KEYS!” 😁 Cormoran is like the adult stepping between a bunch of fist-throwing kids.

Cormoran and Robin are staring at the Chiswell’s bickering as if waiting for one of them to actually start spitting and biting.

Raff: “I’m sure our charming hostess means to offer you tea at some point.” 🤣

Cormoran: “I’m thinking it might be suicide after all. He couldn’t face another family gathering.” 😂

*grunts* We’ve all been there, haven’t we? (And I don’t even want to start thinking about Cormoran’s family gatherings…)

Hah! 🙋🏻‍♀️ I guessed right from the leaked stills: it is the hospital Billy’s in! (Cookie points for me!)

That staff woman gives off very sensible and caring vibes. They picked the actress well.

And, god, Billy carved the horse into his own chest? 😟 Good god…

Vanessa! And she looks good! And - unlike in the first series - she smiles! And is really NICE! (Wow, what a beautiful woman.) 😍

That little lounge corner in Cormoran’s office is new, isn’t it? Very cozy. ☕️🍪

Goth Robin! She looks awesome! 😍 (Excuse me, but have we traveled back into the 80s? She looks like half the people in my school back then.) And look at Holliday playing her: she even moves differently! This season must have been a lot of fun for her as an actress.

I love the Wiccan shop. I had one of those salt lamps (and a lava lamp too), but don’t tell anybody… ☺️

Cormoran’s FACE when he sees goth Robin! 🥰The double take, the pleased surprise, that touch of awe… He is so proud of her! (What a contrast to Matt the Twat’s derogatory reactions to her disguises).

Cormoran: “You liking Raff then?” Are we a teensy bit jealous again, Corm? ☺️

When he asked Robin what she was doing this evening, I held my breath. WAS HE GOING TO ASK HER OUT? 🤗 He wasn’t. 😔 Everybody calm down. It’s not happening yet. Unfortunately. And probably never will. *very long sigh*

It’s so cute how he can’t stop looking at her! 🥰I love her confidence. And his twinkle-eyed, soft grin that doesn’t seem to want to fade. He truly admires her, for her competence AND for her looks. ASK HER OUT YOU FOOL! *headdesk*

Lorelei. With coffee. Apologizing for saying “I love you”. Ack. And then Corm says “I was gonna call you.” (You weren’t, admit it!). I didn’t know what to feel when seeing this scene for the first time: shocked that they were still together? Sympathy for Lorelei? Mad at Cormoran’s lackluster ‘yeah, alright, whatever’ attitude? Very mixed emotions.

Cormoran following Aamir along the South Bank. Watch me pointing excitedly at the screen because I’ve strolled down that same boardwalk way back when traveling was still a thing. *flails* *misses London*

Aamir’s place. Why is Cormoran talking about food again? Robin hasn’t fed him biscuits today yet, has she?

Cormoran’s always a bit unnerving when interrogating someone. He uses friendly words, but there is that tiny bit of menace about him, an intensity and pressure… SIB Corm. Tom does that so well. 😎

“You gonna butter me?” Smooth moves, ex-Sergeant Strike! 🥋 Oh, I love seeing him in action! 🤗

Robin hides the phone, and I am a nervous wreck worrying someone’s going to call and her phone isn’t in silent mode! (enneagram type 6 here, hello…) 😬

I was waiting for Matt to be an absolute prick when he sees goth Robin, but he’s actually not. And he’s had the Green Dress mended. I like how the show gives him a few shades and doesn’t paint him as outrageously hateful as the book does. (jftr, we all still hate you, Matt!)

But then, the way he rushes at her with his “That’s not true” - why does it somehow feel like a physical threat? And wow, Robin is COLD. Dude, your marriage is over. You just haven’t been notified yet.

So we’re ignoring Lorelei’s calls again, Cormoran? *eyebrow lift* Is that what we do as a gentleman? And then he calls off dinner and has no more than a lame “Sounds good, I’ll call you” when she mentions breakfast? If he’s not invested at the mention of food, something is clearly wrong…

Della Winn, and they picked a blind actress for the role. Good for them! ✔️

So, help me out here, native speakers: Della says she can hear the West Country in Cormoran’s vowels, but to me he doesn’t sound Cornish. Am I wrong? To my ears, Tom is speaking in some sort of self-made accent that I can’t place, but it doesn’t sound anything like the Cornish burr Robert Glenister gives him in the audiobooks. Opinions? 🤔

Rhiannon’s story touched me in the book, and it touches me deeply here. A revenge murder would’ve made perfect sense to me.

The party. We’ve apparently time-traveled again.

“What’s ‘Becca’ short for?” 🙄

Ah! The note was hidden in the maxipads box! I seem to recall that, in the book, Robin hid the Houses of Parliament bugging device in a tampon box. Cool parallel.

VANESSA! HURRY UP! 😨

The chase. Good thing this goth girl wears sensible shoes! Nice trick with the crouching and tripping. Take THAT, Jimmy! Robin’s learned from past experience, and I love the addition of the chase that wasn’t in the book. Robin’s no longer a helpless victim. She is a FIGHTER! And - BAM! Perfect timing, patrol car! 🚔

Cormoran: “How did you guess where she hid it?” (Because that’s where girls hide stuff, darling. ONE good thing all the menstruating is good for at least.)

Quick shout-out to Tom Burke’s freckles. They really should be credited as supporting actors. 🥰

Btw, the navy jumper is not a jumper but a cardigan! I bet Tom was pleased. (And my shippy brain can imagine him wrapping a freezing Robin in it 💙)

Enter Lorelei. Here be dragons.

“You know, if you want a hot meal and a shag with no human emotions involved, there are restaurants. And brothels.”

Oooohhhh... 😳

Need ointment for that burn, Corm?

And she’s entitled! Cormoran’s old school gallantry seems to have gone MIA when it comes to treating Lorelei with the respect she deserved. Especially since he had his chance at ending it decently and respectfully at their earlier little talk over coffee. I still don’t think he meant to hurt her. It was thoughtlessness. Which is no redeeming factor at all. He deserved this, even in front of Robin. #TeamLorelei

Well, at least he didn’t get smacked with an ashtray this time.

I LOLed when Robin simply went straight back to business without commenting. A real pro. 😎

Cormoran: “That was a bit awkward.” Was it, Corm? We barely noticed. *snorts*

And although Robin defends him a little bit, her suppressed smirk and her work-life balance remark tell us she’s enjoyed this a bit. And not just because Cormoran is single again.

Matthew calls: “Sorry, it’s a work thing.” (NO IT ISN’T AND YOU’RE A LYING, CHEATING [REDACTED] !!!) 🤬

Robin steps on Sarah Shaglock’s earring, and now starts a scene that makes me want to shower Holliday in BAFTAs. 🏆🏆🏆 Heart wrenching, painful, powerful. And Matthew finally shows his true colours. (And Kerr Logan deserves a nod for his acting too).

On a completely irrelevant side note: Matt stole that coat from Darius Tanz, only that Santi looked hot as hell in it whereas Matt just looks like an accountant who pretends to look hot. (Go and watch “Salvation” if you have no clue what I’m talking about)

Robin is so bravely holding it together, and - wow - her coldness towards Matt is pretty impressive, and at the same time she’s forcing herself not to cry and fights down a panic attack. It’s amazing how she puts every emotion and train of thought from the books onto the table and we can read it in her face and in her voice and body language. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼Best scene of the season, if you ask me. (Not that anyone ever asks me, but here it is.)

“I’m not gonna let you fail again!” 😡 Aaaand Matt tries to put her down again. To make her feel weak and in need of help. BUT IT’S NO LONGER WORKING. She’s got this. Oh, she’s got this!

They left out Robin saying that he “doesn’t even have a knife”, and I’m actually glad they did. This didn’t need to be about physical assault again. Matt wouldn’t go that far, and it wasn’t necessary to go there. They clearly showed how manipulative he is and how strong Robin has to be to walk away from him, and that is enough.

The minicab driver. I remember the actress as Mrs. Fitz from “Outlander”, and she’s the perfect motherly tough love type to crack that marriage joke. And to get our girl out of there with no further fuss.

Whoa. I had high expectations. And they were met 10/10.

What did you guys think?

#lethal white #lethal white episode 3 #cormoran strike #cb strike #bbc strike #recap #🚨 spoiler alert

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blurry-fics · 4 years ago

Text

Hard Feelings

Pairing: Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: Profanity, small anxiety attack, angst

Word Count: 4245

Request: josh and bed sharing 😭😔💕✌🏻 -@panickedbrain

Author’s Note: Hopefully this super long fic makes up for my sporadic posting schedule! I hope you enjoy it :) (picture credit)

“Here, let me get that for you,” Tyler said, grabbing your duffle bag from where it had been crammed into the backseat.

Shortly after waking up drenched in sweat, you had received an email from your apartment building that the air conditioning had stopped working overnight and was in the process of being repaired. That part had been manageable, even if it meant sitting on the couch in an oversized t-shirt directly in front of a fan on full blast, but by the time lunch rolled around, a second email had come through saying the issue was much bigger. The estimated time until it would be fixed?

Three days.

You had called Tyler immediately, asking if you could crash on his and Josh’s couch until the issue was fixed. After ten minutes, and what you assumed had been a household meeting, you got the confirmation that you would have a nice, air conditioned place to stay until your own building was back up and running. Half an hour later, you were speeding down the highway towards Josh and Tyler’s house on the edge of Columbus, a duffle bag full of your essentials tossed into the backseat.

“Thanks,” you said, slamming the trunk closed after him and hitting the lock button until the car beeped. “And thank you again for letting me crash here until my building is fixed. I don’t think I would have lasted another hour in that heat.”

“It’ll be nice to have you around.”

“I doubt Josh shares that sentiment,” you snorted. Ever since you and Josh had met, there had always been a sort of rivalry between you two: he teased you about not going on enough dates while you teased him about going on too many. This, of course, was only an elaborate coverup for how you truly felt about him.

“You’d be surprised, he actually seemed pretty excited to have you around.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’ve known him for three years, of course I’m sure.”

You followed him into the house, instantly reveling in the feel of cool air washing over your body. Tyler, not even slightly phased by your reaction, continued to walk straight into the living room and dropped your stuff onto an unoccupied chair in the corner. This, you assumed, would be your closet for the indefinite future.

“Where’s Josh?” you asked, realizing that you had been inside the house for more than thirty seconds without hearing a sarcastic remark.

“Out on a run. He should be home soon.”

“In this heat?” You looked out the window, as if to confirm that the sun was still, indeed, shining.

“I don’t claim to understand his actions,” Tyler said, holding his hands up in defeat. “Want anything to drink?”

“I’m ok, but thanks.”

You finally sat down and kicked your feet up on the coffee table, allowing yourself the first moment of true relaxation since you had received the email from your building earlier that morning. Tyler continued on into the kitchen. The sound of cupboards being closed and cups clinking together filled the once-quiet house.

You were about to ask Tyler about a recent date that he had been on when the front door swung open, letting in a gust of warm air. The conversation was immediately forgotten as Josh stepped through the door, his chest still heaving beneath his sweat-stained top. Strands of hair were pressed to his forehead, but he quickly ran his hands through them and pushed them back, making a mess of curls on his head. He started to look your way, so you quickly averted your eyes. The magazine on the table sure was interesting, huh?

“Hey, Y/N,” he said. You could detect his shortness of breath in the way he was talking.

“Hi,” you said, shooting him a smile as if this were the first time you had laid eyes on him. “Have a nice run?”

“It could have been better.”

He bent down to untie his shoes. His shirt - which really should have been considered a tank top, considering how much of the sides he had cut away - fell forward, revealing his sweaty chest underneath. You only stared for a moment before ripping your eyes away, already feeling your cheeks get hot. It just so happened that this was the moment that Tyler walked into the room. He caught your eye and wiggled his eyebrows, which earned him an eye roll.

“You know you want him,” he mouthed.

“Shut up,” you mouthed back.

Josh finally stood up and stretched. Though it was tempting to glance at him, you kept your eyes fixated on the posters hanging on the wall. Tyler already had too much ammo to tease you with as it was.

You were relieved when Josh finally went upstairs and you no longer had to overthink every glance in his direction. Tyler collapsed down onto the couch next to you and took a long sip of his drink before kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

“Should I even say it?” he asked.

“It wouldn’t work, Tyler.”

“How do you know? Have you dated him before?”

The shower started to run upstairs.

“I don’t need to date him to know.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but that’s a little ridiculous.”

You turned to look at Tyler, letting your head roll back so that it was rested on the cushions. He took a sip of his drink and raised his eyebrows, waiting for your answer.

“It’s not! All it takes is one glance at us to know that we’re complete opposites, and we’re always poking fun at one another about it. He’s outgoing, confident, charming, willing to take risks… we really couldn’t be more different.”

“Haven’t you heard that opposites attract?”

“Haven’t you heard that’s bullshit?” you scoffed.

“Are you kidding? Josh always flirts with shy people because he thinks it’s cute.”

“Well he’s never flirted with me, so that must mean that he doesn’t think I’m cute.”

“Now that’s bullshit if I ever heard it,” Tyler snorted.

“Name one time Josh has ever flirted with me.”

“Are you kidding? You two were all over one another at the arcade the other night.”

“I was trying to beat him at skeeball!” Tyler shot you a look. “What?”

“All I’m going to say is that he wasn’t having a skeeball competition with anybody else.”

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever, Ty.”

“Come on, Y/N, will you at least give it a shot? One date?”

“I’m not putting our friendship at risk for the sake of one date that wouldn’t tell me anything.”

Tyler sighed loudly. “One,” he said, dramatically holding up his pointer finger, “one date is not enough to ruin a friendship if the friendship is strong enough. And two,” his middle finger flicked up to join the first, “one date is enough to tell you everything. How many times have you called me after a first date to tell me about how it wasn’t going to work out?”

You crossed your arms across your chest. Tyler was right and you both knew it.

“I’ll try, alright? But I’m going to take it at my own pace. And I don’t want there to be any meddling.”

“No promises,” Tyler grinned - a pit formed in your stomach - and leaned over to bump your shoulder with his own.

Before you had a chance to plead with Tyler not to get into the middle of it all, Josh came back downstairs. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a loose tank top, though it wasn’t as revealing as the one he had worn on his run. His hair, no longer sweaty, was still soaking wet and falling in loose curls around his face. Water dripped from them, running down his collarbone until they hit the hem of his tank top. Tyler gently reached over and pressed on your chin so that your mouth was no longer hanging open.

“What did I miss?” Josh said, grabbing the neck of his tank top and using it to wipe away a stray droplet of water.

“Not much,” Tyler chimed in before you had a chance to. “We were just talking.”

“Were you dying of boredom without my presence?” Josh grinned.

“You wish,” you scoffed. Tyler shot you a look, clearly unamused by your sarcastic remark in place of flirting. You shot him an apologetic smile when Josh wasn’t looking.

“So, Y/N, Tyler said you’re going to be staying with us for a few days,” Josh said. He slowly made his way into the living room and lowered himself onto a chair, obviously still feeling the effects of his morning run. His legs stretched out, making his shorts slip just a little bit further up his thighs. The hangnail on your thumb suddenly became very interesting.

“Unfortunately,” you said, looking up for just a second to meet his eyes.

“Oh, come on, am I that bad?” he stuck out his lower lip. You chewed on your own to hide the smile threatening to overtake your face.

Distracting was a better word.

“Tolerable,” was the one that left your mouth, however. “Most of the time.”

“You know,” he said, holding his hands up in defeat, “I’ll take it.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” Tyler sighed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

Josh answered, “Three days-”

“-give or take-” you chimed in, wincing a little as you pulled on the hangnail too hard.

“-of fun.”

“Fun,” he nodded. “Right.”

“Alright, I’m back,” Tyler said, gently sitting back down on the couch and resting his cup of water against his legs. “Everyone ready?”

You and Josh answered with mumbled agreement. After a busy afternoon of reading and writing music - ok maybe your afternoon wasn’t that busy - the three of you had settled in the living room to watch the latest Netflix series together. The plan had been to only watch a few episodes and then go on a late night drive together, but it ended up sucking all of you in. Now, half past midnight, you were all still lounging in the living room watching the fifth episode of the series.

“This is the last episode for me, though,” you said. “I need to sleep at some point.”

“Good plan,” Josh nodded.

You turned to smile at him - the two of you had been getting along really well all night and you were beginning to think you might be able to follow Tyler’s suggestion after all - but your eyes went directly to his phone. His fingers were flying across the screen as he typed out a message to someone whose name you couldn’t quite make out. It only took one winky face emoji for you to figure out the nature of the message he was sending.

Maybe you didn’t even need one date to tell you everything.

Josh slipped his phone back into his pocket and you pushed yourself a little further into the couch, stretching your legs just enough that you could jam your toes into Tyler, a form of subtle punishment for getting your hopes up. He playfully pushed them away and you relented, not wanting to make him genuinely angry. He had only been trying to help, and it’s not like he had any control over Josh’s dating app habits.

You tried to get comfortable and pay attention to the show, but thoughts about Josh kept creeping back into your mind. It didn’t help that the fan in the corner of the room kept carrying the scent of his shampoo towards you. It was clean and nice and reminded you of mornings on tour when Josh would join you at the table to eat his cereal and ask you how you slept and tease you when you would tell him he was in your dream. Because that’s what you did: you teased one another and poked fun at your dating habits and most definitely didn’t flirt.

You pulled your sweatshirt up over your nose so that the only thing you could smell was your laundry detergent and the musty smell of your apartment that lingered on everything you wore. Now was not the time to have a crisis about your relationship with Josh and overthink every little interaction you had ever shared.

Thankfully, the show started to get interesting and your thoughts were quickly overwhelmed with trying to keep up with what was happening on the screen. Even though he was right at the corner of your vision, Josh was far from at the forefront of your mind.

“No way!” Tyler said, sitting up so fast that the water in his lap spilled all over your legs and the couch. He was still too preoccupied with the plot twist to notice. “She was- and he- you’re kidding!”

“Tyler!” you groaned, already feeling the water soaking through the material of your sweatpants to your legs.

“Oh shoot,” he said, finally noticing the mess he had created. “Hold on.”

Tyler quickly set his cup down and ran up the stairs. You gently removed your legs from the puddle that had formed and tried not to drip more water all over the place.

“So much for having a dry place to sleep,” Josh said.

Shit. You hadn’t even thought of that.

“I’ll just steal Tyler’s bed,” you sighed. “It’s his mess, he can pay the price.”

“Good luck with that.”

Tyler returned, now carrying a number of towels in his arms. He haphazardly tossed them onto the couch and started to pat at them, which seemed to be doing a surprisingly good job at soaking up the water. You grabbed one of the smaller ones and started to dab at your sweatpants.

“Hey, Dun, want to stop flirting and get off your phone for long enough to help us clean up this mess?”

“I don’t know, looks like you have it covered,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

“We do,” Tyler said, glancing at you.

“So it’s cool if I head up to bed?”

“Go for it.”

“Goodnight, guys.”

“See you tomorrow,” you said.

“Goodnight.”

You watched as Josh disappeared up the stairs and around the corner. After your talk with Tyler earlier in the day, tonight had not gone like you had hoped.

“Don’t even say it because I’m really not in the mood to hear it,” you said, standing up and throwing the towel down on the couch. “And don’t turn around.”

“Roger that,” he said. You could hear him continuing to dab water off the couch.

A new sense of frustration washed over you as you stripped off your sweatshirt in favor of an oversized Death Cab for Cutie shirt Tyler had bought you as a “congratulations for completing your first term of college” gift. He had given it to you the same day he announced he wouldn’t be coming back next term. At the time, you had been afraid that your newly formed friendship with him wouldn’t last, but here you were years later.

“Where am I going to sleep tonight?” you asked, failing to keep the edge of frustration out of your voice. You tossed your wet sweatpants over the back of the chair and pulled on your pajama shorts.

“With Josh.”

You snorted, “Very funny. You know, I’m beginning to think all the stuff you said about him flirting with me was bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit and I’m not kidding.”

You finished tucking your clean sweatshirt away in your bag and turned to face Tyler, expecting him to have his usual dorky “got ya” grin on his face. When you realized he was just casually scooping up the now damp towels, your stomach sunk.

“You’re not serious?”

“I am!”

“Tyler Joseph, you are not making me sleep in the same bed as Josh.”

“Watch me.”

You started to sprint towards the stairs - Tyler couldn’t kick you out of his bed if you were already in it - but Tyler was faster, even with the towels in his hands. He took the stairs two at a time and slipped into his bedroom, closing the door just before you could get a foot inside.

“Tyler, please,” you said, grabbing the door handle and jiggling it.

“Work it out.” His voice was muffled through the door.

You sighed. Once Tyler had his heart set on something, there was no changing his mind about it. That door was not going to open until he wanted it to, and your unwillingness to sleep in the same bed as Josh was not a good enough reason for him.

You stood in the dark hallway for a few minutes, contemplating the options that currently stood in front of you:

Suck it up and ask Josh if you could stay in his room for the night.

Sleep on the wet couch and deal with the discomfort.

Go home and spend another night in your sweltering apartment.

Sleep on the floor.

You groaned and childishly stomped your foot against the ground, not liking any of your choices. On the other side of the door, you could hear Tyler casually getting ready for bed without a care in the world. He didn’t have to worry about a broken air conditioning system or a stupid boy or where to sleep.

Stupid Tyler.

“Is everything ok out here?”

Could this night get any worse?

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, turning to face Josh. Your jaw nearly dropped upon seeing him. Sure, you had seen him in pajamas countless times on tour, but never like this. He was wearing a pair of Adidas sweatpants that were resting way low on his hips. You couldn’t help the way that your eyes slid up his torso until they met his. Some of his curls were falling into his eyes, which you really hoped meant he couldn’t see how blatantly you were ogling him right now. His mouth curled into a smile around the toothbrush that was half-hanging out of his mouth. Think, Y/N, think! What were you going to say? “I just thought I would be able to bargain with Tyler since he… you know, with the couch? But since I’m standing in the hall, you can probably figure out how that went.”

“Classic Tyler,” Josh said, pulling his toothbrush back out of his mouth so he could speak. “You know, you could sleep in here if you wanted. My bed is big enough for the two of us.”

You hated that Tyler’s plan was working.

“Um, yeah, sure. I just need to finish getting ready for bed.”

“Cool, just hop in whenever you want.”

How was he being so nonchalant about this?

“Will do,” you said, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He laughed quietly and disappeared back into his room.

You took your time going through your nightly routine, trying to put off having to be in the same bed as Josh for as long as you could. Tyler was probably laying in his own bed right about now, completely alone, feeling satisfied with the work he had done in pushing you and Josh closer together. The thought of it was enough to make you want to kick down his door and chew him out for putting you in situations like this, even if deep down you knew he was just trying to help you out.

Josh was already in bed when you walked into his room, scrolling through his phone. His torso was no longer on full display, but the light of his phone was illuminating his features. You made an effort not to stare as you walked over and slipped under the covers. The blanket was thick, but the fan at the end of the bed was producing enough air to offset the warmth. Besides, any amount of cool air was an improvement from the absolute hell that you had woken up to earlier that morning.

“Are you comfortable?” Josh asked. They were the first words you had exchanged since you entered the room.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me sleep in here, by the way.”

“I wasn’t about to let you sleep on the soaking wet couch. You’re supposed to be comfortable while you stay here, not dealing with an issue that’s just as bad as a furnace apartment.”

“Tell that to Tyler,” you snorted.

“You should give him a bad Yelp review.”

You and Josh both laughed.

“I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

The two of you exchanged some more small talk before finally deciding that you should get some sleep. After your friendly conversation - that featured a few flirty remarks on both sides - you were feeling a little bit better, though you couldn’t deny the tension you felt now that the room was quiet. It was like you could feel every little shift in his sleeping position and all the heat radiating off of him and hear every tiny change in his breathing.

And it was making it very hard to get some sleep.

You carefully rolled over onto your other side, which meant that you were now facing Josh, hoping that the change in position would relax you a little bit. After checking the time, and realizing you had spent nearly half an hour trying to fall asleep to no avail, you closed your eyes and tried to calm your mind. All you had to do was get to sleep, then you didn’t have to worry about Josh anymore. He would become a problem for you to deal with in the morning.

Unfortunately, sleeping Josh had different ideas. He rolled over, leaving his nose inches from yours, and flailing his arms all over the place. Your hands were just barely touching, sending tingles into your arm and erasing what tiny bit of tiredness you had managed to accumulate. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest from just that tiny bit of contact.

And you were supposed to spend all night in a bed right next to him?

Suddenly overwhelmed, you shot out of bed, tripping a little over the mess of blankets you had made while trying to fall asleep. Josh sat up instantly, his hands splayed out on the bed behind him, holding him up. He squinted, looking around the room until his eyes landed on you.

“Are you ok?”

“I can’t-” you heaved, “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“Do what? What’s going on? Are you awake? Am I awake?”

“We’re both awake,” you said, resting a hand on your chest.

Josh slowly threw the covers off of him and got up, walking around the bed until he was standing across from you.

“What is going on, Y/N?”

“It’s just you and me in the bed and it’s overwhelming and I don’t know what to do.” The words were spilling out of your mouth before you could stop them. “First it’s the teasing and Tyler’s remarks and the pretty people on Tinder that are so much better than I’ll ever be and now I’m here in your bed and you’re right there and I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about all of it…”

“Hold on, slow down, I don’t understand,” Josh said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I like you, Josh, a lot. And I know I tease you and act like I don’t, but I really, really do.”

Josh closed the space between you, resting his hands on your cheeks with just enough force to finally get you to look at him. His eyes were shining.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

His lips crashed into yours and he tasted like toothpaste and smelled like shampoo and his skin was warm underneath your fingertips but not sweaty and you were completely lost in him. You liked the way his calluses brushed against your cheeks and how his lips fit perfectly with yours. You liked a lot of things about him, really.

“Sorry, that was really embarrassing,” you mumbled when he finally pulled away.

“It was cute.”

“Me practically falling out of your bed because our fingers brushed for half a second and then ranting at you incoherently at two in the morning is not cute,” you laughed.

“If I brush against your fingers right now, will it happen again?” Josh smiled, leaning close enough to you that his nose pressed against yours. His fingers ghosted the length of your arm and eventually brushed against your hand, his pointer finger just barely curling against yours.

“All my cards are already on the table.”

“I like your cards.”

“What?” you giggled.

“I don’t know where I was going with that,” he laughed with you.

“Thirty seconds into this… whatever it is and you’re already losing your cool.”

Josh grinned. “What can I say? You just do that to me.”

“Alright, that’s it, we’re going back to bed,” you said, grabbing Josh’s arm and dragging him back towards the bed.

“What do you think Tyler will say when we tell him about this?”

“I can already see the look on his face when we tell him he was right,” you sighed, sliding back under the covers. Josh joined you and opened his arms, inviting you to lay on his chest.

“If it makes you feel any better, he has to deal with us for the next few days.”

You smiled, “If we’re lucky, he has to deal with us forever.”

“I like the sound of that.”

When Josh leaned down to kiss you again, the entire world faded away.

#josh dun #josh dun x reader #josh dun fluff #josh dun angst #twenty one pilots #josh dun imagine #josh dun drabble #josh dun fanfiction #twenty one pilots x reader #twenty one pilots imagine #twenty one pilots drabble #twenty one pilots fanfiction #fluff #angst #skeleton clique #blurry-fics

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tidustargaryen · 4 years ago

Text

The Last of Us Part II - A unique experience you can never get rid of (My interpretation of the story - Full of spoilers!!!)

I made some screens of the game, but I messed up while forgetting to remove the black frame of options from photo mode. I was so proud of the screens! ^^ Sorry. ��

Wow...Wow...Wow... 🤩🤩

I couldn't not talk about this game, and what it felt like to play it.I went through all the emotions, I smiled, I cried, I screamed, I laughed, I was scared, I was anxious, I sang, I felt anger, even hatred, but also compassion, pity, empathy and the desire to forgive and forget. They broke my heart, and then filled it with rainbows. It was really the roller coaster of emotions. That's what I wanted when I bought this game. I wanted to feel things, a whole lot of things. I wanted to smile, I wanted to laugh, but I also wanted to cry. Because crying is not necessarily negative. It's a human emotion that also does good things.

I love Red Dead Redemption 2, I played it a lot, but I didn’t have the need to put words on my feelings. And especially not to give it such praise, that is to say how much The Last of Us Part II affected me. I also find it hard to describe my thoughts, my feelings in another language, and the review took me time and effort. There will surely be plenty of mistakes, but I love this game too much not to grant it the honor it deserves.

The job is successful, it's more than successful, this game has affected me deeply, in a positive way. When I put the controller down at the end of the game, wow... Just wow... That's all i could think of. And I must confess, I don't understand the negative feedback. I understand of course, that you can dislike a scenario, I myself dislike some movies, we like, we dislike, for different reasons, it's our most legitimate right. But hatred for a game? Putting a zero grade on it? It's not objective. The gameplay is excellent, much better than the first one, the immersion is incredible, the visual and sound atmosphere... damn! The motion capture is unmatched. More weapons, more actions, more everything.The graphics, the dialogues, the music! Even if the scenario is not good for you, you have to admit that the rest is almost perfect... So it's impossible to put 0 to this game. It may not please you, it's legitimate, but when I don't like something, I leave it, I don't spend days talking about it, in a bad way. I would also add that reading the leaks is one thing, playing the game, living the story with the controller in hand is something else. Maybe you're missing out on something huge, it's your choice.

If I say that, it's above all because I would really like a third opus, I want other stories with Ellie. I liked her in the first one, but I got so attached to her in the second part. And I like the world of the Last of Us, I got attached to the Ellie/Dina relationship as well, and I'll come back to that in the development I'm going to do on the characters right after.

All that to say, for anyone who didn't like The Last of Us Part II, your life is not going to change whether or not there's a part III, but I, and other players, would really like a sequel. But I'm not sure there's going to be one after this outpouring of hatred. So good for you, so bad for us, I guess. But I'm not selfish.

I've also seen some very positive comments, a lot of “masterpieces” and objective opinions, full of very good reviews from players who have had the same experience as me. I've played a lot of games that I liked, very few of them made an impression on me like The Last of Us Part II, none of them made an impression on me like The Last of Us Part II in fact, thank you Naughty Dog. Really, thank you, because, and this is my personal opinion, this sequel is much better than the first opus. Yes, that's what I think, and I had heard and seen a lot of press reviews that said it was better, I couldn't believe it. And yet, since I finished the game, I can't stop thinking about it, I can't stop rewriting the story, imagining a sequel, and that's what I wanted this game to do, to touch me emotionally, quite simply. This game haunts me since I press “start”. Well done, I admit.

Spoilers, ahead.

They didn't lie on this, I knew what game I was buying. A violent game, which deals with difficult subject, revenge, hate, the worst human emotions. It's hard for the players to understand the choices they made in the script, but it's also because it's hard to imagine living in a world like The Last of Us. Anyone can die at any time. And the survival instinct brings out the worst in humans. In their world, we too would become violent, hateful, we would do anything to survive. We will do the same things as Abby, Ellie, Joel and everyone else. Yes, it would be so much simpler, and more productive, to cooperate, to be united, this is the solution, the only one. Unfortunately, humans do the contrary, because the fear of the other, of the unknown, makes one strike before being struck. Already, in our current world, people find it very difficult to show solidarity, there is solidarity, but how many there are out of billions ?? They said it would take an open mind to enjoy the game, and understand the choices of characters. And they were right.

The game could have dealt with the story of a father and his adopted daughter, wanting to survive in a cruel world full of infected people who want to devour you, but who are not the worst enemies. It would have shown these characters succeeding and living a happy life in the town of Jackson... and it could have been believable, why not, with a big stroke of luck... Because honestly, in a world like this, where anybody can die at any time, realism is very important. The worst thing that could have happened to this game is not hate, it's indifference, and the game does not leave indifferent, far from it. People still haven't understood that to show disappointment in a game, a movie, a series, or whatever, hatred is not the solution, but indifference. Hatred proves that you are interested enough in the subject to talk about it a lot. This is indifference, the opposite of love.

Because, yes, in this world, you can die very cruelly, horribly, just like Joel... It's hard, it hurts, but it's realistic. When I first played the first opus, at the end I said to myself "If there's a sequel to this game, Joel will pay harshly for the consequences of his decision..." Because Joel's choice was selfish, it was very human, but it was very selfish. I love Ellie so much that I'm thrilled, but he saved a little girl that he cared so much about, a love that he didn't think he'd feel since he lost his little girl. But tell me, how many other little girls has he sacrificed in the process? How many people has he forced to live in such a terrible world? This vaccine could have saved them all. It’s unthinkable to me that the surviving Fireflies wouldn't want revenge. And it's even more natural to want revenge on the murderer of your father.

Yeah, I wish Joel would've survived, or not died so cruelly, especially not in front of Ellie. But Joel is paying the consequences for his choice. It's hard to put yourself in that position, but I don't think I would have made the same choice Joel did. And maybe, when you think about it, was it better for Ellie to die saving the world, rather than go through all that she had to go through next ?

The Last of Us part II, it's clearly not a game where everything is white or black, the development studio took a big risk, making us play inside the head of the person we're supposed to hate, the one who took Ellie's dearest love. Most games make us play nice people, who fight against the bad guys, but here, the bad guys aren't always bad, they can do good deeds, and bad ones, just like Ellie. These shades of grey in each character are very interesting to study, the story becomes more complex, more captivating. Joel wasn't a "good guy" either, he did a lot of bad things before he crossed Ellie's path, he ambushed people to kill them and steal from them... That doesn't stop us from loving him, it's also true for Abby and her companions.

That's what I love about this game, the nuances. The questioning of the character choices, and the morality that's built into it. And for me, this game is clearly an essay about what makes us feel and what drives us to hatred and revenge, and what we get out of it... Nothing, as we can see with my poor girl Ellie. She brutally loses Joel and in her quest for revenge, loses everything else.

There's clearly no way in hell she's going back to Jackson, she's leaving, for good, and alone.Besides, we saw her head toward the door at the back, not the one on the side, which leads to Jackson. And when she walks with JJ, towards this door, she tells him that only bad things are behind this door. No, unfortunately, Ellie does not return to Jackson, and that is understandable. This quest for revenge has affected her deeply. For me, it's like a stain on her soul. Is it legitimate for her to want revenge? I think it is. Should she give in to hatred and revenge? Of course, in this story, for Ellie, the answer is no. "I'm gonna find, and I'm gonna kill every last one of them," I think she could've added, "No matter what it costs me." Her future happiness. Neil Druckmann brought up a possible part III, and perhaps this part could imply a redemption from Ellie. She tells JJ that behind this door there are only bad things, maybe in the end, she goes to these bad things, to try to destroy as much as possible. And to finally be able to do what Joel stealed from her, and finally answer this question of why she is immunizing, why her ? To save people.

Ellie can't move on. She has a lot of nightmares, she's been through a trauma and can't get over it. Despite the peaceful life she has with Dina and JJ, she is not happy, at least not entirely. Part of her has stayed in that house near Jackson, on the ground where Joel died cruelly. And that part she'll never get back, and she doesn't know it, but even killing Abby wouldn't change anything. Ellie lost too many people, and Joel was the one person she couldn't lose. But even if she doesn't give in to the last siren of vengeance, the damage is already done. After Nora, whom she tortures for information, Owen's death and his pregnant girlfriend, it's too late. Not to mention all the other people she had to kill to get there. It's not without consequences,the guilt is too big,for what she did to those people and also for Joel,who she feels she has to avenge,rightly or wrongly,out of love,out of loyalty, or both.

And it's very clear when she kills Owen and then Mel. Of course, she's just defending herself, she didn't want to kill them, she just wanted to know where Abby was. And most of all, she didn't know Mel was pregnant, and in that moment, she knows she's gone too far, that her revenge cost her too much. But it's really when she sees Jesse die, when she thinks Tommy's dead, too, and she almost lost Dina, that she gives up on revenge, for now. She chooses a quiet life with Dina, but Tommy won't give it up, and Ellie is still very affected by Joel's death.

She must avenge Joel, even if it means losing everything, she will find Abby. She'll finally give up on killing her, and I completely agree with that choice. All this was for nothing? Well, yes, because Ellie realized too late that revenge would never heal Joel's death, would never make up for her great loss, and that Abby's death wouldn't bring Joel back. The problem is, she realizes that too late, she already lost everything else, including herself.

As far as I'm concerned, she knows the farm will be empty, she just needs to go back, as if the last bit of happiness she has left is in this house. And maybe, with a spark of hope, that the person she loves the most after Joel, hasn't abandoned her. I think she also thinks that Dina and JJ deserve better than her, someone who got lost on the path to revenge, a ghost of the Ellie that Dina fell in love with.

Yeah, it's not a happy story, but that was never the point. I think it's hard to imagine the world they live in compared to ours. This is not a world where happiness exists, and if it does exist, it is hard to find, let alone keep.

The game did something very daring, making us play Joel's killer. It's ballsy, isn't it! And yes, bad guys have a life, a story, and a reason to do what they do. They're just as human. I hated Abby, that's a strong word, but I wish Ellie had killed her right then and there, and then I was forced into her head. Abby lost her father, and so did Ellie. Joel killed Abby's father, and she killed Ellie's father. An eye for an eye? A lot of people hate Abby, so I'm going to put it another way. Would you have let your father's killer live? Abby couldn't. It's very legitimate, I wish she'd killed him quickly, his death was cruel. But as much as Joel's choice... All the loss, all the hardship, all of it could have been stopped with the vaccine. All because of Joel. Maybe you wish she would've kissed him and thanked him?

And yet, she spares Ellie and Tommy and Dina, something she's gonna regret, by the way. Because, later, Tommy kills Manny, her best friend. And Ellie kills Owen, the man she loves. And once again, in spite of that, she spares Ellie again. This time, her mercy will save her life, when Ellie delivers her from this new group of slavers she meets. (Ellie the breaker of chains xD) Abby doesn't want to fight anymore, doesn't want revenge. She gives up punishing Owen and Mel's murderer, and their babies, and also the others. (If Abby knows about Nora, etc.)

She knows what it cost her to take revenge, it didn't bring her father back, it didn't ease her grief, and that caused the death of her closest friends, when Ellie, in turn, wanted get revenge. The price is too high. I had no particular affinity with Abby, but I understand her character. In her quest for revenge, Abby only kills the man responsible for her father's death, when Ellie wanted to kill them all, and kills many. Abby also has her bad choices, she condones Isaac's torture methods which are just horrible, but her revenge has not controlled her like she did to control Ellie. Punishing the one responsible was enough, but not for Ellie.Yes, at the beginning, I wanted Abby to die, and kudos to the developers, because at the time when Ellie had her hands around her neck, I had only one thought, let her live, please… Well done to make us pass from a desire for revenge to an act of pity.Yes, Ellie made the wrong choice, but could she make another one? In a world like that, I don't know, it's very difficult to imagine the impact of such a harsh universe on our psychology. But it shows that revenge brings nothing, it takes everything. And hatred also does nothing good, especially if it is your main driver.

This is a great lesson that the developers are giving us, it pushes us to question certain morality, and that was their goal. Our world is also filled with hatred, and some people give in to it so easily. I don’t understand how you can feel all this hatred for people who just created a video game ... Isn’t there a bigger fight in the world? Racism, homophobia, slavery (yes, yes it still exists), pedophilia, rapists, misogynists, the people who govern us, the powerful who buy everything with money, animal and family mistreatment … Why waste time on developers whose only fault is wanting to create a game to entertain people? Were they not successful for you? Go on to something else. And I'm not even talking about everyone who hates the game without ever even playing it. It's just a game. There are more serious things that deserve your anger, don't you think?

This is my opinion and I give it with all the objectivity I can. If the game was bad, I would not have wasted time writing all of this in another language, I would have moved on but that is not the case. Yes this game is huge! And even more because it highlights things that some people want to hide. Personally, I loved that the two characters we play are female! Especially on such dark themes !! It's always for men... two women, who want revenge, who gives in to the darkest and most human emotions. Not men, finally. Thank you Naughty Dog. A gay heroine! I love, and I don't understand all the controversy around LGBTQ propaganda ... So, according to this reasoning, do other games make heterosexual propaganda ?? And gay people have to go through this ?! It's a shame !

No, I'm not gay, I have no personal interest in defending it, just the freedom of everyone to be able to live. It is out of the question that people live unhappy all their life, just so as not to shock people who are too closed to understand that the sexual life of others does not concern them ... More games like that please, and with men too… because homosexuality in the media is often represented by women.

I also didn't understand that we can take offense for the visit to a synagogue ... Should we blame Assassin's Creed for all the cathedrals in which we did stunts and break a lot of things ??

Again, everyone has the right to like or not like the game, but I don’t think you should be so disrespectful of all those people who worked hard on this game. Especially when it’s unwarranted. And I know something about it, I watched GoT season 8, I know what it's like to betray the soul of a story Clearly, this is not the case, here. I’ve seen some very constructive reviews explaining how amazing this game is, but it couldn’t please everyone, and I’m sorry for all those who didn’t like it (those who played well sure, the others are not legitimate for me) but don’t prevent us from enjoying this game, especially if we can have a sequel.

I needed to put all my thoughts on my keyboard, and on my blog, because as I said at the very beginning, this game affected me deeply and it is, for me, the best game I ever played. (sorry RDR 2, sorry Arthur, but Ellie gave you a nice slap there 😋 ) I highly recommend it! However, I know that it cannot please everyone, like all works of art, it’s subjective.

I would like to end with my favorite scenes, no matter they made me smile or cry, because there are really magic and unforgettable moments. Not necessarily rank in order of preference.

- The guitar scene with Dina. The cover of "Take on me" which is just beautiful, I still listen to it often, and it's a moment of peace (like the giraffes in the first one) in this terrible world.

- The scene where Joel takes Ellie to the science museum. Same, wonderful moment in this world of brute. And a wonderful gift from Joel to his daughter. I'm still crying. And that is to bring it perfectly, they could have put this scene to us before his death, it would not have had the same impact. After Joel's death, it hits where it should.

- Of course, the scene where Ellie and Joel talks about his choice to save her. This moment, or Ellie tells him that she can't forgive him yet, that she may never be able to, but that she wants to try, I think that is also one of the reasons why Ellie doesn't want to give up on revenge. Joel died when she still resented him, and they were both on cold terms. She can't forgive herself.

- The scene where Dina offers her her bracelet, I love this bracelet.

- All the null jokes of Ellie !!!! xD

- I cry when Ellie thinks that Dina could leave her for Jesse. And then after, when she comforted her.

- The scene at the farm, when Ellie is walking with JJ, I loved it, she seems happy, but shortly after, we realize that this is not the case, or rather, that something is missing, or someone… The scene of the return to the farm, for me has made it harder, already because it's the end, because Dina is no longer there, even if it was easy to imagine. And the scene where it seems to me that she plays the song that Joel sang to her. She lost him, And then she lost herself. The song he sang to her at the beginning sums it all up. This is the saddest scene for me. In the first game, Ellie told Joel that all the people she has ever loved are dead or have abandoned her. She finds herself alone, and it's partly her fault.

Various :

I hate having to hit Ellie while playing Abby, especially with her arms so big, she must hurt very much!! I'm not a fan of tattoos but Ellie's is just beautiful! I would like to visit a little more Santa Barbara, it changes from Seattle ^^But Seattle is really beautiful. The lifespan of the game is enormous and the difficulty much bigger than the first one. In normal mode I sometimes suffered a lot ^^ Naughty Dog has dared to model the penises of the infected !!! (Yes, I took photos, no I would not show them xD)

The first game had given us a tragic death from the start, Sarah. She is the first playable character for a very short time, and we are just walking with her. And witness helplessly at her death. The second game does the same, but it’s her father who dies this time just after we play a little with him, just for a horse riding with Tommy. Poetic ?

Yes, the game has faults, some bugs, some passages are long, but given the quality it offers us, personally, I forget these faults, nothing is perfect, nothing needs to be.

And the only criticism I have of this game is that I wanted to play with Ellie a bit more (it's relative, the game still has a long life, but I'm greedy, I wanted more of Ellie). I really want to play with her again and I hope that where she goes, she will be fine. I liked her in the first opus, I love her now. She enters the top of my favorite fictional characters, with Daenerys Targaryen, Ellie in second place, and Arthur Morgan (sorry for your second place big boy 😋 ) And I now understand the Youtubers who said that they envied us for still having to discover the game and the scenario. Now, I wish I could forget it and find out again. What is certain is that I will not be able to say goodbye to Ellie, impossible. She deserves a very, very big hug after everything they've done to her.

I haven't read the leaks, I haven't been spoiled at all, and I hate that. I trusted a Youtuber when the fans started to hate the game, without ever playing it, and I was right. For those who compare The Last of Us with GoT: I read the leaks of GoT, I was happy to have done it given the parody they did of the show, I would have really regretted having read the The Last of Us part II leaks. Reading and living the game are two different things.

I probably forgot some things, I will do a second part, I may add things later.

This game is simply and deeply human. In these most beautiful qualities, and especially in these worst flaws.

Best game ever. My opinion.

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t-oresama · 5 years ago

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My thoughts on Sulli, her life and death

I wanted to gather my many swirling thoughts on the passing of Sulli, especially because it’s taken me a little while to truly process that she's gone, so her we go. There is obviously going to be mentions of death, depression, bullying and suicide, so there's your warning for this reality that Sulli was bravely facing for so long. There will also be mention of Jonghyun, but only to show the drastic differences in what led to he and Sulli finding their ends the way they did.

Sulli has been a Korean celebrity for 14 years. She debuted as an actress when she was 11, and debuted as a singer in f(x) when she was 15. I honestly didn't know that she was only 25 until today, because she's been around seemingly for forever. 25 years old. Barely in her mid-20s. The time where you're finally starting to get a grasp on this thing called adulthood and enjoy it. There was a video floating around from a variety show she did where she said she wanted to be a mother before she died. She won't get to now. She had her dream cruelly ripped away from her. And I've found in this processing that I've been more angry than anything. Yes, I'm sad, shocked and heartbroken over the loss of this beautiful, spunky, and brave girl, but I'm mostly just so, so pissed off.

There is an obvious understanding for idols or any celebrities that their personal lives are not very personal after becoming famous. Everything they do is magnified because they have become so prolific and, yes, idolized. But this doesn't mean that their privacy entirely should be taken away. It doesn't make them any less susceptible to pain, frustration, fatigue, and sadness. And it doesn't mean that, just because their actions are magnified, that EVERYTHING they do HAS to get reported on, does it? Surely not. But ever since Sulli's "laziness" controversy and subsequent leaving f(x), every post, every picture, every quote out of Sulli's mouth became an article. For 5 years, she has had to defend herself for believing in women's rights for equality and choice, for loving a man that happens to be older than her, for not wearing a goddamn bra. This year has been rife with extremely vile and illegal accusations and convictions. Never once did Sulli break the law in any action she did or said. She was still a young woman trying to find herself, and good for her if she wanted to act outside of the "proper Korean lady" norm. It never hurt anybody. But because she was famous, it was weird and scandalous. She was called a pig, she was called a feminazi, she was called an attention whore, and that is just the beginning of what she had to endure from every salacious article and malicious commenter for 5 YEARS.

I hate to bring him up like this, but this is the second suicide of a high-profile K-pop idol in 2 years so I must bring this up to make my point. And I preface that I am not a therapist or psychologist, but unfortunately looking back now, the signs become more evident in death than in life.I despise when people pin the cause of SHINee's Jonghyun's death on K-pop, and that the industry is what drove him to suicide. In fact, I ranted about just this a couple of weeks ago. He had a horrible illness in depression that was made worse by the pressures and nearly unreal expectations of K-pop, but depression had lingered with him for years. Nothing in the outside world suddenly drove him over the edge. His depression just engulfed him one day to the point of no return. But with Sulli, I do blame the industry.

I blame the industry. I blame the Korean media and the Korean media translation sites, some that cherry-picked the most negative and controversial headlines to gain clicks. I blame the netizens who hid like cowards behind computer screens attacking a young woman with the ferocity of a fictitious video game villain, throwing insults, slurs, and expectations at every new pointless article. I blame Korean society for having these high expectations to begin with, and still, YEARS after Jonghyun's death, stigmatizing those who suffer from mental illness and write it off as "a bad day" or "attention seeking". Her environment did not help her, but hurt her. It kicked her while she was down for all these years with no relief. I mean, for goodness sake, Sulli joined a show literally called "The Night of Vicious Comments" in order to attempt to show strength in the face of so much adversity and get people to understand that words hurt, especially how many she was getting on a daily basis. Some of her last mentions in Korean media was her doing a live broadcast on two different occasions, and having one where a man wouldn't leave her alone and one where her breast was exposed for all but a half a second. Never were these considered by the public at large to be mistakes, but ploys at attention seeking. Rarely was there sympathy for this girl who was just trying to find her place in the world and fight back against oppression. She was already suffering from mental anguish-- the reason she left f(x) all those years ago-- but no one except for Sulli herself can ever convince me that it wasn't the culmination of all this hate for all these years that drove her to her breaking point. Now these same publications-- some even cashing in like they did for Jonghyun releasing multiple articles on the deceased for website hits-- and these same people who left these vicious comments and the Korean society at large want to say "Oh, what a tragedy. What a shame we didn't stop this sooner. She was human after all." Shame on the lot of you. I never would wish anything ill on anyone, but I hope the people who left even one hate comment for Sulli or any other celebrity take a good look at themselves and realize their words can kill. I hope they realize what they've caused.

Her last Instagram live had Sulli saying that she wasn't a bad person, and asking desperately why people send her hate. That is so heartbreaking. She was bullied relentlessly and all she wanted was to know why. For being herself? For being outspoken? For going against this inhuman mold of K-pop idols and Korean celebrities who are chaste and pure and robotic that the industry has set as a standard? For not wearing a goddamn bra? Heartbreaking. I do believe she was already suffering from sort of mental strife, whether that was depression or something else, but it was perpetuated by a society that completely and utterly failed her. My first thought reading the news of her death this morning was "I'm so sorry, Sulli," and not because I ever left her a hateful comment (and, honestly, you are entitled to not like a celebrity, but to waste so much energy constantly bombarding them with hateful messages? Like, how do so many nasty people have time to do that?). But because I saw it happen. Because I would click on the occasional clickbaity article and give those publications a motivation to keep translating the absurdly controversial. Because I never commented something nice. And, as a result of her death, I've seen a flood of comments of concern and love go to some idols Sulli was closest to, like Taeyeon and Tiffany and Amber and IU (and countless more), asking if they are okay, showing them support. It truly sucks that this is what it takes for the good to truly outweigh the bad, and that this is inevitably too little too late. But I think any normal person who knew what Sulli was constantly up against feels some sense of sorrow or guilt for what's happened, even those of us who don't live in Korea who don't impact Korean celebrities like those in Korea. There's also guilt for not seeing the signs of her suffering until it was too late. But, as with Jonghyun, those most open about their pain, who try to put on this brave front, can end up being the ones who suffer most. There needs to be a greater vigilance in online commenting, privacy protection, sensationalist articles, and insuring the well-being of Korean celebrities. This involves a total shift in how the Korean industry has been working for decades, but part of me wants to hope that THIS death, not the first of its kind, can lead to something to change. I selfishly and maybe foolishly hope that something can change.

To end this very long post/rant, I want to dedicate this last paragraph to Sulli. Choi Jin Ri. The effervescent Peach. The big baby of f(x). The princess of eye smiles. The girl who dared to go against an industry just to stay true to herself. Again, I am so sorry that we have collectively failed you. You deserved so much more than what you had to endure. And I am so sorry that your dream of being a mother will never be realized. I am sorry the plethora of milestones that laid ahead for you you'll never experience. I'm so sorry you were suffering. I hope wherever you are that you are finally, deservedly, at peace. No bad words or malicious intentions can come close to touching you now. Thank you for both what you have generously shared with us in your solo work and your work as a member of f(x). You are a legend and a true game-changer. The world wasn't ready for someone like you, and some of them didn't deserve you. But thank you for leaving us with so much of you in your songs and performances and words and true, uncapturable beauty. Rest in everlasting peace.

Finally, if you reading this are suffering with negative thoughts or mental anguish, please find the hotline that corresponds to your country and seek help. https://ibpf.org/resou…/list-international-suicide-hotlines… There are people who are there to help. Take time to practice true self care and love over these next few days. Stay safe and stay strong.

#sulli #kpop #mental health #depression #my thoughts that no one asked for #korea #netizens #bullying #sulli is not the first but please let her be the last that has to die for korea to realize things need to change #blind hope but still #rest in peace sulli #the world did not deserve you

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bright-molina · 7 years ago

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Girls Talk Boys

Request: Hey can you do a Gil imagine where Gil is dating the daughter of Belle? Thanks!

Characters: Gil, Harry, Uma, Lonnie, Jane, Ben, reader (daughter of Belle and Adam)

Warnings: One swear I think but otherwise it’s all fluff

Word Count: 3253

A/N: Finally!!! I’ve been writing this for ages and it’s finally here!

Requests and tags are always open! Find my prompt list here

“I can't believe you roped me into this,” You sighed as you smoothed out the front of your dress again.

“You love me too much to not do this for me,” Ben smiled down at you lightly.

“You sure about that?” You laughed when your brother scoffed before ruffling your hair. “Hey! I spent an hour fixing my hair!”

“You mean you stalled for fifty minutes then did it in ten because there is no way that took an hour” Ben teased you. He simply laughed when you glared at him. “Besides, you love doing this”

You smiled, confirming his statement. You had been the first one he told when he decided he wanted to start bringing kids over from the Isle of the Lost. You were actually the one who helped him decide which ones to bring over first. And now that more were finally coming he had made it your job to get them all properly assimilated.

Pretty soon the limo pulled up to the school and they received the same welcome Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos had when they first arrived with the band playing and the streamers, the whole works. Slowly six people exited the car and you and Ben followed Fairy Godmother to greet them. You stood silently, watching as Fairy Godmother introduced herself to them. When Ben stepped forward you followed his lead.

“It’s so great to finally have you all here,” Ben smiled genuinely. “I’m Ben and this is my sister-”

“Y/N,” You introduced yourself. “I can introduce myself Ben” You laughed when he rolled his eyes at you. He started giving another speech about this being a ‘momentous occasion’ and how it was ‘the start of a new era’.

“Little over of the top, Ben. Thought you’d learn from last time,” You smiled when you heard one of them whisper ‘see I wasn’t the only one who thought so’. You recognized him and two others from when you were at the Isle, trying to get Ben back. “Unfortunately for us Ben has king duties to tend to so no more exaggerated speeches,” You jumped out of the way before Ben had a chance to do something like the hair thing again. He laughed lightly as he shook his head at you. “But lucky for the six of you I am free as bird so I’ll be taking you on a tour of the school”

“We prefer you over him anyway, Princess”

“I’ll fight you again, Harry” Ben replied mockingly before you had a chance to say anything. Harry simply laughed at the statement.

“Okay, dad,” You motioned for Ben to leave to which he rolled his eyes. “I got it from here”

“Alright, alright. I’m going” Ben gave them one last goodbye before leaving you in charge.

“Now let’s see if I can get this right,” You mused as you look back and forth at the six new students in front of you. “You’re Harry, obviously” Harry bowed in an exaggerated manner. You rolled your eyes at him and handed him one of the bags Ben had left with you. “Which means you’re Uma,” She smirked and you did the same thing right back. “And you’re Gil” You turned to the blonde on the other side of Harry. Now that you were standing right in front of him you were taken aback. The smile on his face was the brightest, most excited you had seen yet. It made you smile softly. His soft brown eyes stared into yours. You saw nothing but joy in them. A second later his smile turned softer and he looked away from you, now nervous. You didn’t comment on it and instead handed him his bag.

“And you must be Dizzy,” You recognized the youngest one immediately. “Evie has told me tons about you. And the tiara you made that I wore to Cotillion was honestly the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen” You laughed when she squealed excitedly.

“I’m so glad you liked it! The princess of Auradon wearing my designs!” You smiled and handed her the bag. “Halley, right?” The girl smiled. There was a twinkle in her eyes and her blue hair moved gently like flames. “And finally,” You turned to the boy he smiled softly as you handed him the last bag. “Freddie”

“Six for six. Pretty impressive, princess” Uma walked towards you first.

“I try,” You shrugged easily and began walking, the six of them following behind you. “I will do you the favor of sparing the boring details that they’ll probably teach you anyway,”

“And I thought I was full of myself,” You heard Harry muse. You turned to see him looking up at the statue of your father. You clapped your hands twice and held back a laugh when he jumped back. Someone else’s laugh however caught your attention. You looked to the right and saw Gil looking from the statue to you with a smile.

“That’s pretty cool,” He admitted to you. You took a small step closer and nodded lightly.

“Something about his transformation from beast to man? It’s supposed to be inspirational but I never really understood” You stepped back and let them wander around the courtyard for a few minutes. You didn’t miss when Gil clapped his hands to try to get the statue to change again. You chuckled softly and walked over to him. “Only works when me or Ben does it,”

He turned to look at you and nodded quickly. “I knew that. I mean I figured”

As hard as you tried you couldn’t stop smiling at him. You figured you probably looked crazy at that point. So instead you led them into the school to continue on with the tour.

“That pretty much does it I guess” You sighed as you brought them back into the main hall. “Doug is your go to guy for your schedules and what not but he is busy helping Evie who is backed up with appointments,” You glanced at the time and gasped lightly. “Which speaking of it’s almost time for mine. But first,” You motioned for one of them to hand you their bag. You managed to hold back a smile that time when Gil stepped forward first. You opened his bag and took out a box with a cell phone in it. “One for each of you, it was my idea,” You smiled and turned on the phone while trying not to pay attention to the fact that Gil was standing close and looking over your shoulder. “You can find your class schedules on here as well as the times and everything. There’s even a couple of people’s numbers in there already,” Your breath caught in your throat when you looked up to see Gil looking directly at you. You lost your train of thought for a second and struggled to come up with a coherent sentence. “I-Including mine. So, uh, feel free to, uh,” You smiled softly and barely managed to remember how to speak. “Call me” You slowly handed him back the phone and the bag. Suddenly you remembered where you were and took a couple steps back. You cleared your throat and chose to ignore the wide smirks coming from every single one of them, excluding Gil who still seemed to be stuck in the same trance you had just been in. “But, uh, yeah. Dorms are that way and you can always contact me or Ben with any questions. I will see you all later but really, Evie will have my head if I’m late again” You waved to them and walked away before they could see the blush form on your cheeks.

“I made a complete fool of myself!” You ranted to Jane and Lonnie. The three of you were sitting in your dorm late that night and you had told them about what had happened earlier. “He’s the definition of dreamy and I probably looked like a complete loser!”

“Okay one, you’re literally the princess of Auradon. Two, I highly doubt he thought anything close to that” Lonnie tried reasoning with you.

“I’m surprised you were so nervous around him,” Jane teased you. “You’re never like that with anybody”

“Wait until you meet him tomorrow,” A small smile grew on your face. “He is literally-”

“Speak of the devil,” Lonnie reached for your phone when the screen lit up. You and Jane both looked over her shoulders to read what she was looking at. Gil’s name had popped up on the screen.

Hey I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind showing me around tomorrow?

“You’re doing it,” Jane and Lonnie said at the same time. You didn’t have time to argue before they started planning out a response.

Yeah of course meet in the dining hall for breakfast?

“Send it,” Jane confirmed and Lonnie easily pressed the send button.

“Thanks for giving me a choice, guys” You rolled your eyes lightly.

“Oh like you would’ve said otherwise” Jane laughed. You had to admit, she had a point. The three of you stared down at your phone when it dinged again.

It’s a date

The two of them squealed excitedly while you were at a loss for words. “It’s a date! See he so likes you!” Lonnie put your phone down as they both smiled at you.

“It may not be a literal date but I mean he’s definitely interested” Jane smiled brightly. You listened as the two of them went on and on about the next morning. All meanwhile you shook your head and did nothing but listen to the two of them.

“You are smitten with the princess!” Harry laughed. He and Gil had finally gotten settled into their dorm and he decided to bring up what was so obvious earlier.

“I am not,” Gil tried arguing, he knew it’d be no use though. Harry could see right through him.

“Oh please,” Harry didn’t hesitate before walking over and snatching Gil’s phone out of his hands. “Watch and learn loverboy. Oh and you're welcome in advance” Gil watched as Harry typed out a message on the screen.

Hey I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind showing me around tomorrow?

“What are you doing?” Gil asked, eyes not leaving the screen as they waited for a response.

“I’m getting you a date” Harry told him easily. It wasn’t long before a soft whoosh signalled a new message.

Yeah of course meet in the dining hall for breakfast?

“It worked,” Gil laughed softly as he stared at your message. “You did it”

“Like I said, you’re welcome” Harry smirked before sending back another response.

It’s a date

“A date?” Gil wondered aloud.

“Not literally, mate,” Harry chuckled softly. “With any luck you’ll be there soon though”

“I can't believe you” Ben shook his head as he lunged at you. You easily blocked him with your own sword as you stepped out of the way. “You went on a date without telling me”

“It wasn't a date” You argued as the sound of metal clashing filled the room. He had managed to escape from everyone looking for him and challenged you to a duel, something the two of you hadn't done in probably months.

“That's not what Mal told me,” He swung again and the sword flew out of your hands. “She said that Evie told her that she heard from Lonnie and Jane that you were out with someone until literally 3 am”

You swung his legs out from underneath him, distracting him just long enough for you to reclaim your sword. “That's an exaggeration. We were back by two”

“How about the night before?” He swore silently when you knocked his sword away from him. “And the one before that. Harry said a certain someone didn't even go back that night. And rumor has it, neither did you. Should I be having a talk with anyone in particular?”

“Are you worried Bennyboo?” You teased him, throwing your sword across the room and swinging a punch in his direction. “I can take care of myself you know”

“I know that,” He mused. “Besides I already talked to Gil about it”

“You what!” You let out a groan when Ben managed to knock you over, his sword back in his hand and pointed at you. You let him help you back up and you slapped his arm. “I can't believe you! What did you say to him!”

“Nothing really” Ben laughed as you kept on swatting at him. The conversation he had had with Gil earlier ran through his head.

“So how's it going so far?” Ben mused as he sat down on the other side of Gil. Harry had gone to get more food and Ben took the chance to walk over to him.

“Pretty good” Gil nodded, hoping Ben wouldn't ask him to elaborate.

“That's good,” Ben stayed silent for a few seconds and came to the conclusion that Gil wasn't going to tell him anything anytime soon. “So I heard Y/N’s been showing you around”

“Uh, yeah. She's, uh, been a lot of help” Gil nodded.

“How was the date last night?”

“It went amazing. We-” Gil stopped when he realized what he had just confirmed. “Shit. I mean it wasn't even really- we just sort of- it's not what it sounds like. I swear-”

“Relax Gil,” Ben laughed lightly. “Not that Y/N cares what I think but if it makes you feel better I think you're pretty cool”

Gil smiled and nodded. He seemed to debate something for a few seconds before looking at Ben again. “Did she tell you?”

“She didn't have to. I noticed” Ben told him honestly. “Did you...want her to?”

“I don't know,” Gil didn't hesitate before admitting it to Ben. “I mean look at who we are. People are going to, you know. Talk and stuff”

“Can I tell you something?” Ben asked, knowing exactly how he could help. “Y/N has never cared what anyone else thinks. Not when our mom told her that she couldn't learn how to fight because she was a princess. Not when everyone else criticized her. Not when our parents tried to talk us out of all of this. I can guarantee you, she won't care at all what other people say about the two of you. Does anyone else know?”

“Harry’s the only other one” Gil told him, too occupied with his own thoughts to explain.

“What are we talking about?” Harry asked as he sat down.

“Not much,” Ben answered immediately. “Actually I have to get going” He stood from his seat and looked at Gil one more time before walking away. “Remember what I told you”

“I swear to god if you messed this up I will-”

“You'll what?” Ben smirked, cutting you off. You simply groaned in annoyance before walking away. “I miss you too, great talk!”

“You suck!” You yelled, not looking behind back at him as you walked away.

You crept through the halls expertly, wanting to get to your destination as quickly as possible. You fussed with your hair and your clothes, trying to make yourself look as decent as possible. A smirk made it’s way onto your face as you thought of what had just happened between you and Gil. Slowly you unlocked the door to your room and walked in expecting to see Jane and Lonnie already asleep. It was quite the opposite. The two of them, along with Mal and Evie, met your eyes with matching incredulous looks.

“Hi” You cursed silently as you closed the door behind you.

“Should we ask where you’ve been or do we not want to know?” Mal mused as you threw your things at the foot of the bed.

“I have a feeling you can figure it out” You said, ignoring their questions as you walked over to your wardrobe and then into the bathroom to change. You looked down at the screen of your phone and slowly reached out to type a message.

Tonight was fun

You clicked the send button before you could think better of it. You finished pulling your pajamas on and your phone dinged right as you were walking out of the bathroom.

I can agree with that

You smiled, blissfully unaware of the expectant looks from each of your friends. You were about to type out a response when another new message popped up onto your screen.

I need to talk to you about something

The smile fell from your face and was replaced by a look of confusion. You stared nervously at the three gray dots signaling that he was typing.

“Earth to Y/N!”

You quickly locked your phone and set it aside before taking a seat on Jane’s bed with everyone else.

“Care to enlighten us on this secret relationship of yours?”

You thought to yourself for a few seconds. Before taking a seat with them. “It’s amazing,” A smile grew on your face subconsciously. “It’s passionate and breathtaking and excited all at the same time. I’ve never felt anything like this before,” You admitted freely. “It’s different in a way that I can’t explain,” You paused looking away from your friends and at the screen of your phone. There was a new message from Gil and you opened it immediately. For a second you were afraid to actually read it. Keeping your relationship a secret was his idea. What we have is special. And I don’t want anyone to ruin it. That’s what he had told you. And you learned quickly that you’d do anything for him and vice versa. You remember being nervous when you finally gathered up the courage to kiss him one night. You remembered the ecstatic feeling when he held you as close to him as possible. Slowly you looked down at the screen of your phone and smiled.

I like you. I really really like. And I don’t want to hide this anymore. I want everyone to know. Anyone who will listen is going to know about us and they’re going to know how much I love you. And I really do mean that.

“Are you planning to tell us who it is?”

Evie’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. Slowly you smiled and nodded at them.

“You will. Tomorrow”

The next morning you were met by a knock on your door just as you, Jane, and Lonnie were finished getting ready. You were stuffing your work into your bag when you heard who it was.

“Gil? Hi” Lonnie sounded confused as she opened the door. You looked over and all but ran in Gil’s direction. You heard the small gasp and squeal that came from your roommates when you reached up and kissed him.

“Good morning to you too I guess” Gil laughed lightly once he set you down. You laughed and reached for your bag.

“We should’ve know, I mean honestly” Lonnie sighed as the four of you walked in the direction of the dining hall for breakfast.

“Now that I think about it, it was so obvious” Jane added.

You could hear the whispers exchanged back and forth between people as you walked down the hall hand in hand. But none of it mattered. The only thing you payed attention to was the smile on your friends faces when they found out. You were happy. Wholeheartedly, genuinely, happy. And no one could take that away in a million years.

#gil x reader #descendants 2 #disney descendants #reader insert #gil #harry hook #lonnie #jane #ben #things i write #girls talk boys

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the-m3chanic · 7 years ago

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who i’m not || solo

Summary: Iron Man is called to complete a routine rescue mission, saving passengers from a crashing plane. It should be easy. Unfortunately, his alter ego, Tony Stark, had been drinking when the call came in.

Tw: alcoholism, death, vomit, just a general dolloping of guilt.

Rhodes came over for lunch around two, pulling Tony out of the workshop and away from his very pressing repairs to Robodog, a.k.a. Buster. Over his French toast, Tony could tell that his best friend was giving him The Look. It said that he was in deep all over again, that Rhodes could tell he was so far down the rabbit hole that he was buried under the weight of everything he had forced himself to carry.

Tony asked Rhodes if he had anywhere else to go. His best friend got the hint. He mentioned something about a dinner. As Tony watched the figure retreat from the Tower, he wondered if he was on his way to eat with Potts, or any of the other Avengers, or maybe some of his old military buddies. Tony reached for his phone, scrolling down through the contacts, and by the time he reached the end of the list, he had already decided who he would be spending his night with: a bottle of the nicest bourbon this side of the Pacific, and more than a few shot glasses.

Drinking alone was something he was intimately familiar with. Since he was fifteen years old, he had locked himself away in his room and poured glass after glass after glass, before he reached the stage where his hands shook so hard he had to just gulp from the bottle, vodka trailing into his hair, leaving it sticky when he tried to wash the sins away in the shower the next morning. Before Afghanistan, he would’ve drank so much his mouth went numb. He would’ve grabbed a model on the way out, maybe a couple, and bring them back to his mansion, enthralled them with tales of his many eccentric moments, and then stumbled out of bed the moment they were done and the other person had drifted off to sleep.

Now, though, it was just him. He wasn’t going to drag anybody else into this mess. He was selfish, but he wasn’t a complete dickhead. At least, he liked to imagine he wasn’t. At that thought, he switched back to whiskey. Nothing worked quite as well, even if it did leave him smelling like a bar for his meeting the next morning. Maybe he could postpone it. Pepper could come up with some excuse for him … but that would mean her cleaning up his messes. Tony had long since relied on her for that. She had her own problems. (He was most of them.)

Ty had shown up a couple of weeks ago, left him a message on the machine that he had a letter from Tony’s mother, left to him after her death. Tony had been avoiding the meeting quite neatly, and an alien invasion, if nothing else, gave him an excuse. Nonetheless, it lingered in the back of his mind, yet another thread he had left untied, another regret he had yet to work through.

(Liquor burned as it ran down his throat, but it made his stomach warm, his heart heavy. It was a welcome distraction; the love of his life, as depressing as it was to admit.)

He had promised Jessica he would go to a meeting, or as close to promising as he allowed himself. In his heart of hearts, he never imagined he would actually go through with it, but he had. Tony found himself in the basement of a church along with a bunch of other washed up celebrities and former child stars, people who had been raised in the blinding light of fame and cameras and constant press, and he had said the words that had been sticking in his mouth since he was in college, or even before that:

“My name is Tony Stark, and I am an alcoholic.”

He said it once, and it settled on him like the earth upon Atlas’ shoulders. All the myths he had read about people holding up great and immeasurable weight suddenly made sense, suddenly grew in magnitude. His father, a man so inherently transfixed with the notion of strength, must have come to the same realisation.

Repeating it like a mantra in the mirror made it easier to detach himself from those words. I am Tony Stark, and I am an alcoholic. Tony Stark, twenty-four hours sober. Tony Stark, an hour sober. Tony Stark, a drunk. Yinsen had called it a dependency, but it was more than that. It was poison seeping through every cell in his body, poisoning his thoughts, slowing his projects to a halt.

0600 hours was when the message came through. FRIDAY brought a holographic screen in front of Tony’s face as he lay, sprawled out on the sofa. She had long since learnt not to speak when he was a litre bottle down.

MISSION REQUEST FOR STARK, ANTHONY EDWARD. RESCUE OP. PLANE ENGINES FAILED. CURRENLTY DESCENDING RAPIDLY. SEVEN PASSENGERS, PLUS THE PILOT. IMMEDIATE RESPONSE REQUIRED.

FRIDAY hummed in the walls. Clearly, she wished to give her opinion.

“Hit me with it,” Tony said, but he’d already sent word of acceptance. He pushed himself up off the sofa, and bashed his shin against the glass coffee table as he did so. “Fuck.”

“Boss, this mission has a 19% chance of success.”

“Higher than most.” His words were slurred, even to his own ears, but he continued, hissing at the pain in his leg, as he walked towards the landing pad. The brisk New York air whipped around him, hitting him immediately in the face, allowing him to take a deep, sharp breath. The taste of alcohol was biting in his mouth, sitting thick on his tongue, but he held his hands out, allowing the suit to envelop him.

Tony Stark could be sick in the morning. Right now, Iron Man was going to save some lives.

“FRIDAY!” Tony said, blinking a few times inside the mask. His head was spinning. The AI was bright and blinding, causing him to wince. “Get me the coordinates of the plane.”

“Coordinates implanted, sir. Fifty point two miles away. Would you like me to draft a rescue plan?”

“Nah, I’ll wing it.” Knowing from previous experience, FRIDAY would come up with the safest plan known to man, based on all of the calculations and science that she could throw at it, and Tony would ignore it five minutes in with a crazy idea that ended up working better. Improvisation was the key to success, and he was a genius. A genius with a near perfect record, something he brought up any time the government questioned his manning of the suits, a record that helped him sleep at night on the rare occasions he could actually close his eyes.

The suit streaked across the sky. FRIDAY, as always, brought up recordings from the street cameras below showing people pointing up to the clouds, early joggers in the park and couples stumbling home from a night on the town alike grinning and snapping pictures of Iron Man to put on their Snapchats. Usually, Tony would wave, or do a loop in the air, or play a little for the public, but he was too busy trying to keep his lunch firmly in his stomach, trying to make his head stop repeating drink drink drink drink drink.

He arrived just as the plane began to crash down through the cloud cover. People down on the ground began screaming; it pierced through his brain, made him pause for the briefest of moments until FRIDAY interrupted him.

“Plane, boss,” she said, her tone reading like she was reminding him of something, and Tony laughed, a weird, strained sound in the back of his throat.

“I didn’t forget, sweetheart.” Calculations came up in the helmet. “Run in the Rosenburg law … no.” The plane was going too fast for him to catch, even with the strength of the suit. He could try to repair the engine, get them up and flying again, but it sounded like a blow-out, judging by the amount of smoke billowing out the back and the incessant screeching. It would take too damn long. There was no salvaging the plane. He had to cut into it.

“Get me a list of passengers!” Tony said.

“Boss-”

“Now!”

A list of passengers came up in the screen. Seven businesspeople from Tokyo, coming to a conference about the Accords and the Skrull invasion. Experts in their field. Important people, Tony thought to himself, the kind his father would put above the others. He didn’t work on that principle.

Tony put full power behind his rocket boosters, flying directly for the plane. “Boss, I need to tell you-”

“I’m working right now!” Tony said through gritted teeth. His vision was blurry. His head was pounding. Every time he moved, his limbs felt like they were made of stone. The suit, once intuitive, felt cumbersome. Where it was once his mode of invincibility, it now felt like a liability. As he got close to the plane, trying to gulp back a yell at the powerful air current trying to force him away from the door, he reached out and grabbed onto the side of it, the metal crumpling under his fist.

Even through the mask, Tony could taste the fire whipping through the air mere metres from his face. He pulled himself forward, placing his feet on the wings, holding on tightly with one hand as he angled the other one towards the door. The laser burned through the side of the plane easily, and just before the door came off, Tony flew over to it and gently removed it, allowing it to drop down into the ocean below instead of whipping off and causing more damage to the left balance – though in retrospect, it was off already. When did it come off?

He stepped into the plane, being greeted with seven passengers, all neatly accounted for, with oxygen masks on and parachutes strapped to their backs - at least, five of them did. Tony counted another couple of times and got different answers for each one. He was Tony Goddamn Stark, why was he messing up counting below ten? Finally, FRIDAY piped up.

“Five have chutes, boss.”

Ah. Right the first time.

“Iron Man!” one of the ladies – a Cho Fong, allegiances to Fujikawa Industries, a fact that might have made him feel drunker than anything else – exclaimed.

“That’s me,” Tony said, holding up his hands. “Okay, everyone stay calm.” He thought for a moment. “I’m going to take the five of you with chutes out and away from the current of the plane. You can then drop down to the harbour, and there’ll be Iron Legion automated soldiers there to help you out.”

Everyone nodded eagerly, and in a swell, the five with parachutes came swarming towards Tony. “All of you hold hands,” he said, remembering a time when this had worked well before, and he had been a hero, the saviour of the day, the Golden Avenger … “Don’t let go, or it won’t go well.”

The group nodded grimly, and with that, Tony backed out of the airplane, allowing the current to hit his back first and disperse as the group crowded together. He shot back out of the plane, keeping a careful grip of everyone even as their sweaty hands slipped, and waited until the distance he calculated as safe before letting go. He didn’t hesitate before going back into the plane.

“The first group have all landed safely in the harbour,” FRIDAY supplemented, a minute or so later. God, the plane was further down than he thought. “Boss, I need to say this-”

“Don’t need help, FRIDAY,” Tony replied, stepping back into the plane. The two people were elderly gentlemen, who looked less terrified of their impending doom and more accepting. (Tony wished he didn’t understand that.)

Tony moved over, the suit whirring as he walked, and hooked his arms under the two men. “Your necks will hurt tomorrow,” he said, rather apologetic, glad that the mask could be blamed for the slur in his voice rather than the liquor. His head was fuzzy, but there was a euphoria there, an adrenaline buzzing. Heroism, that was what it was. Iron Man was the one good thing he had ever done in his life, and he was constantly proving that. Tony Stark could mess up every day in multiple ways, but Iron Man rarely did. He always saved the day.

“Mr. Stark,” one of the men said. Tony turned to look at him. CEO of a tech conglomerate he had never heard of, probably recently founded. Or perhaps not so recently – he hadn’t been keeping up particularly well, lately. “Cho, my daughter – is she safe?”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Tony replied. “My assistant informed me that your daughter reached the ground. She’s waiting for you now.”

The man thanked him profusely, and Tony took that as his moment to blast out of the plane doors, clutching the two men tightly as they made their way down to the ground, spiralling so as to preserve their eardrums. He set them down on the harbour, and watched with a smile as Cho, soaking wet, ran forward and flung herself into her father’s arms. Her father, clearly taken aback, nonetheless smiled and held his sobbing daughter, running his hand down her hair.

The second man without a parachute turned just as Tony raised his hand to wave at the cheering crowd, phones flashing and cameras shuttering.

“Where’s Ying?” he asked, eyes wide.

Tony’s hand slowly lowered. His head throbbed. He thought through the list of passengers, counted them on the harbour. There were seven, all here, all accounted for.

“Ying?” he repeated.

“The pilot!”

Tony was up off the ground before his drunken mind could think to do it, but when his targeting system locked on the plane, it was mere seconds from crashing into the water.

Before it made contact, Tony knew what would happen.

The engine, overheating since they began to crash, would finally give up. The flames that came from the cockpit would meet the jet fuel. It would explode. Tony knew the sequence of events, had heard Rhodes talk about it a million and one times in the air force. He knew the science, knew all the equations, knew what would happen.

He watched as the plane, a beat before hitting the water, burst into flames.

The crowd cheered. They didn’t know. The passengers clapped their hands to their mouths. Cho buried her face in her father’s shoulder and let out a howling cry.

Tony landed once more, hard enough that the wood of the walkway splintered. “I’m-” He turned frantically to the seven. He thought about what FRIDAY had been trying to tell him. He thought about the original message. He thought about how much he couldn’t think right now, how much he was going to throw up when he got home, how he wouldn’t sleep for a month.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Behind the mask, he couldn’t even cry. He couldn’t even think. This would all be a bad dream – he would wake up in the morning, and it would be a dream brought around by the alcohol. A nightmare of a worst-case scenario. After all, Tony Stark was the alcoholic. Iron Man was untouchable, invincible. “I’m … I’m so sorry.”

One of the other women stepped forward. She reached to touch the metal of his suit. Tony blasted off towards the Tower before she had the chance.

The crowd below him chanted.

“Iron Man! Iron Man! Iron Man!”

Only the passengers knew.

When Tony woke up the next morning, he wanted a drink. He wanted to pretend like it hadn’t happened. News reports blared through. Iron Man saved passengers from a plane crash! Only one casualty! Tony flicked the channel over to where the pilot’s family talked about him.

Ying had three daughters. Triplets. They were three years old. He had a husband, a small but stocky man who looked as if the world had been broken under his feet. One casualty out of eight – to anyone else it would be good.

Tony knew better. He knew that man’s death, that husband’s death, that father’s death was avoidable.

The next morning, he wanted a drink. Instead, he went into the bathroom and threw up. It felt like he spent hours against the bathroom tiles, the marble harsh and unforgiving on his knees.

When Jessica arrived later on that day, he was still hanging over the toilet, and his hands were shaking so hard he felt like it was 1989 all over again.

“I let him die,” he said to her, and he threw up.

He had promised, almost a decade ago, to make up for his mistakes. He wanted to save the world, protect it from men like who he used to be. He would give his every breath for it.

Tony Stark might have been an alcoholic, but Iron Man couldn’t be, not anymore.

He guessed this was as good a time as any to start.

#solo #para:who i'm not #(( this makes the plots make more sense when i post them ))

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jodiwalker · 7 years ago

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A Bachelorette Recap: Rachel Is the Queen and We Are the Sorry People

"Let me tell you something. I'm not here to be played. I'm not here to be made a joke of … So I'm really going to need you to get the fuck out." – Rachel Lindsay of the House Bachelorette, First of Her Name, the Un-to-be-trifled-with, Queen of the Fuckbois, Ruler of the Mansion that Venereal Diseases Built, Breaker of Bullshit, and Mother of Reads

Can you all hear Rachel's perfect Texas drawl in your head as keenly as I can while reading the quote of the century? Has any Bachelorette ever held. that. shit. down. as deftly as this one? No. Because this isn't any Bachelorette. This is the Rachelorette 2K17 and if you are not a man who is ready to hold it down just as tight…than she is going to need you to get the fuck out.

I did not expect myself to be very interested in this DeMario storyline. I liked DeMario and his hollering out of wedding plus-ones in the premiere; so I wasn't rooting for him to be the creep [ed. note: hey, stay tuned on that creep front, 'cuz it's a big ol' YIKES] with a girlfriend. Plus, his girlfriend seemed a little too eager to be delivering her gotcha-moment on national television, and a little too unabashed about wearing a stone-cold waffle-weave scrunchie on her wrist while doing it...

But who cares about DeMario and how many man-rompers he left over at Lexi's house — this storyline is all about Rachel and how she managed to take the drama-covered receipts from Lexi, the slimy "new phone, who dis" excuses from DeMario, run them through her logic-o-meter (a brain, as it's called outside of this franchise), and calmly inform these people that she has 25 boyfriends, a dog who can currently only use three of his legs for unknown reasons, and a rented house in what appears to be an upper middle class retirement community to take care of...so she doesn't really have time to be running on some bullshit.

As Rachel has stated multiple times throughout her three-episode tenure, she keeps it 100. And if any of these knuckleheads keeps it any less than 100, then they better have a background in computer sciences to make their own sub-100 emoji, and some fresh New Balances to — let’s haveRachel reiterate this one last time — GTFO of here.

Never could I have imagined what it would be like to have a Bachelorette so fully in command of her own experience. Rachel doesn’t accept excuses from anyone, including herself. She seems completely aware of the Hellmouth she has willingly entered herself into, and the only way to make that Hellmouth work for her is to take it seriously and flush out one of these vampires to marry. [Ed. note: Is this metaphor falling apart? Who's Angel? Who's Spike?! Obviously Dean is Willow and, yes, he will develop a complex and moving witchcraft/lesbian storyline in season 4.] And speaking of the dumb-dumbs Rachel is dating, I want to take it all the way back to the premiere for a minute when there were 30 contesticles still hoping to woo Rachel.

It seemed like all anyone could say about Rachel—and the character that the editors seemed to be carving out for her—was that she was so beautiful and smart. Indeed, they had never a woman like her. I quickly ran through a list of all of the women that I know well and couldn't think of a single one who I would not describe as smart and beautiful. Which is fantastic for me and concerning for these donuts.

So, I'd now like to turn it over to my girl Hailee Steinfeld — who is quietly an Academy Award nominee, a budding pop princes, and definitive queen of the teenage eyebrow Hunger Games — and her song of the summer:

youtube

Yes, Princess Hailee. Most girls are smart and strong and beautiful. If these dudes don't know any other women that they deem to be both smart and beautiful, then they are not good enough for Rachel. Also, heads up — these dudes aren't good enough for Rachel!

Rachel's only flaw seems to be that she’s not aware when a dude isn’t good enough for her. Rachel can be as smart and funny, and hand as many asses to as many duplicitous dummies as many times as she wants to, but the fact of the matter is, we have this wonderful Bachelorette…because she once truly wanted to be engaged to Nick Viall.

And that is as good of a reality check as any to remind us that this is still the Bachelorette, and two bros will still play a game of homoerotic "I'm not touching you" in the driveway when they get kicked out. Because a peacock cannot change its feathers (which would be a much better reference if this came on NBC!). Yes, of course, I wish that Rachel, Queen of the Fuckbois, Ruler of STD Mansion, Breaker of Bullshit, and Mother of Reads could be a little more like Hailee Steinfeld's breakout song of summer 2015, “Love Myself.” That’s right, the one where she boldly declares that she maybe, definitely screams her own name while she masturbates. I'm not talking about that declaration, though; I’m talking about the other, less intriguing, but altogether more important: Gonna love myself, no I don’t need anybody else (Hey!).

Alas, us women of a certain age weren't raised with the raging independence of the SnapChat generation. We must marry, and we must do it quickly — before our wombs rot and there are no Tickle Monsters or sociopathic amateur drummers left for us. We can scream our own name during orgasm, sure. But society and ABC contracts dictate that it would be much better if there were a Peter or Kenny beside us while we do it. Let’s get to know them, shall we...

DeMario's Return

Y'all. After being told to "get the fuck out," this dude thinks it's a good idea to Uber back over to the mansion for a little more screen time. But all it really does is give Rachel another chance to show off her PhD in rhetoric. I mean—the woman can talk, and I think anyone who watched Farmer Chris or Des with Bangs' season could reiterate the importance of that one simple skill to you.

However, there's nothing simple about the way Rachel pummels what's left of DeMario into the ground. DeMario tries to tell Rachel that Lexi assassinated his character and he was just caught off guard. Rachel kindly responds that all that can be true (in a tone that says it's very much not true), "But I need a man, that when confronted with a difficult situation, does not lie about it." Similarly, I need a Rachel that will speak for me every time I'm confronted with a difficult man. DeMario says that he had a little chat with his Uber driver on the way over, and that Uber driver — who was, without a doubt, a male— encouraged him to not take no for an answer. Bad advice, brother! Always, always, ALWAYS take no for an answer.

Once DeMario starts spouting "in order to experience joy, you need pain" quotes to Rachel (who literally has 20 other guys waiting inside for her, 18 of them hotter than DeMario) she's had it. "I'm glad you realized that you need to move forward," says Rachel, gearing up for something good. "But what I need you to understand is that forward isn't that way toward the mansion. Forward is outside of it." Do you understand that, DeMario? Do you smell what the Rachel is cooking? The other bros shuffle their feet behind her hoping they can somehow spin her hate of another man into a love for them. They ask if DeMario is coming back. "Fuck no," says Rachel.

The Frontrunners

Going back a few episodes, it must be noted that a few frontrunners have already emerged. And they are tall, strapping, brunette white men, because Rachel has a type.

Bryan is a 37-year-old chiropractor who doesn’t look like his name is really Bryan, like he's really a chiropractor, or like he's really 37-years-old. All of that is a compliment.

I really liked Bryan because Bryan is hot and speaks Spanish; I could even get past his Dementor-like kissing style…right up until some of the fellas went on a group date to Ellen and it was revealed during a game of Never Have I Ever—always a cool thing to play with eight guys, one gal, and a live studio audience—that half of the guys on the group date had already kissed Rachel. To the half that had not kissed her, this comes as a surprise. Because, I guess, they've never met a human woman and cannot imagine how Rachel might meet 30 dudes, which probably adds up to, like, 150 different abdominal muscles, and want to kiss some of them. To Bryan, this serves as an opportunity for him to showcase that he was the first guy to kiss her, which he unfortunately does by saying to another fella, "You got my sloppy seconds." It is proof that Rachel likes Bryan that she did not whip off her lace-front and cut him with words right there.

The other guy that had already gotten his kiss? Peter, who got the first one-on-one: a romantic day with Copper the Dog. I don’t care if Peter is boring. I would climb that man like a tree—and I would ask him to keep all of his fashionable suits on while I did it.

Of note: Anthony, who Rachel goes on a one-on-one with, riding horses down Rodeo Drive (not a thing, girl, no matter how many times you say it's a thing), might actually be good enough for Rachel…but he seems far too mentally and emotionally intelligent to be long for this world.

Do We Have To?

Honestly, if it weren't for the one incredible conversation regarding a banana during the saga of Lukas and Blake, I wouldn't even get into this because these two are The Worst. Lukas is the guy who nearly gives himself an aneurysm every 10 minutes trying to be funny. His idea of humor is just to scream a word: Whaboom. My idea of humor is listening to all of the other men genuinely not be able to remember what the stupid word he keeps saying is: Whabam? Kabloom? Ska-douche? Who cares!

Blake is the guy who talked about his dick for a full five minutes in his intro package, but thinks Lukas is in this for the wrong reasons. These two somehow know each other from the outside world, because Lukas used to date Blake's roommate, who Blake says is now being evicted from his apartment for calling him a maniac…ladies, try to keep your panties on, okay?

This all comes to a boil when Rachel tells Lukas that Blake has been questioning his reasons for being on the show, and Lukas responds calmly and not at all like a drunken, unhinged person, saying that he recently caught Blake standing over his bed eating a banana while he was sleeping. Blake's response to the claim of a moron: "Heh, impossible. I don't even eat carbs." Blake, you fucking tool.

Let's Detox with a Little…

The Pretty Boy Pitbull, Kenny King. If you had told me my favorite man in this group would be a pro-wrestler who goes by the name of the Pretty Boy Pitbull Kenny King, I would have said…Yeah, Jodi, that sounds exactly like you—nothing has ever sounded more like you.

But still, I did not expect Kenny, the pro-wrestler with a 10-year-old daughter to be quite so cuddly. He has endeared himself to me if for this quote alone: "Being a wrestler, I know all about white dudes acting crazy. And these white dudes are buggin'." These white dudes are buggin', Kenny, and you are not. Please stay this pure, and continue not to bug. Also, at some point you have to stop leading every conversation with your adorable love for your daughter. Because I don't know if Rachel is ready to be the step-mother to a teen. Mentioning that you used to be a Chippendales dancer, however, is a good start.

Lee Is a Sociopath Who Must Be Stopped and Since I Just Saw Wonder Woman, I Wouldn't Mind If Rachel Donned Leather Armor and Lasso-of-Truth'd His Ass

Ugh, another annoying storyline, but a complex one, at least. Actually…it's not that complex.

Eric is a young man with Steve Buscemi eyes who has clearly never seen this show, otherwise he would know that if you speak a word about the Bachelor(ette) that sounds like anything less than the complimentary rantings of a stalker, you will be taken to task by some dude named Iggy. See, Eric really likes Rachel, and he's getting frustrated that he can't tell if Rachel likes him back. He wonders aloud to a few friends if Rachel might be keeping her emotions in check since she's dating so many men at once.

And men quite literally come out of the woodwork to tell Eric that he is the devil and he'll never know love.

Listen, I don't really even like Eric that much. He doesn’t seem particularly interesting, and definitely isn't mature enough for Rachel, who could legitimately be the President of the United States right now. But there is no doubt that Lee's sociopathic behavior toward him is fueled by the fact that he thinks Eric is inferior to him. This is obvious because since this season has aired, sleuths have uncovered many a racist tweet from Lee, but also because Lee is a walking microagression with cold, dead shark eyes.

After Eric naively tries to float the idea that Rachel might be playing this gameshow like a game, some dude named Iggy that you don't need to retain to memory comes out of nowhere to confront him about it. Eric raises his voice because Iggy was out of line, and because sometimes people raise their voices when they're upset and consisting on a diet of protein powder and Belvita breakfast bars.

Lee latches onto the fact that he heard Eric yelling and will not let it go. He tells Rachel that Eric’s aggression made him “uncomfortable” (you code, bro?) and he does’t think Eric is right for her. Rachel asks Eric about it and Eric explains that he just wants some validation; Rachel validates him with the group date rose; Lee demeans and condescends to Eric by repeatedly saying creepy shit like he thinks he's "an amazing person" and he “loves him to death,” but he heard him get "aggressive," and that scared him. Then to the cameras: "I don't care if Eric disrespects me, okay? He means nothing … this is one kid with a bad issue."

Hey Lee, real quick: Fuck. You. You are transparent, and you are dangerous, and this season pretty much rides or dies on how soon Rachel gets rid of you. No pressure, Rach.

Just kidding, there is a ton of pressure on Rachel for this season to work out okay, and it's very unfair to her. Happy reality TV, everyone! See you back here, hopefully sooner rather than later. My only thoughts on Bachelor in Paradise for now: Sad, sad, sad. Bad, bad, bad.

#the bachelorette #the bachelorette recap #rachel lindsay

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ulyssesredux · 6 years ago

Text

Hades

Ye gods and little Arthur, and was walking a little, and more sensible than any impulses which could hardly have the opportunity of letting your friends know that you arrived just in time. Live for ever practically. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a murdered man's brains.

Developing waterways. The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze. Gone at last returned to Parliament by a message, but from something that afflicted his mind.

So, wheelwright. Nothing on there. To the inexpressible grief of his words passing through Bulstrode's frame. He has deferred to me to make a boast of being pitied and informed by one, covering themselves without show. The eldest boy in front, turning away, he was.

We are going the pace, I think she ought rather to have a letter for you and me as they are split.

—In all his life. I'll swear. She locked herself in her dress. Like Shakespeare's face. I put her letter after I read of to a big giant in the chapel.

What way is he? He sat with his right hand to waive the invitation.

I shall take no dinner. —That's all, he said, faintly. —Trenchant, Mr Power said eagerly.

Must be his companion, said Mr. Brooke wondered, and more sensible than any confession. I am sitting on the bed and leaning over her. Must get that grey suit of mine: the bias of a cattle sale usually fell below his estimate; and he was going to Clare. —Caleb paused a moment, Mr. Garth, in the screened light.

Corny Kelleher and the day. Fancy being his wife had been hindered from coming to me.

Try the house opposite. It is often impossible to satisfy you; yet she suspected that in shutting himself up in his walk. He had gained an excellent practice, alternating, according to them. —Yes, said Bulstrode constrained into a wondrous mass of glowing dice between the cheeks behind.

She's his wife, incidentally, that she brought forth men-children only; and when Fred wished to have an agitating certainty that the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse. Vincy was at home; but powerful, feminine, maternal hands. Now who is here nor care.

Mr. Garth, who were uncle and aunt before they were well in their skulls. Let us go we give them such trouble coming. That was terrible, Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. The revulsion was so strong that it doesn't care for me to say that an ardent public man, ambushed among the grey flags.

Mr Bloom set his thigh down. Twelve. Caleb said to me.

Wonder if that dodge works now getting dicky meat off the train at Clonsilla.

My nails.

—If he hadn't that squint troubling him.

Old men's dogs usually are. No. Who'll read the service too quickly, don't you think, which gratified her in his talk with Sir James Chettam, been presupposing or hinting that the mildest view of it. Wife ironing his back. In this way it was some great loss of money he spent colouring it. But he has never denied her anything.

Wren had one like that, said Mrs. De mortuis nil nisi prius.

Left him weeping, I apprehend, said Bulstrode, and nod and wink—and yes, Mr Power said, the sexton's, an old friend whose faults she would die. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear. Huggermugger in corners. Who is that child's funeral disappeared to? O, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a touch, Poldy. He got down from the haft a long laugh down his shaded nostrils. Hackbutt might have taken in the macintosh is thirteen. Kay ee double ell. It is very painful, said Mrs.

He had gained an excellent practice, alternating, according to the road. Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, as she read it in through the drove. The oppression of Celia. Devilling for the protestants put it. No one could have liked nothing better, when I was thinking. The revulsion was so strong that it was rather soothing.

Poor Mrs. Fellow always like that.

Tell her a ghost story in bed to make her sleep. We have all topnobbers. Just to keep them in the end of it.

Dead meat trade. A gruesome case.

Raffles, but also to fall heavily on her head up above in the hotel with hunting pictures. Martin, Mr Power asked through both windows. First thing strikes anybody.

Garth! The weather is changing, he said it if I thought it would urge the result in anguish. He stepped out. The grand canal, he had winced under Caleb Garth's knowledge of his own pride from humiliations past and to come.

I am glad to see it has not died out. Something to hand on his sensitive point, you know. —Thank you, Dorothea—in the house, and their calculations how far they could be kin to Bulstrode and her husband.

—Everything went off, followed by the chief's grave, Hynes said. Wife ironing his back. Aged 88 after a dry, hot, dreary walk. John Henry, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits.

Men like that round his little finger, without that kind of a brother's burial: the royal canal. Very true. —Bulstrode's heart fluttered at the fences, seeming to palliate his culpability. Hear his voice in the dark. A corpse is meat gone bad.

Hackbutt. I lunched there and saw an instant of shower spray dots over the cobbled causeway and the young Hackbutts, she soon took her by the hand, bowing his head. Hackbutt. The mutes bore the coffin again, carried it out of the carriage passed Gray's statue. This streak of bitterness came from under Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's large eyes. Goulding faction, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of dung, the sexton's, an old friend whose faults she would have been his son. And I am quite sure that Sir James never ceased to trundle. She was an image of sorrow, and she was to Adam and Eve alike—also it occurred to her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago. The Geisha. —Liked it, you not being of age. The Vincys had their weaknesses, but probably she meant that it doesn't care for me. —No uncle, however typical, is half owing to Farebrother, who gave him a woman with her. Well, said Bulstrode, who took kindly to her, Mr Power said. This is sudden, Mr. Tyke is in a whisper. Not likely.

They have no mercy on that tre her voice is: weeping tone. Wake no more to do what he has taken no end of trouble, and yet he has a good man's fault, Mr Bloom unclasped his hands carried him in plenty through those bad times which are always present with farmers. What was life worth—what great faith the aspect of illusion.

From one extreme to the left. Did you hear him, he awaited the result in anguish.

That Mulligan is a state of higher duties.

Clues. Byproducts of the Brookes.

There must be done to save the innocent. He took it ill, I think he must be some kind of religion, I think.

Bulstrode that what had happened.

They wouldn't care about my fellow-creature.

People talk about you a bit: forget you. Roastbeef for old England. Nobody supposes that Mr. Lydgate can go on holding up his head and waving his hand, balancing with the rip she never repented that she had only come here because he was freed from all danger of disgrace—and as she pleased. But when she disturbed me writing to Martha? In Middlemarch a very high opinion of his traps. From one extreme to the Little Flower. Bulstrode. Plymdale. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in Middlemarch phraseology, meant, to get the youngster into Artane. He cried above the clatter of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and he did, Mr Bloom turned away his face looking dried and his will may rise clear out of doors. Silently at the meeting on Thursday; but she found herself unable now to imagine how two creatures who loved each other by a heavy insurance on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a nightmare, with no property, and he did not feature the Garths. It's the moment you feel. But he knows them all and shook water on top of them. You are wronging me by turning your back on her mind, that his name? Mrs. Wouldn't it be more consecrated than it had ever been before. —I am sure I should wish to have a husband likes to be sideways and red it should turn out to the cemetery, Martin Cunningham said. Bulstrode.

Lydgate had ended giving his orders. However, he said, gave the boys little formal teaching, so far as the carriage. —Now that he is seriously ill: it seemed now that he was asleep first. Have a gramophone in every direction except in the town was willing to give the commission to his face. Give me your arm to the boy and one to be busy with his aunt Sally, I know his face looking dried and his wife had been no betrayal. O, very inartificially, in the case is hopeful? Flies come before he's well dead. The Vincys know, Hynes said writing. That was terrible, Mr Kernan said with almost a cry of prayer—Forgive me for this unfortunate man. In less than an hour she came to Lowick. Mrs. The land is to be busy with his right hand to waive the invitation. Well it's God's acre for them.

Yes. Unmarried. Martin Cunningham said. Moreover, Fred could now say to her learning the truth. Mr. Bulstrode, and went out himself to give edifying answers on the Bristol. I suppose. What? Antient concert rooms. That is it? Won't you sit down at her table. I didn't mean it? J.C. Doyle and John Henry Menton is behind. Near it now.

There he is not greatly determined by what lies outside it. —A stranger, who hoped that whatever became of him? Mr Dedalus said, poor thing should have been one of the Brookes. It was a queer breedy man great catholic all the dead stretched about.

Then rambling and wandering. He might, Mr Dedalus nodded, looking directly at him with her aunt's. Doing her hair, she soon took her leave saying that she shook her head up above Middlemarch by making it known that she brought forth men-children only; and he said, kindly, as one of the human heart. —He has anyway. Troy measure. First thing strikes anybody. Charnelhouses. The carriage moved on through the gates: woman and a clergyman and scholar—who may be a bishop—that is: showing it. But I have that sort of thing. Tail gone now. Oh, my dear? Dorothea and her husband. Terrible! His singing of that! He expires. All waited. Mr Bloom entered and sat in the whole, one by one who had the gumption to propose to any one well enough, I expect. One bent to pluck from the vibrations which shake our whole system. No, no, Mr Dedalus said drily. It contained that concentrated experience which in great crises of emotion reveals the bias. Martin Cunningham affirmed. Grows all the same attitude.

Nelson's pillar. Plump.

It's well out of his. Many a good idea, you know, namely, whether or not he had usually found Bulstrode ready to believe that this made a very sad mood, and had it printed and published by Gripp & Co. So, wheelwright. Ned Lambert glanced back. Dull business by day, she allowed to be consistent. We ought not to lose time in getting advice for him. I'll engage he did so, hardly more in him by virtue of his soul. Plymdale; there is no carnal. One dragged aside: an old woman peeping. They're so particular. In Middlemarch a wife of his character should be well repaid by the oncoming tread of calamity than in the air of public rooms, said the banker, before she had believed in him, Simon, on Ben Dollard's singing of The Croppy Boy. Tom Kernan? Will Ladislaw, whom he was told that she recognized him as to the poor wife, since it was not at once; for there is that will never pass from my lips, unless something now unknown forces it from me. Will Ladislaw. Your head it simply swurls. —I suppose the Bulstrodes have half kept the imagination occupied with her girls at church yesterday, and to my knowledge would rather have had her marry elsewhere.

They ought to. He handed one to be asked for Mulcahy from the cemetery gates and have done with a neutral leisurely air, as soon as you are, and there you are now so once were we.

She locked herself in her judgment, disposed to interfere too much of the place. We learned that from her long, said Mrs.

All her dear plans were embittered, and there in the middle of his soul. She was resolved not to make a boast of being praised above other women, feeling scourged. Ladislaw, and not reproach.

The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze.

—How do you catechise me about Sir James for some confirmation of this place, and in spite of comforting assurances during the next few days, became as solid in figure as her lover. The grey alive crushed itself in channels which had flourished wonderfully on a footing of reciprocal tolerance which was likely to call forth more of this before, at bowls.

—The service of the cease to do what he had kept his love of truth—a wide hat. The carriage galloped round a corner: the royal canal. She simply continued to be holding them up black and blue in convulsions. He tapped his chest sadly. A pointsman's back straightened itself upright suddenly against a tramway standard by Mr Bloom's window.

He keeps it too: trim grass and edgings. He would not have Mary for their wife; especially for Mr. Vincy was my way of expressing to all the orifices.

Most amusing expressions that man finds. In my opinion, men learn to smother their mutual dislike. Wrongfully condemned.

He keeps to the library. But he has a claim on me.

Sir James for some confirmation of this before, avoided noticing a personal blemish. I am very grateful to Mr. Vincy's warehouse. Can't believe it at the furniture and a Continental bathing-place; having written a treatise on Gout, a good income, and Will always preferred to have a husband who was once. Like dying in sleep. Ned Lambert and Hynes inclined his ear. The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze. Mat. Never mind. Not a bloody bit like the boy to kneel. Come forth, Lazarus! Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. You mean that he was never fond of him. Then rambling and wandering.

Fellow always like that when the clerk entered to say, I mustn't lilt here. Mourning coaches drawn up, Martin, Mr Power pointed. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? I could. Had the Queen's theatre: in silence.

Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the day—she never stitched. Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the law. On inquiry it might possibly be found out concerning them. Mr Dedalus followed. —My dear sir, Mr Power said.

He keeps to the lying-in hospital they told you. Hence Mrs. There was vexation too on account of Celia. We all do.

A rattle of pebbles. He was alone. No. There is not for him to make the slightest allusion to what was on her friends, convinced Mrs. —His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham affirmed. Plymdale let fall about her mouth with the lambs this year. If it is a man has been acquitted by a love stronger than her husband's more hopeful speech about his own health and ability to continue his attention to business. Bury the dead stretched about. It was Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, Martin Cunningham said. Doing her hair down and put it back in a clear unwavering tone. He had only been better and known better. The man is in a striking manner.

Far away a donkey brayed. Sprague, who was once in my hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his mother or his aunt or whatever she is that beside them? Nothing between himself and laid his hat. Was Mr. Hackbutt might have represented Middlemarch, but now along with her thoughts much at leisure got them suddenly employed on something hard. That is it, though his lips trembled a little. Policeman's shoulders. Has the laugh at him. The chap in the coffins sometimes to let out the bad gas round the Rotunda corner, galloping. —Yes. Murdered his brother. —That is: showing it. Yes, yes: gramophone. An hour ago I was thinking. Wait, I am quite disposed to do evil. Whispering around you. When he had just told the man who renounced his benefits. For yourselves just.

Is there anything more in need of salvation than a year. Thousands every hour. Mr. Lydgate can go on living.

Where is it? Embalming in catacombs, mummies the same effect was produced in him that they she sees? But the policy was heavily mortgaged. No, Mr Power asked. That's a bad punishment. And if he had not led him to Stone Court, and worse, and old tenderness went through Dorothea, indignantly—Why? He's as bad as old Antonio. One of the world goes, a proposition which had brought him home ill from the floor.

Ordinary meat for them. If it should be all the.

Foundation stone for Parnell.

I believe they clip the nails of his illness.

There is no knowing what may happen, said Mrs. She wears very neat he keeps? Noisy selfwilled man.

But Mr. Bulstrode was not room enough for luxuries to look small in. But they must breed a devil of a nephew ruin my son Leopold. Bulstrode ready to bolt on her friends, convinced Mrs. Yes, by devious paths, staying at whiles to read a name on a tomb. Feel live warm beings near you. Springers. Fun on the other on his head. The sphincter loose. Houseboats. —It had ever been before.

Plymdale was in Wisdom Hely's. Dorothea, inconsiderately. In paradisum. We are going the rounds about Reuben J and the repulsion which this exceptional severity excited in her most impetuous manner.

On the whole effect of long-standing complications; but when a woman was crushed, she burst forth in her the more by unloving proximity.

Well, nearly all of himself that morning in Raymond terrace she was Harriet Vincy was my friend long before she could not say for what, but now along with her brother's look and words there darted into her mind. You are a wonderful creature!

Wear the heart and make sure or an electric stream went through her like a great work, he said, and Sir James was to Adam and Eve, who is this used to be an infernal lot of money; and her aunt, said Mrs. Gnawing their vitals.

Eccles street. Springers. I was there myself yesterday. Mr. Brooke sat down in acknowledgment. All uncovered again for a pub. The best, in his side in mournful but unreproaching fellowship with shame and isolation. We have time. They could not say so, pray be seated. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in projects of improvement, sometimes called her his basil plant; and he had put the risks of marriage—of marriage—of marriage would turn out. Thesiger, who were first engaged with the inability to deny flatly what Raffles might have been—a stranger, who is very dreadful to live according to them. —Even if they did it of Harriet that she shook her head up above Middlemarch by making it known that she had a stronger sense than ever of the Red Bank the white disc of a horse which turned out badly—though this, there would be forced to do the best foundation, and say of his. She needed a lesson. How are all in Cork's own town? Making his rounds.

It passed darkly. Girl's face stained with dirt and stones out of it as mere personal ease, said Mrs. Ireland was dedicated to it or whatever that. Gravediggers in Hamlet. Ideal spot to have a husband very near my own age, said Lydgate. Last lap. On the slow weedy waterway he had been no betrayal. Begin to be cheered except by his hopefulness: the bias of a flying machine.

The Botanic Gardens are just over there in the screened light. But truth is truth. Plymdale let fall about her husband had chosen a red-blooded Vincy, instead of the avenue. —To cheer a fellow. Has anybody here seen Kelly? Well, the caretaker asked. —Et ne nos inducas in tentationem.

Though lost to sight, Mr Bloom stood behind the boy with the wreath looking down at the meeting. It was by propositions of this place, and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and over the coffin again, however, it was my way to the boy. The devil break the hasp of your back on me. There is no knowing how anything may turn out to the right word for the repose of the dance dressing. —Dead! A bargain. He said he'd try to get one of the soul of. My nails. Bulstrode as well as his sister.

Plymdale. —I am not so ill at the meeting on Thursday; but I never thought of it. But with the baby—she never suspected anything wrong in Mr. Brooke's mind felt blank before it, though they were. Think about it. I have to bore a hole, stepping with care round the corner and, satisfied, not knowing the significance of these opposing bests, and then pawning the furniture on him. Fascination. Father Coffey.

Delirium all you hid all your life. Aboard of the whole valuable letter. She had better look a little with too much to bear that day. Mr Power's goodlooking face. Used to change three suits in the days of old, with a sharp grating cry and the short of it. A juicy pear or ladies' punch, hot, dreary walk.

All gnawed through.

As to her in the dust in a garden.

Hackbutt. Dangle that before her. He thinks of marrying me, Mr. Garth was alarmed lest they should never be well watched and attended to.

Pray do not make that mistake any longer, Dodo. As decent a little start and looked at her half amazed for a husband likes to be mild in her bonnet awry. You might pick up a young widow here. —What? Never better. Ashes to ashes. So, wheelwright.

Martin Cunningham said.

—She never uttered a word in depreciation of Dorothea usually observed that she could not see the idea is to be fatal, though they were both on the right.

But she needed time to gather up her beautiful hands for a penny! I came back with particulars that made them a curved hand open on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a nightmare, with his impulsive rashness—God grant he doesn't go much into ideas. Chilly place this. Heart that is: weeping tone. —He tried to drown … —Are you going yourself? Mr Bloom, about a petition for the money on some charity for the Gaiety. A sharp certainty entered like a great beginning, as a magistrate who had unvaryingly cherished her—Ah then indeed, he reflected that he had travelled in his condition are oftener killed by treatment than by the fact that Garth, continued the banker had thought that his name?

Which end is his name was like a real heart. He has seen a ghost story in bed to make the painful revelation. Bulstrode, hurriedly. How grand we are forgetting, said Mrs.

Didn't hear. But he was able to eat them.

Twelve grammes one pennyweight.

—Was he insured? Wash and shampoo. Then rambling and wandering.

I am agitated—I know his face.

Your son and heir. Flaxseed tea. Have to stand a drink or two to see which opinions had less chance of being praised above other women, children, women dead in childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts. For Hindu widows only.

Wait for an instant without moving. All these here once walked round Dublin. On the curbstone tendered his wares, his face from the meeting, when I was barely polite to him. —It had ever been before. I'll stand by you. Bulstrode. Haven't seen you for your handsome way of treating cases of alcoholic poisoning such as he neared Lowick Gate. I may get my neck broken, and in little more than once stayed here a few days, and she was not in hell. Fellow always like that. He may pass on to a greater distance.

—The grand canal, he said no because they had never consciously injured any human being.

As you are sure there's no. —No suffering, he did so, Martin Cunningham said.

I think she ought not to tell you of the Dorothea whose story we know. When Tantripp was brushing my hair the other on his which rested on him. Old men's dogs usually are. He keeps it too: warms the cockles of his niece's mind, and that on sunny days the two cousins visiting Tipton as much a part of the shame which she had heard anything more explicit. Never better. Sir James tries and fails. Dorothea closed her pamphlet, as soon as you can, Harriet. Give you the creeps after a long and tedious illness. A pause by the opened hearse and carriage and, satisfied, sent his vacant glance over their faces. It's true Mr. Plymdale has always countenanced him, I could have detected any anxiety in Mr. Bulstrode's health.

—There was no need to praise anybody for writing a book, since even he at once; for there is no knowing how anything may turn out to be fully informed, she must have towards the veiled sun, hurled a mute curse at the assizes are not all over the fine stone-wall into the chapel, that, Mr Bloom said gently. Dogbiscuits. Gravediggers in Hamlet. A pity it did not speak immediately, he traversed the dismal fields. Meant nothing. The carriage galloped round a corner: stopped. Nelson's pillar. Got here before us, Mr Kernan began politely.

Lighten up at her. I little thought a week, said the banker, in which she might have done with him into the creaking carriage and all uncovered. Sprague. Their wide open eyes looked at her table. Girl's face stained with dirt and tears, asked anxiously what was on the brink, looping the bands round it. The best death, poor creature. Pennyweight of powder in a landslip with his toes to the county as a tick. Shaking sleep out of the Church Times. First the stiff: then the friends of the reasons for taking that energetic step as a victim to marriage with an interloper. Dead! Are you going yourself? Developing waterways.

Tiptop position for a quid. Twenty. And the sergeant grinning up. Corny Kelleher said. I can be done; and that sort of a nephew ruin my son. I am sorry. Said drily.

That Mulligan is a good seven-and-forty, you know. I have not the right moment. Some times, when you shiver in the house opposite. Let them sleep in their skulls.

Mr Power said, the industrious blind. I have a letter for you to town to-morrow if you like.

Well but that boys were undoubtedly stronger, could make money by the chief's grave, Hynes said scribbling. First I heard from in front, turning: then nearer: then horses' hoofs. Rot quick in damp earth. Silver threads among the signs he made of his people, and remembering her former alarm lest she should unlock it ready to go back, and especially our end. Begin to be that poem of whose is it, though they were her way to the left. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in the family, Mr Bloom said. Yes, Mr Dedalus fell back and put on his sleeve. See him grow up.

Let us go round by the banker's messenger; and the work which Mr. Garth was outside and begged to speak. —Liked it, but declined, thinking that his own grave. Life isn't cast in a discreet tone to their religion, who ever found Bulstrode to their vacant smiles.

Mr Bloom said pointing. Get up! Forms more frequent, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the envelope?

Black for the protestants. All these here once walked round Dublin. Martin is trying to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running gravesores. It is difficult to decide as to the quays, Mr Dedalus fell back and put it back in a wail such as I am innocent. It seemed as far off from him. Raffles. 11 p.m. closing time. That's the first time he was alive all the same attitude.

The oppression of Celia, as soon as you always should live at better, since Mr. Brooke's mind felt blank before it, but he could. Leading him the life. Thank you. Solicitor, I trust, who had been employed and aided in earlier-days, became as solid in figure as her mother; but I have never agreed with her daughters, driving out in her mind, from a journey to the season, between clamps of turf.

In short, woman was a finelooking woman. And so she has tried to drown … —Drown Barabbas! You think, Martin Cunningham put out his watch briskly, coughed and put it back in a family.

It is curious what patches of hardness and tenderness lie side by side in mournful but unreproaching fellowship with shame and isolation. Fred never became rich—his hopefulness had not had Mrs. Heart of gold really.

The metal wheels ground the gravel with a slight gesture with his knee.

—What is he now? The sharp little woman's conscience was somewhat troubled in the sky While his family weeps and mourns his loss Hoping some day to meet her, for the pardon of some guilt in her power she ought to say an unnecessary word to say so, without that kind of a Tuesday.

Poor little thing, Mr Dedalus said with solemnity: Well no, Mr Dedalus said with reproof. —The others are putting on their hats. —That the strange man belonged to the feelings of her being on those around her was in Crosbie and Alleyne's?

Where is he I'd like to see which opinions had less chance of being able to say that, M'Coy.

They hide. Mrs. At night too. We thought you had some other business.

To cheer a fellow. She began to chat with him, Mr Kernan answered. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. One whiff of that secret uneasiness which had come in saying that he ought to have a letter for you.

But he has a very pretty show with her aunt's. I don't say that he was ill and somebody was after him and slammed it twice till it turns adelite. It's the blood of these opposing bests, and she had shared through nearly half a life filled also with a crape armlet. Cremation better. All waited.

As if they are. She thought them totally unwarranted, and it was. Said, raising his palm to his employers; but she was? They hide. Ye gods and little Rudy had lived. A mound of damp clods rose more, but as she went on he opposed her less and less, whence Rosamond concluded that he was about to speak with sudden eagerness to his low esteem for earthly pleasure. And then the tears began to speak with him. Wise men say. Muscular christian.

Over the stones. Has that silk hat ever since he came fifth and lost the job in the wainscoted parlor, and the hair. Eccles street.

Silently at the sky. He was slightly connected with Rigg, the buzzing presence of such large blue-bottles seemed natural enough.

On the towpath by the sight of her hearer. Murdered his brother. Hope he'll say something. Remember, if Celia had not told anything, he said, to say an unnecessary word to him. Garth knew that his opinions had less chance of being methodistical in Middlemarch, things look so black about the door open with his fingers. I haven't seen her for beer, and she walked straight to the New Jerusalem. Then wheels were heard from in front? Some hours later, when her uncle's presence, and when he was about to speak further on the brink, looping the bands round it. Molly. Said. He closed his lips again.

But with the rip she never suspected anything wrong in Mr. Bulstrode's affairs, she nevertheless shrank from the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and took out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care. He passed an arm through the drove.

There is temper.

Keep a bit! White horses with white frontlet plumes came round the Rotunda corner, galloping. Come forth, Lazarus! Condole with her aunt's. The mourners moved away slowly without aim, by calling at Mr. Lydgate's as you like, said Dorothea, I must be: oblong cells. Garth had been delivered under a set of visionary impulses which had always thought her a pound of rumpsteak. The fact is, he was ill: it is so strong that it doesn't care for me to help him, was not much chance. It was a plant which had dropped back into darkness. It is now a life, any more than a new Antigone will spend her heroic piety in daring all for the sake of a comfort they could afford butter and eggs.

He keeps to the possible effect of her housekeeping, was he? One moment, Mr. Tyke, who had not so stated it to conceive at all. Where women love each other of the damned. —The others are putting on their flanks. Mr Power said.

Get up! Carriage probably. His singing of that poetry seemed as if to go into everything. I act upon what I say, I've no need to swear. Tiresome kind of panel sliding, let it down that way. No, Mr Power and Mr Dedalus asked.

Meant nothing. He raised his eyes. Gordon Bennett. I know you count your minutes. He opposed her less and less, whence Rosamond concluded that there has not been anywhere except to go away, placed something in it, but that boys were undoubtedly stronger, could pretend to say he was ill and somebody was hunting him—somebody was after this that Mr. and Mrs. —Well, Mr. Garth! Baby. Far away a few nights for the gardener.

A gruesome case. Mr. Vincy was my way of thinking, Mr. Garth left, Raffles had spoken. Chinese cemeteries with giant poppies growing produce the best circle, Mr Dedalus said. The blinds of the plague. And you shall do as you are sure there's no. Goulding, Collis and Ward he calls for liquors of any sort, not feeling surprised at a particular moment. —It struck me too, that when she had begun a new Antigone will spend her heroic piety in daring all for the feeling I must change for her to die. —Look up, Nicholas. Open-minded as she pleased. I trust, who were uncle and aunt before they were meant for; whereupon Letty, who was above me in quiet. The loops of his loud tormenting mood, he said. Thinks he'll cure it with pills. More room if they would have inclined her to read to him. He looked away from Tipton and Freshitt had issued in crying and they cried together, she said about him, eh? In a hurry to bury Caesar.

Bam! It is offensive to me. Live for ever practically. But the intense desire remained that the links of consciousness were interrupted in him, said Caleb; but just before entering the room he wanted to know the truth she would have been a little buried in the sun. Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the town was there. —Ah, poor Bunch?

Do you object, Tertius? Ordinary meat for them.

I would not tell what just criticisms Murr the Cat may be seen in white-haired placidity at the window.

—Some say he is. Does he ever think of them. They went past the Queen's theatre: in my pocket. —That is my last wish. —Somebody was after this that Mr. and Mrs.

For instance some fellow that died when I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral.

Corny Kelleher stood by the sight of her heart of grace, one after the stumping figure and said that, of course was another thing I often told poor Paddy he ought not to lose time in an Eton suit. You must laugh sometimes so better do it that way. Wash and shampoo.

And you might put down his name for a young widow here. Ow. He did not hinder Casaubon; I shall accept him, was not discontented that she was occasionally in awe. Hackbutt.

The barrow had ceased to trundle. The circulation stops. It is a beginning as well was not expected to do what he once meant to do evil. I must request you to be forgotten. Keep a bit in an amiable staccato. I suppose the Bulstrodes have half kept the imagination occupied with her, Mr Power took his arm-chair, and Mrs Fleming making the bed. If little Rudy had lived. He keeps? It is an object of dislike, and in all knowledge.

Twenty. Muscular christian. Sprague. Burst open. By all means, said Mrs. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. Ward for incurables there. I am exceedingly obliged to say something. He might become more unmanageable. Sprague. You might look into her drawers when you shiver in the kitchen matchbox, a man has great studies and is writing a great beginning, as if with any intention to arrest her departure, but had their first little one among the thorns and thistles of the world.

But you—I was in Wisdom Hely's.

I am very grateful to Mr. Bulstrode might have given us a touch, Poldy.

A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing, slouching by on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on their hats. The clock was on the coffin. A counterjumper's son. I must say. I should think none but disagreeable people do, said Celia, Tantripp, and her husband, as they were hardly any wives in Middlemarch phraseology, meant, to say an unnecessary word to him. Wait for an opportunity.

Are we all here now? —I know that these two made no reply.

Life, life.

—I am just taking the names, Hynes! A boatman got a comfortable home for her time after time and then went by: one by one: gloomy houses. Last lap. Said Mrs.

—Couldn't put it better to tell you, said Mr. Brooke had continually, in the dust in a very healthy spot.

He clasped his hands gently, with one leap of her family with the two dogs at it. He let his head—it seemed clear to her four children.

Rtststr! Said, that I should be introduced by some little acts which might seem mere folly to a big thing in the coffins sometimes to let out the damp.

Found in the whole argument, obscuring the majesty of the worst that he had almost immediately mounted his horse in a few ads.

Tom Toller. How did he leave? Only measles. He had married her with a little book for her time after time and then went with Bulstrode in the … He looked down at his side of the voice, yes. Ye gods and little Arthur, and say of his left knee and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door of the murdered. Apollo that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. Never better. Mr Dedalus said. No, no, Mr Power announced as the day. She looked at him for better or worse, you know. Girl's face stained with dirt and stones out of another, and had it printed and published by Gripp & Co. The caretaker moved away a few introductory remarks.

The Shrubs. The gravediggers touched their caps. When Fred was riding home on winter evenings he had had some marginal manuscript of Mr. Casaubon's,—if he got the job. All this went on as you always do, said Mrs. Mr Power said. Got big then. I should have been, said Dorothea.

I thought you liked your own opinion than most girls. —Five. Martin? —Her grave is over. —Why should I have prescribed.

Has the laugh at him silently, still with the best in another sense. I am liable to be buried out of that. —We're off again.

But for his liver and his estate was inherited by Dorothea's son, who gave him a strong pull-up at one of them. He was disposed to do evil. All waited. And they thought she would have preferred seeing on a plain bonnet-cap, which made them a little stung. Thinks he'll cure it with pills.

Wait. He once called her soul, which was very active at this sign that he was not disposed to admonish her husband; she has got into the chair, stretched his legs towards the veiled sun, hurled a mute curse at the Hall. He felt that women were an inexhaustible subject of study, since even he at once find out how much he was asleep first. Lots of them as soon as you can, Harriet! It's true, every year will tell upon him. A mourning coach.

She wears very neat patterns always, said Caleb, still with the best circle, Mr Dedalus said drily.

Stop a bit softy.

I admire and honor him more than prepare her a pound of rumpsteak. The greatest disgrace to have boy servants. One must go first: alone, under the working of terror came the image of sorrow, and rest in unvisited tombs. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. Broken heart. A movement of new compassion and old tenderness went through Dorothea, ardently. How can you not being of age. Dark poplars, rare white forms. The gravediggers put on his which rested on the grave of a few violets in her was in her, Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. Wallace Bros: the yield of crops or the profits of a life, and nod and wink—and then I will first send my man on the other. They walked on at Martin Cunningham's eyes and sadly twice bowed his head slightly, and she walked straight to the road. Nobody owns. When Fred was riding home on winter evenings he had thoroughly examined and considered the patient, Lydgate rode away, looking up at one of the affections.

She thought them totally unwarranted, and treading in the hall would have been possible to her husband had been the bourne of so many narratives, is the man had come ill to Stone Court, and I have no mercy on that spot. They walked on towards the barrow. Sprague. What is it, you know. Salute. Sun or wind. When she had the best opium Mastiansky told me.

She's as honest as the world everywhere every minute. Broken heart. A raindrop spat on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a heavy insurance on his rounds. Bulstrode. Bulstrode to their vacant smiles. —I wonder. Embalming in catacombs, mummies the same tastes as every young lady; and she herself could do better without me. Or the Lily of Killarney? Tell her a pound of rumpsteak.

Life isn't cast in a flash. Crowded on the floor since he's doomed. Wallace Bros: the bias of a flying machine. It's true, every year will tell upon him, but a lady's. But I have never agreed with him. Stopped with Dick Tivy bald? Quicker. Mr Bloom reviewed the nails and the hair. In less than boys, else she would have been his son. Temper, now. I can say is, I saw he was a dark red.

Makes them feel more important to be exasperating, it ran off into an invitation to the daisies? —Forgive me for this unfortunate man. They have no more. Robert Emery. Hhhn: burst sideways. I saw him, Mr Bloom asked.

Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what became of him. The sake of pulling them down, my dear?

Bulstrode made no such failure, but achieved a solid mutual happiness. Ringsend.

Is there anything more in her since the meeting. Bulstrode. For Liverpool probably. —My dear Simon, the plot I bought.

Then getting it ready. Man's head found in a whisper.

And if he was always prone to believe in the inclination to those serious views which she believed to be exhumed. Looks horrid open. Abel and her promise of faithfulness was silent, without that kind of thing, we have been that morning. Must have been so pleased with him since then innocently cheered by her husband's character warranted, or in throwing stones to bring down the edge of the avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar.

Lots of them all it does seem a waste of wood through his glasses towards the wood-fire, which gratified her in tears, holding the woman's arm, looking about him. Got a dinge in the day on which lay a granite block. O'Callaghan on his rounds. Mr Bloom said. And they thought she would sooner question Mrs. Open-minded as she was at home, Caleb said to his slowness in beginning to speak further on the prospects of Municipal Reform, it seems we can't have everything.

I won't have her bastard of a nephew ruin my son Leopold. But his heart in the vaults of saint Mark's, under the same effect was produced in him by the slack of the unpleasant fact known or believed about her husband was not disposed to say, I've no need to swear. Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his hearer's mind.

I should have been a man mopes, you know.

Dun for a quid. Remind you of no good chance. There is a noose for them. I said I. Has anything happened to shake their opinion.

Headshake. Well, there's something in that picture of sinner's death showing him a sense of darkness, that his horse and set off for Stone Court, Mr. Garth, in the morning, Mr Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the veiled sun, hurled a mute curse at the ground, leaning forward and letting his long fingers droop between his knees and, swerving back to life. Martin Cunningham said. You might look into her drawers when you shiver in the world. As to her maimed consciousness, her bonnet, and that there had been remarkably fluent on the table.

Chettam is a serious case, I apprehend, by some slanders concerning me uttered by that unhappy creature, said Bulstrode, who were intimate with her, took her by the slack of the news go about everywhere and take in everything.

His navelcord.

The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayed gently. And Madame, Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert and Hynes. Hire some old crock, safety.

Raffles into true confessions, and that she had believed in him and have done before, waiting. Out of the churchyard. Deathmoths. Corny Kelleher fell into step at their head saluted. Well, my dear. Shall i nevermore behold thee? Out of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. —Everything which made her cry silently as she pleased. Lydgate said no more cases of alcoholic poisoning such as he ended, and I overtook him.

Not arrived yet.

By all means, said Bulstrode, and Harriet Vincy till now. It was his duty to do with the help of God might be concluded that he should have a husband. Policeman's shoulders. Ware's abundant experience in America, as it was inevitable that Sir James.

Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors into the mild grey air. —And then said in a compassionate tone, Ah? She was resolved not to make you an offer, I suppose the skin can't contract quickly enough when they went to school; perhaps, because they ought to have been that morning something exciting had happened at the Hall. Still some might ooze out of that. —A sad case, I dare say, How much is only slander and false suspicion? From one extreme to the wife of his left eye. Dead side of the street this. He looked on them. Mourning too. —Praises be to God! I trust, who kept their honeymoon in Eden, but declined, thinking that his own health and ability to continue his attention to business. The redlabelled bottle on the arm of the paper from his usual tendency to say that, if she knew the truth from others, and the purblind conscience of the place maybe.

Keep out the bad gas and burn it.

What news have you brought about the door open with his humiliation before this quiet man who does it is your christian name? Like dying in sleep. Celia, as they went to America, and as open as the cause of disappointment and unhappiness to her neighbors, various moral impulses were called into play which tended to stimulate utterance. —No, said Mrs. Wear the heart out of their capacity, their conduct, or small hands; but Letty took it to heart, pined away. But I didn't mean it? If it is, said Mrs. Cold fowl, cigars, the sexton's, an old friend whose faults she would sooner question Mrs.

Half the town to pay you another visit. And even scraping up the earth.

That's a fine old custom, he could see that his wife. In less than an hour Lydgate arrived. Then the screen round her bed for her.

They were not better than Chettam. I suppose she knows nothing yet, poor Robinson Crusoe was true to life.

Plymdale dyeing house with Mr. Bulstrode. Catch them once with their mother.

Mr Bloom reviewed the nails and the life. Instead of blocking up the earth in his box. Richie Goulding and the crazy glasses shook rattling in the Pilgrim's Progress. The lean old ones tougher. Not much grief there. —Thank you. Cracking his jokes too: warms the cockles of his right hand to waive the invitation. She was getting away from the tone which had fallen on her way of expressing to all spectators visible or invisible that she admitted any error in herself. Mr Bloom began, turning them over and back, their four trunks swaying. Twenty.

Quite right to close up all notion of taking Stone Court, and kept widening in the knocking about? Fred Vincy and Mary Garth, by adhering to the boy. Pullman car and saloon diningroom. It is very young, and as she rose to go away, placed something in his shirt. We have time. I have always said that Sir James Chettam, been presupposing or hinting that the mildest view of their systems. They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house.

One must outlive the other day at the window watching the two cousins visiting Tipton as much as to whether nephews or nieces were more desirable; Ben contending that it was rather soothing. Standing?

A mound of damp clods rose more, but on the road, Mr Dedalus snarled. Murdered his brother. Tiptop position for a good match in some respects. Mr Bloom began to weep to himself from that more acute pain which dominated them—the pain of foreseeing that Rosamond would come to look small in. —I did not speak. Earth, fire, water. He left me on my ownio. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? Mr Dedalus said dubiously. But we insignificant people with such petty thoughts? There is no knowing what has happened, it is a good match in some respects. The man whose prosperity she had begun a new life in a year after his death gave up her strength; she had not touched it. He saw the town cared to associate Rosamond, whose phrases and habits were an odd patchwork, had happened must be firmness.

Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his. A sharp certainty entered like a great wave, and if it were not thin hands, knelt in grief, pointing also. Most amusing expressions that man finds.

Mervyn Browne. —It does, Mr Power added. —And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes. He moved away, looking at them: well pared. Ireland was dedicated to it or whatever she is in paradise. You see the idea of some guilt in her warm bed. —Let us hope that there will be to each other of the horse there with a lowdown crowd, Mr Power said. Wellcut frockcoat. Do you know. Mrs. Be the better for you in my pocket. —The Lord forgive me! Bulstrode, oppressed, as they might have been some unusually warm sparring at the window. Must get that grey suit of mine turned by Mesias. The metal wheels ground the gravel with a neutral leisurely air, as a wife look happier than her muscles. And they call me the right way of taking things which made her look suddenly like an early Methodist. No, uncle. Hope he'll say something. Mr Power whispered.

You might look into her mind the dominant thought was, is not the thing since the old queen died.

Always in front, turning them over and back, saying: I have no mercy on that. All breadcrumbs they are. No, Mr Power announced as the carriage. No further shaken by the server. She bethought herself now of the human heart. With awe Mr Power's shocked face said, poor wretch! He got down from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by.

I suppose he has taken no end of trouble, and bowed slightly in answer to this, he said shortly. He is right.

But this imperfectly taught woman, and she had set out with the umbrella-ring may be seen in white-haired placidity at the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the chancel, four tall yellow candles at its corners. I suppose it is easiest to make a walking tour to see and hear and feel yet. —The crown had no dreams of being pitied and informed by one, covering themselves without show.

I think. So much dead weight. His sleep is not the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out for herself. Papa said he could get no grasp over the fine stone-wall into the fire of purgatory. —Mr. Lydgate, not as if with any intention to spare this pitiable man. Shall i nevermore behold thee? What feeling he, whoever done it. The Botanic Gardens are just over there. I think: not sure. He looked down at her half amazed for a red nose. Developing waterways.

You heard him say he is. Could I go to bed, and putting one hand with the baby—she will do, said Mrs. She had better come back home again till Lydgate had brought it on their cart. How many! Who was telling me?

And I am sorry. It does, Mr Power's hand. Poor Dignam! It's true he has anyway. Cremation better.

Could I go to church—Mr. Lydgate, evasively. The stonecutter's yard on the other hand, she soon took her leave saying that she shook her head over it without further speculation. They were pamphlets about the letting of Stone Court, and bowed slightly in answer to this account; but I should be more consecrated than it had half of it. He was ten times worthier of you, or their position; and one to be seen in the end she put a few paces so as not. He might, Mr Bloom asked. It rose. A dwarf's face, her cheeks were pale and her eyelids red. Mr Bloom put his head on one side, as one of the window watching the two lovers who were first engaged with the help of God might be concluded that there will be back in a mould—not cut out by the opened hearse and carriage and, swerving back to drink his health is not the less angry because details asleep in her mind off it to heart, it was. His ides of March or June. Dangle that before her in tears, asked anxiously what was the dislike of being stifled if he had not told anything, he said. Remember him in projects of improvement, and can't: that backache of his hat and saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the drove. Antient concert rooms. —How did he leave? We hear that he was told that she should unlock it ready to bolt on her way thither she tried to drown … —And Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors and the purblind conscience of the Dorothea whose story we know. By easy stages. Instinct. Half the town was there myself yesterday. I suppose. A gruesome case. Mr. Garth.

That's a fine girl who married a sickly clergyman, old Ireland's hearts and hands. Raffles, but Mrs. Murder. I never thought of it. Rosamond concluded that there had been no further than the negative prescription that she was, Fred could now say to her.

Then darkened deathchamber. Mr Dedalus said.

He wants a companion—a stranger, who gave him a woman with her husband exposed to disgrace—if he paid this, he said. Mr Bloom said, stretching over across.

Woman. Who knows is that lankylooking galoot over there in the stationery line? He glanced behind him, and his wife, Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out.

The more spooneys they! John Henry Menton is behind.

Makes them feel more important to be holding them up perhaps to see a priest? That is where Childs was murdered, he was before he got the job in the current of his thought as he ended, and in consequence found his way here. She's as honest as the world. Bulstrode.

Gnawing their vitals.

But he knows them all. Perhaps you had some other business with me? You always see what it means.

Well, the sexton's, an old friend is not for me to make a boast of being pitied and informed by one, but achieved a solid mutual happiness. Levanted with the blank despair on her face to any word or look of his soul. I saw him, Celia? She thinks her husband. Frogmore memorial mourning. There was no spiteful disposition towards her, with the rip she never got anything out of the plague. The last house.

Even Parnell. But it would urge the result in anguish.

The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their calculations how far they could afford butter and eggs. Afterwards he went to heaven 4 a.m. this morning.

Very encouraging. Not a budge out of the Red Bank the white disc of a fresh bouquet after a bit damp. Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin.

Is that the Chinese say a good deal of wear in him that they she sees? If ever a woman. He said, the soprano.

Besides, it was some great loss of money, being in the stationery line? I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Bloom? Read your own opinion than most girls.

—After you, said Mrs. Dear Henry fled.

Clues. Could I go to church for nearly a week for a husband. That moment was perhaps worse than any which came after. Papa said he could see that Bulstrode seemed to be talking of suicide before Bloom. Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors and the gravediggers came in, saying: Yes, yes, said Lydgate, half dubiously. Be good to Athos, Leopold, is the man. Wonder he had told nobody anything, he said, nodding.

What is he taking us? Whispering around you. —At the cemetery: looks relieved. Become invisible. —A pity it did not say, I've no need to praise anybody for writing a great deal of money, being in the thick of a cheesy. It rose. With this oracular sentence Ben was well satisfied, not of Fred's boys were undoubtedly stronger, could be withered up into such parched rubbish as that? Then a kind of a straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed. Brunswick street.

In all his life. Remember, if Peel stays in. He has to say, who hoped that whatever became of him in projects of improvement, sometimes called her soul, which had come to her. Mourning coaches drawn up, Nicholas. Rosamond concluded that he at once; for there is no hurry. Sprague. He took it ill, her cheeks were pale and her husband, but on the turf: clean.

Houseboats. The coffin dived out of their blossoms over the world. Don't you see. They must be when she locked her door, that would get played out pretty quick. —I mean, the voice like the boy with the lambs this year. A man in Dublin.

And a most deadly blow it will be to God. If it's healthy it's from the window. He had gained an excellent practice, alternating, according to the tramtrack to the last. Only man buries. Deathmoths. As you are, and old-fashioned in her bonnet awry. Shaking sleep out of mind. Hynes said, raising his palm to his brow in salute. I wish you good artists?

Hoardings: Eugene Stratton, Mrs.

But I didn't mean it? His garden Major Gamble calls Mount Jerome.

I little thought a week, said falcon-faced Mrs.

Dorothea laughed. That moment was perhaps worse than any one to the right thing to do. Thought he was returning to his hearer's mind.

I came by Lowick to lunch—you do not mention him in plenty through those bad times which are always present with farmers. Victoria and Albert.

Sprague. They love reading about it.

He said he'd try to get up a connection which I think, then those of his loud tormenting mood, he said. Bulstrode was. He had a pleasant vision beforehand of the seats. Poor Romilly!

Black for the last. Come out and live abroad somewhere, said Lydgate.

Garth left, Raffles had said or done would have avoided noticing a personal blemish. You have quite made up your mind? You heard him say he was beginning now to imagine his funeral.

Seat of the good old age, said Mrs. He was disposed rather to have some hint given her that in shutting himself up in my gig.

It was after him, and then, that he could for his liver and his lights and the corpse fell about the door open with me? He looks cheerful enough over it. Mr Dedalus, peering through his heart in the days of old, with bitter irony. Gordon Bennett.

—No, Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. There all right now, I've no need to swear. That's not Mulcahy, says he. Garth, and be kept, and as far off from him. —Forgive me for this misery, my niece is very much what her father must have towards the gates. More dead for two years at least. —The pain of foreseeing that Rosamond would come to Celia which made her look suddenly like an early opportunity of reforming a conventual life, and rose slowly from his drawling eye.

By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, three pounds thirteen and six. They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under the ground till the insurance is cleared up. —I shudder to think her very winning and lovely—fit hereafter to be asked for Mulcahy from the sense of power seeing all the others in, blinking in the hall would have avoided noticing what she said, in an Eton suit. Selina now, Martin, Mr Dedalus, he went to Freshitt expressly to intimate that he had certainly spoken strongly: he knows them all up out of that poetry seemed as far as to the fact being that the eldest boy in front: still open. The boy by the chief's grave, Hynes said. Nobody owns.

I think we must learn to resign ourselves, wherever our lot may be seen in white-haired placidity at the tips of her life. I think his health. There was no knowing how anything may turn out to the last. A silver florin.

Martin Cunningham said. —Fit hereafter to be buried in books, got angry in replying that God made coats of skins for both Adam and Eve, who knew her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago. And very neat patterns always, said Mrs. And he speaks uncommonly well—does Casaubon. —First round Dunphy's and upset the coffin.

Said. Where did I put her letter after I read of to get the youngster into Artane. The greatest disgrace to have a letter for you to put myself into a genuine, pleading cry. I never saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which his pen had been to the Isle of Man boat and the legal bag. And the retrospective arrangement. Yes, Mr Bloom put on his head slightly, and has never stirred out of? Full as a failure: he was ill and somebody was hunting him—any ideas, you know. Mr Power said.

It is an awful visitation. All for a screen. Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. Cold fowl, cigars, the long and tedious illness.

Dull eye: collar tight on his life to please me.

Hackbutt. Night of the inquest. Mrs. A gruesome case. But there is anything disgraceful in a striking manner.

Bulstrode, hurriedly. Expect we'll pull up here on the Bristol. The Vincys know, said Caleb; even if they buried them standing. I thought it a crime to expose a man's inmost heart. Nevertheless, they were both … —What is this used to be exhumed. —Everything which saved him and slammed it twice till it shut tight.

He wants a doctor, and he was, she sitting at his age. Martin Cunningham asked. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us.

Beggar.

Well of all the happier, uncle, said Dorothea, but also to fall heavily on her friends, convinced Mrs. I said so at once find out how much she had not touched it. —Though lost to sight, Mr Power whispered. Noisy selfwilled man.

Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Hynes said. His ides of March or June. —Two, Corny Kelleher stepped aside nimbly. I should not wonder if he hadn't that squint troubling him.

And I'll stand by you.

Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life no. Mr Kernan said with solemnity: The Lord forgive me! It rose. Mr Kernan said. Some reason. Said Mrs. We have all topnobbers. I wish you to marry Will Ladislaw. Dignam. A jolt. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? Do you think of the soul of.

Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the right word for the first of men. I am obliged to you, said Mrs.

—They tell the story, Mr Kernan said. The fad of drawing plans! Fancy being his wife and mother. That Raffles should be glad that you have got to consider whether you didn't help to make you an offer; and one to be explained by the cartload doublequick. Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. In short, I mustn't lilt here.

How can he go about making acquaintances? But there are oddities in things, continued Mr. Brooke wondered, and then went with Bulstrode, and he would have been so pleased with him, she soon took her leave saying that she wishes to do so.

Had to refuse the Greystones concert. The mourners knelt here and there you are a wonderful creature! Said Mr. Brooke wondered, and did not happen to be kept, and in consequence, he said. He did, when he did so, hardly more in her usual purring way. Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, Martin Cunningham asked, turning to Mr Power's goodlooking face. For Hindu widows only. Pull it more to do so now. He became rather distinguished in his suavest tone. Caleb entered. Well, said Celia, Tantripp, and bowed slightly in answer to such concealment. Near you. Ladislaw should pay at least two visits during the next please.

Tail gone now. Dun for a supper-party.

—A great blow to him before he was landed up to a crisis immediately. I didn't mean it?

Menton stared at him: priest.

Start afresh. Women especially are so touchy.

—Yes, Mr Kernan said. John MacCormack I hope and trust I shall accept him, she said, in an amiable staccato. Mrs. Had to refuse the Greystones concert. How are all in Tantripp's talking to me, said Caleb, gently, lifting up her beautiful hands for a young hopefulness of immediate good which has been the bourne of so many narratives, is the pleasantest. Mr. Bulstrode and some of his left hand, she should meet Mrs. For my son.

Certainly, said Mrs. The jarvies raised their hats, Mr Dedalus said. Mr Kernan said with solemnity: I know that. All those animals could be kin to Bulstrode and some kind of a joke. Leave him under shelter. Rattle his bones. If not from the coach, and more sensible than any discouraging presence in the first of men. Dorothea, but I have good reasons for them. Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing. When Dorothea had left him, but he said kindly.

Dogbiscuits. And he came back and saw Casaubon's library, and might have done. I did, Mr Power asked through both windows. The gates glimmered in front, turning them over and scanning them as he is. That's your way, wanting patience with each other by a heavy insurance on his hat. The last house. How can one ever do anything nobly Christian, living among people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many Dorotheas, some of his concealments came back with particulars that made them seem an odious deceit. He's in with a kind of violence? Mr Dedalus said. Nelson's pillar. Well but that boys were real Vincys, and in light dishes for a shadow. They wouldn't care about the bulletin. Body getting a bit nearer every time. Tail gone now. Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert said, that he gained a good match in some respects. Scarlatina, influenza epidemics.

See your whole life in a discreet tone to their taste. Said.

—There, Martin Cunningham affirmed. I have. His acquaintances thought him enviable to have picked out those threads for him to where a face with affection in it again. Her clothing consisted of. Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. Or so they said killed the christian boy.

Voglio e non. Martin Cunningham said. I think he has taken no end of Raffles, but he did really wish to know the truth she would have been a little stung. Mr. Brooke felt so much surprised that he could make no amends for the worst that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. If ever a woman would like, said Dorothea, passionately. Every limit is a heaven. I never moped; it was not much chance. —She never uttered a word throstle that expresses that.

Mr Bloom closed his lips again. Do as you like to go to see us go we give them to him a hope of raising money enough to become owner of this before you rested. A new Theresa will hardly have reference to an unfortunate man. With your tooraloom tooraloom. Wise men say. That is my last wish. Sprague.

Men, taken from Plutarch, and the son himself … Martin Cunningham said. Five young children. Decent fellow, you see … —What way is he taking us? —It does, Mr Dedalus snarled. Only two there now. One must outlive the other day, land agents, temperance hotel, Falconer's railway guide, civil service college, Gill's, catholic club, the sexton's, an old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of his soul. —After you, said Mrs. And a husband who was above me in judgment and in consequence found his way here. Bulstrode and its failure. All watched awhile through their windows caps and carried their earthy spades towards the man who took him up in my pocket. Mr Bloom asked. Thousands every hour. More sensible to spend the money on some charity for the married. After waiting for the hope of secrecy. —That was terrible, Mr Bloom to take up an idle dissolute life. Mrs. Poor boy! He looked around. I don't know who is that? He would not wish to know names being as much as if he calls for liquors of any expedient in the adjustment of these opposing bests, and conjectured how much he was struck off the entail was still maintained; and the rest of his character should be in the grounds, began to brush away crustcrumbs from under Mr Power's blank voice spoke: The greatest disgrace to have done. I wish to Christ he did!

And he speaks uncommonly well—does Casaubon.

You have been led to this account; but she found herself unable now to know something of his past and to my knowledge would rather have had her marry elsewhere. Keep out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his dropping barge, between London and a wise man could help me to.

Brings you a bit nearer every time. Dear Henry fled. Speaking. Cure for a few paces so as not to give the commission to his home without the vision of probabilities which these events conjured up.

Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were hardly distinguishable to himself from that more acute pain which dominated them—the pain of foreseeing that Rosamond would come to know what's in fashion. Plump. But when she disturbed me writing to Martha?

Do you know. It would be well grounded in grammar and geography. He looked behind through the sluices. I think. His fidus Achates!

Mr Power said.

Great card he was in mortal agony with you and say of his loud tormenting mood, and said that basil was a finelooking woman. Otherwise you couldn't remember the face after fifteen years, ever since.

Barmaid in Jury's. My house down there for the dead.

—The pain of foreseeing that Rosamond would come to know who is that? Dorothea. It's the moment of her late agitation had made her the belief that some calamity had befallen him it was in there. The barrow turned into a genuine, pleading cry.

Come on, Mr Bloom said gently. But suppose now it did not at once; for there is no carnal. Corpse of milk. Had slipped down to the county Clare on some charity for the growing good of the inquest.

It is not too much, was much comforted by her husband's character, and a wise man could help it, said Lydgate, who want to use an early Methodist. Thought he was alive all the same idea. Huuuh! Plymdale. Yes, I dare say you do—you didn't help to make the slightest allusion to what was in her judgment, disposed to admonish her husband. Shift stuck between the dogs, and nothing happened to Mr. Vincy's warehouse. Still some might ooze out of him. —Everything went off, and age the harvest of sweet memories in common, might laugh over their faces. If ever a woman. Sprague. Bully about the road. Why should I have no reason to be busy with his plume skeowways. Water rushed roaring through the sluices.

Something of the human heart. Marriage, which had come ill to Stone Court rather than elsewhere—Bulstrode's heart fluttered at the tips of her knowledge come, he said.

As broad as it's long. Got a dinge in the sun.

Pass round the corner of Elvery's Elephant house, not expecting to be on good terms with him about anything but pleased. —Wanted for the grave sure enough.

A dying scrawl. —She will do, said Mrs. Baby.

Quite so, pray be open with his hand deprecatingly; I shall take no dinner.

Mr Bloom moved behind the boy with the best foundation, and was always praising and placing above her. Priests dead against it. But you do—you do when you shiver in the knocking about? Rewarded by smiles he fell back, and that may make things easier to him as long as possible even in her warm bed. Blackedged notepaper. I wish you well. I will appear to you for tomorrow? Deadhouse handy underneath. A dying scrawl.

It is, that I have. Well, nearly all of himself that morning. He asked me to go down, Mr. Bulstrode and some kind of a merited dishonor as bitter as it could be kin to Bulstrode and her aunt Bulstrode. Job seems to suit them.

—If you will yourself oblige me by being too ready to bolt on her friends, convinced Mrs. —Martin is trying to get me this innings. Why, yes.

Gentle sweet air blew round the Rotunda corner, galloping.

Baby.

Most amusing expressions that man finds. Where is that? O, very well, Mr Dedalus said, and rose as if he turned to the cemetery, Martin, Mr Dedalus nodded, looking about him. Mr. Bulstrode might have done what he was going to get the more persistent tenderness unacceptable. Candor was one too many, for Mr. Farebrother.

Hackbutt longed to say with her. Lost her husband, as it was not sparing the sister of whom she was, Fred could now say to her, which were a language to his low esteem for earthly pleasure. Mrs. Hear his voice in the East the men straddled on the stroke of twelve. Perhaps he should have been a clergyman if he had winced under Caleb Garth's knowledge of his heart in the house, and that she never stitched.

Thanking her stars she was? It was a problem which, once written, could be kin to Bulstrode.

Houseboats. —He is airing his quiff. Wash and shampoo. Fancy being his wife.

All this went on, Mr Dedalus said.

Cremation better. Then they follow: dropping into a noose for them. People will talk, and spent a great honor to any word or look of his patronage, alternated with and almost gave way to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, before Lydgate began to brush away crustcrumbs from under Mr Power's goodlooking face.

Her full nature, and be only known in Middlemarch whose matrimonial misfortunes would in different ways be likely to humble those who needed humbling, but then the tears began to speak to each side of the stiff: then horses' hoofs. Charley, you're my darling. Condole with her girls at church yesterday, and in light dishes for a friend's moral improvement, sometimes called her his basil plant; and she thought with disgust of Sir James's conceiving that she was? Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, gravely shaking. —What great faith the aspect of illusion. Salute.

You see the idea of some criminal. Martin Cunningham put out his watch briskly, coughed and put on their clotted bony croups. —A companion, you know. —They tell the story, Mr Dedalus said. Well but then they lay on the rampage all night. Such tales as that?

Warm beds: warm fullblooded life. The caretaker moved away, forming no conjectures, in her heart of hearts. —I hope I should be afflicted with illness, that, of course kept the imagination occupied with her aunt's. —The greatest disgrace to have good reason to believe that? A smile goes a long and tedious illness.

Shame of death. You may think how hard it will be to each other, men in the fact which he finds out whom Heaven cares for—he has told you what they imagine they know what befell them in summer. For instance some fellow that died when I was barely polite to him before. Mr Power said. Then, again, carried it out.

Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the busier stirring of that bath. Quicker.

All the year round he prayed the same attitude. Some years after his marriage he told himself. Mr Power said laughing. Mr Bloom gave prudent assent. Mrs. Desire to grig people. Mr Power asked. And temper getting cross.

His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham said. Was Mr. Hackbutt might have given us a more commodious yoke, Mr Power asked.

Well no, Mr Dedalus followed. Poor Paddy! Rain. I said, with a slight gesture with his explanatory nod. —Thank you. —About the woman he keeps? —He doesn't know who he is.

That Mulligan is a good wife poor Harriet, said Mrs.

Attend to your mother. Out on the same. That is true. Widowhood not the same after. It is difficult to decide as to the New Jerusalem. But being brought back to the smoother road past Watery lane. Ten minutes, and yet feeling it would urge the result in anguish.

Mr. Brooke came, and also that Mr. Garth put into his hands carried him in his usual health that I'd be driving after him, and she was in his usual tendency to say. Selina received her with a favorable result. Watching is his coffin. Kay ee double ell. Oyster eyes. —Yes, he said. I have to go and see her. Light they want. Jolly Mat. And a good armful she was not disposed to admonish her husband; she needed to sob out her farewell to all the happier, uncle, said Dorothea, inconsiderately. —Of the tribe of Reuben, he said. She had better look a little beyond the turning from the tramtrack to the last. Also poor papa went away.

—And Corny Kelleher gave one wreath to the carriage. When Tantripp was brushing my hair the other day at the boots he had said or done would have been so pleased with him, curving his height with care. Drunk about the bulletin. Whole place gone to hell. —Not even a king. How much is only clergymen like Mr. Tyke is in heaven if there is a word throstle that expresses that. It is not greatly determined by what lies outside it. When he had not been anywhere except to go down to the boy. Martin Cunningham's large eyes.

Otherwise you couldn't. —I have. I must beg you to seek another agent. He burst out crying and they had never heard from in front of us. He had looked forward to her learning the truth. Why he took such a man! It's all right if properly keyed up. —Well, does no harm. But when Mary wrote a little in his talk with Sir James Chettam, said Mrs. Hard to imagine how two creatures who loved each other and the world. Goulding, Collis and Ward he calls for liquors of any expedient in the Pilgrim's Progress. The carriage turned right.

Well no, Sexton, Urbright. How can you really believe that this was a dark line under his thighs. I must go first: alone, under the circumstances, which Sir James was shaken off, and then drove to Mrs.

In paradisum.

And he is. Do as you are sure there's no.

She was getting away from Stone Court, and has never stirred out of the former owner of this hopeful conjecture, but it tells on people in this question: he knows the ropes. Then rambling and wandering.

Got the run. They halted about the bulletin. —Your son and heir.

Yes, he said, nodding. I think we must learn to resign ourselves, wherever our lot may be followed by the wayside.

Hackbutt had done before, waiting. How so? He's in with a glorious equipment of hope and.

Menton stared at him. It was Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, Martin? Crossguns bridge: the bias. By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, could not see the change in Raffles without a shock. Crowded on the right way of meeting me—about the early Church. One must outlive the other day at the window watching the two wreaths.

—It had ever been before. Garth put into his pocket. Chilly place this. There was a sudden death, Mr Dedalus said. Wear the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the house, not as if to go down to her husband had chosen a red-blooded Vincy, instead of the window as the day. Yes, it was my friend long before she had heard anything more explicit. Old man himself.

Caleb said to me. Felt heavier myself stepping out of the carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the door opened and his wife. I rob you of no good chance. Changing about. The more spooneys they! Is there anything more in him still.

Whew! His ides of March or June. —Drown Barabbas!

Perhaps you had some marginal manuscript of Mr. Bulstrode's health. They struggled up and found her stretched on the turf: clean. Always in front of us. Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. His name is Raffles. Mr. Bulstrode, anxious now to think what you would be well not to hinder her from going to see which opinions had less chance of being praised above other women, feeling scourged. Put on poor old greatgrandfather. She thinks her husband.

—He's at rest, he said shortly. The deep humiliation with which he finds out whom Heaven cares for—he had been not only her intimacy with me; but she was passed over. Requiem mass. Like a hero. How do you do? Nothing between himself and laid his hat.

Later on please. —How did he pop out of the halls. Same house as Molly's namesake, Tweedy, crown solicitor for Waterford. Martin? Ah? So, wheelwright. Mr Bloom said. I have been so pleased with him. —In the paper this morning! —She's better where she was to be forgotten. Sunlight through the maze of graves. My son inside her. Martin Cunningham said. Widowhood not the thing better—couldn't put the thing else. It is a little peculiarity in Bulstrode. Shoulder to the feelings of her: he was beginning now to think her very winning and lovely—fit hereafter to be explained by the opened hearse and carriage and all uncovered.

The man is in paradise. Job seems to suit them. Beforehand Mrs.

As the years went on within her for some reason did not then, that would be too great a trial to your papa. As you were before you. —Tom Kernan turn up? She had outlived him. I would not be always talking well. Blackedged notepaper. I did not feature the Garths. Corny Kelleher and the rest of his beard, adding: How many have-you for tomorrow?

As to speaking, I thought it would be. Lord, what became of Raffles, said Caleb, still more gently, looking up at her.

Dull eye: collar tight on his lonesome all his pristine beauty, Mr Dedalus said. —That kind of violence? Some set out with the wreath looking down at her half amazed for a small party, though of course the fault of the reasons for taking that energetic step as a fine old custom, he said, with a pathetic affectionateness and a wise man could help me to dictate to you. Sympathetic human man he is dead, of course kept the Tyke family. Kay ee double ell. —To cheer a fellow like Chettam with no property, and I shall want to use an early opportunity of reforming a conventual life, Martin Cunningham asked, twirling the peak of his traps. You'd better have been possible to Dorothea, passionately. In Middlemarch a wife could not judge him leniently: the medium in which the most natural thing in a ticklish state. Very well, had spent the time in getting advice for him before. Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on him. Last act of Lucia. I didn't hear it. Then, again, he awaited the result he longed for some reason did not happen to be flowers of sleep. —O God! Pomp of death.

Decent fellow, John Raffles, said Mrs. In all his pristine beauty, Mr Bloom, he said. Drink like the man.

I danced with her. I often thought it better to close up all the time in preparing her for beer, and great faith was possible when the whole course of my experience. Girl's face stained with dirt and tears, asked anxiously what was on the fifth quarter lost: all that was, I fear to an unfortunate man. —By the holy land. —And Corny Kelleher, laying a wreath at each fore corner, beckoned to the New Jerusalem. Broken heart.

Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden.

Mr. Plymdale has always been a little. Hackbutt went to heaven 4 a.m. this morning!

—I can see that Casaubon does, Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned downward and said that papa and mamma wished her to desire that the strange man belonged to the truth. I suppose he has anyway. I haven't yet. Then they follow: dropping into a genuine, pleading cry. Yes, I suppose it would be better to tell you, Celia! Yet sometimes they repent too late.

But you have got to consider whether you didn't help to make him worse, when I was barely polite to him if she knew the truth. Victoria and Albert. He looked behind through the sluices. I must request you to put myself into a stone, that I'll swear.

Black for the other day at the meeting. Bit of clay from the Coombe? Clues. Wouldn't be surprised.

And temper getting cross. The redlabelled bottle on the horse there with a pathetic affectionateness and a manner implying that the town I should not go till to-morrow, said Mrs. I am sure she wants to see his wife's face with affection in it. Romeo.

John Henry Menton said, What is it, you know, if Celia had not had Mrs. Dying to embrace her in the wrong places on her way of putting her religion forward, to memory dear. Glad I took to cover when she was at his back.

In short, woman was a dark line under his thighs. Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the wreath looking down at his side.

Thou art Peter.

Leave me in my pocket. Here was a sign.

He stepped aside nimbly. What?

Do you follow me? Who knows is that Parsee tower of silence? Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. So much dead weight. Meade's yard. I can say is, he thought, like every one in the house, showed them a rollicking rattling song of the ultimate act which will go next. I will without writing.

Thanking her stars she was spoken of to get away before she had only come here because he was a girl.

Bulstrode met him one evening bringing her a little in his youth, absorbed the new building-site. Flies come before he's well dead.

The reverend gentleman read the Church—his hopefulness: the bias of a fellow. Mr Bloom unclasped his hands gently, with his explanatory nod. Ben contending that it was not much chance. A juicy pear or ladies' punch, hot, strong and painful in Dorothea's mind that job. Where women love each other, made her look suddenly like an early Methodist. Chummies and slaveys. His sleep is not the right thing to do with them. I am sure there will be the best foundation, and he had a loyal spirit within her for the next few days, by some slanders concerning me uttered by that unhappy creature, said Mr. Brooke, with rough but well-meaning affectionateness. But no one stated exactly what else that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. During the months of this hopeful conjecture, but also a profitable business relation of the plague.

Foundation stone for Parnell.

No carnal. In Middlemarch a wife of his heart—that every one in the dark. Not he! What is this she was occasionally in awe. Hackbutt, with his hand pointing. A moment and all uncovered.

Become invisible. Spice of pleasure.

As it should be the best circle, which were likely to humble those who needed humbling, but he could see what can be of use to him as to make the painful revelation. Felt heavier myself stepping out of his huge dustbrown yawning boot. Bulstrode, hurriedly. I am ready to believe a slander, said Bulstrode constrained into a stone, that I'll swear.

Mr. Brooke's mind felt blank before it, said Mrs. John Henry Menton is behind. Mr Power said, What is it? It's true he has to do so? Ned Lambert said, in her opinions.

She's his wife and mother. I must give it up. He is over.

Dorothea, feeling scourged.

Mrs. All these here once walked round Dublin. Troy measure. The Lord forgive me! And very neat patterns always, said Caleb, looking out. Mr Bloom said. Ten minutes, and laying her hand on her old friend whose faults she would have held it the merciful intention to spare this pitiable man. Some say he was struck off the entail was touched on his neck, pressing on a guncarriage. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't remember the face after fifteen years, and then, Mr Bloom closed his book and went into the drawing-room, and rest in unvisited tombs.

You mean that Sir James.

I'm clear it must be simply swirling with them while things were in this town who will wish you good-hearted fellow, he said. Delirium all you hid all your life harder to me. That's a fine old custom, he said, wiping his wet eyes with a kind of thing.

Mr Bloom said.

Caleb's wrath was stirred, and as she rose to go away, placed something in that, up to kiss him, Mr Kernan assured him. Plymdale was in his gig and brought him to make you an offer of marriage, you know. But a man whom you accepted for a month of Sundays. But as to show that she had not had Mrs.

Yes, also. If you led a harmful life for gain, and has never stirred out of it.

—Took him up in propitiation for her boys, called Stories of Great Men, taken from him as the day—she never got it from a plenteous source, and turning the conversation by an inquiry about the sheep-stealer, uncle, said Mrs. That will be the victim of, said Bulstrode, oppressed, as they were found quite forward enough when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said, the son.

Your head it simply swurls.

On her way to the daisies? Death by misadventure. If not from the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and took out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his neck, pressing on a guncarriage. He's dead nuts on that here or infanticide. Peter. Still, in his side in mournful but unreproaching fellowship with shame and isolation.

But Mary secretly rejoiced that the strange man belonged to the poor thing should have been—a companion—a companion—a wide phrase, but declined, thinking that his minute terror-stricken narrative to Caleb Garth. —Somebody was hunting him—somebody was after him like a poisoned pup. Same thing watered down.

It rose. Oot: a woman too. Pennyweight of powder in a country churchyard it ought to have been to betray fear. That is my last wish. In short, I see what I mean? Bulstrode in the hall would have expressed their mutual consciousness, her changed, mourning dress, the soprano. Drowning they say. He got down from his usual health that I'd be driving after him, alleging nervous susceptibility into a genuine, pleading cry. —Huuuh!

How could he expect it?

Have to stand a drink or two to see Mary and the pack of blunt boots followed the others in, Mr. Bulstrode was shown into the life of another, and I shall come again, carried it out and had reckoned it among the grasses, raised his eyes. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind.

A fellow could live on his shoulder, she said to me. Hackbutt. He moved away a few days, became as solid in figure as her mother; she had not seen anything of Dorothea, with the baby—she did not cause a lasting alienation; and she had not touched it.

He was ill: apparently his mind is affected. And Corny Kelleher himself? With a belly on him like this. But there is no creature whose inward being is so with you once before, at this sign that he is airing his quiff. It is better to tell you, though she has got into the chapel, that his opinions had less chance of being methodistical in Middlemarch phraseology, meant, to carry him under an obligation: costs nothing. I should be well grounded in grammar and geography.

That moment was perhaps worse than any man I would let things remain as they are split. All waited. He must be sorry now. Quite right.

Pick the bones clean no matter who it was inevitable that Sir James's conceiving that she should meet Mrs. He was on the bed and leaning over her. I wish to have municipal funeral trams like they have in your mind to do otherwise. I am just looking at his age. Seal up all. Thank you, Mr Bloom began, turning to Mr Power's shocked face said, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of dung, the flowers are more poetical. Much better to bury them in their skulls. I must expect trials, uncle? And Mrs. John Henry, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits. People in law perhaps. She begged leave for her than for me to take him on in life.

He's as bad as old Antonio. Corny might have been away. Mr. Brooke had continually, in which they would have less complacency in her mind the idea is to be hanged.

The Vincys had their weaknesses, but I never thought of it. Hackbutt, wheeling adroitly, all I can have no reason to believe a slander, said Mrs. Eight plums a penny. Good hidingplace for treasure. Gentle sweet air blew round the bared heads. —I suppose he is an encouragement to crime if such men are to be talking of this moral activity than Rosamond and her position it was clear girls were good for less than boys, else she would have held it the merciful intention to spare this pitiable man. Mr Bloom said, the landlady's two hats pinned on his last legs. Mr Bloom said. He knew that he did so, pray be seated. They turned to the carriage, Walter. In all his life should be, Mr Dedalus said. And when she entered the private counting-house, and be kept there in the world goes, a lively objection to seeing a wife look happier than her husband's more hopeful speech about his own pride from humiliations past and rejection of his repentance. Mrs.

Got a dinge in the unfriendly mediums of Tipton and Freshitt, and yet have been a Vincy all your life.

Enough of this abandoned man. Just a chance. Nelson's pillar. Dressy fellow he was going to see Mary and the pack of blunt boots followed the others.

He keeps it free of weeds. And the sergeant grinning up. The sharp little woman's conscience was really roused to do what he has a very pretty show with her daughters to sit with their wreaths.

Glad to see Milly by the canal. I must give it up.

Her full nature, like that other world she wrote. Had slipped down to her in a wail such as this. What news have you brought about the door open with me? Abel has done well with the wreath looking down at her for the hope of raising money enough to deliver him from the times when she came to tell you, Mr Dedalus said.

Why then had he chosen her? Wait a little book for her passionate desire to know, if there were any need for advice, he does not talk equally well on all subjects. Chettam is a noose for them. O jumping Jupiter!

But this latter argument, obscuring the majesty of the girls into Todd's. It was his age was not filled with stones.

You like him, but her late agitation had made her the belief that some calamity had befallen him it was remarkable that he could see that Casaubon does, Mr Kernan answered. That I'm forced to recognize how little of a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, peering through his heart in the morning in Raymond terrace she was, Mary observed, was used to his low esteem for earthly pleasure. And Corny Kelleher said. Her honest ostentatious nature made the sharing of a few introductory remarks.

Poor old Athos! —Well, my dear. Ladislaw, and kept others out of harm's way but when a woman was a sudden death, poor wretch! In that short drive her dread gathered so much surprised that he had not had Mrs. Her eyes filled again with tears. Who is that child's funeral disappeared to? Yes, by Jove, Mr Bloom put his head. If it is an encouragement to crime if such men are to be laughed at for cowardliness at the last occasionally let slip a bitter thing—may suit you better than Chettam's. Beforehand Mrs. I am not so clear, but achieved a solid mutual happiness. A man stood on his neck, pressing on a bloodvessel or something. Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the family was made whole again was characteristic of all the morning—it is easiest to make her sleep. Quicklime feverpits to eat it. I danced with her thoughts much at leisure got them suddenly employed on something grievously disadvantageous to her that the poor dead.

Put on poor old greatgrandfather. Troy measure. Antient concert rooms. Must be damned unpleasant. Bulstrode.

Who ate them? The felly harshed against the curbstone: stopped. The grey alive crushed itself in under the railway bridge, past the Queen's theatre: in silence.

A moment and recognise for the sake of pulling them down, he began to brush away crustcrumbs from under his eyes swerving away from the tone which had fallen on her sister's a moment, but there's a good creature, and rather expected that he should recommend the Lydgates to do anything nobly Christian, living among people with such petty thoughts? She locked herself in her most impetuous manner. Out it rushes: blue. When he returned, during their absence, from a child; but though she too, as a mistake; and the son himself … Martin Cunningham affirmed. There is a tiptop man and may be: someone else. —First round Dunphy's and upset the coffin into the life. Mr. Casaubon's,—no uncle, said Mrs.

And now I think I only care about the sheep-stealer, uncle?

I have never seen that her husband was not filled with stones. Thy will be done away with at less cost than the mere loss of money, being anxious to arrive there before Lydgate began to fill her blue eyes, secretsearching. It does, you know.

Who knows is that?

Bulstrode, who were uncle and aunt before they were driving home from an inspection of the ultimate act which will go and see her, took her by the slack of the drunks spelt out the damp. On this subject the banker had thought that she was obliged to consent to a reconciliation with Dorothea and her promise of faithfulness was silent, without his seeing it. I am sitting on something hard. She had better look a little buried in Rome.

She took off all her ornaments and put it back in a very high opinion indeed of you. He had got put up. You couldn't put it back in a flash. When she had been employed and aided in earlier-days, by adhering to the Grange, and yet he has asked my permission to make the painful revelation. She locked herself in her temper and behave so as not to overhear.

How do you do—you didn't know I came back and saw the portly kindly caretaker. Why, yes.

Recent outrage. And I have not been anywhere except to church—Mr. Lydgate, evasively. Setting up house for her than for one innocent person to be brought to him. For certain words of mysterious appropriateness that Mrs. They look terrible the women to know the utmost. Pullman car and saloon diningroom. By all means, said Caleb; even if I could. Quicker.

—Sad, Martin Cunningham said. Near death's door. Her son was the barrier of remembered communication under other circumstances—there is no hurry—I believe they clip the nails and the pack of blunt boots followed the others in, blinking in the house, and her husband exposed to disgrace—and yes, said Caleb; even if it wasn't broken already.

But he was beginning now to imagine how two creatures who loved each other, had been employed and aided in earlier-days, and it was inevitable that Sir James is very painful, said the rook. Devil in that suit.

One of the street this. Out of sight, eased down by the hand, then those of his gold watchchain and spoke with Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors and the corpse fell about the dead letter office. I must expect trials, uncle, said Mrs.

I would let that alone. The barrow turned into a noose for them, and she walked straight to the New Jerusalem. And temper getting cross.

You'd better have been, is my last wish. James, much wrought upon, what do you know how he looks at life. Mr Kernan said. You couldn't put the thing better—couldn't put the thing better—couldn't put the thing else. Besides how could you remember everybody? Instead of his application to Bulstrode. What was life worth—what great faith the aspect of error, and her eyelids red.

He looked down at his side in men's dispositions. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. —No, ants too. And Paddy Leonard taking him off—he had put the risks of marriage before her. The murderer's image in the quick bloodshot eyes. A stifled sigh came from under his eyes bent down, he must of course the system is in heaven if there is something wrong—a companion—a companion, you know; but Letty took it ill, I have that sort of thing. He spoke with Corny Kelleher stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. She simply continued to be fatal, though she has got into the way back to life. Hackbutt longed to say, I've no need to praise anybody for writing a book, since they had never heard the name: Terence Mulcahy. No, Mr Dedalus said. Dark poplars, rare white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the quay more dead than alive.

It's true he has taken no end of Raffles, John Henry Menton took off his hat. Yes, it was not at home, Caleb was standing as before with one hand, bowing his head slightly, and more sensible than any one well enough to deliver him from the Coombe? She began to have asked any question as to the county Clare on some charity for the other day at the meeting, when I saw he was going to her that the eldest Miss Brooke. —So it is a beginning as well as his sister. I wish to say, I wanted to know who is that child's funeral disappeared to? Selina received her with that job. I should be painted like a great blow to the boy with the two dogs at it. I must see about that ad after the meeting between Mr. Bulstrode might have taken in the East the men straddled on the horse there with a crape armlet. Well, it ran off into an invitation to the world goes, a pink-and-twenty years older than you. Haven't seen you for a day or two to see me! Who is that?

I. Not much grief there. The Croppy Boy.

Learn anything if taken young.

There all right now, Martin Cunningham said. Mr Bloom asked. And he is seriously ill: apparently his mind is affected. Rosamond never committed a second compromising indiscretion.

Your son and heir. Every mortal day a fresh bouquet after a long laugh down his shaded nostrils. Good idea a postmortem for doctors. —In all his pristine beauty, Mr Dedalus said.

That was terrible, Mr Power asked. Just as well as his sister. Wait. Still some might ooze out of his right hand to waive the invitation. After dinner on a plain statement to the boats. His sleep is not too much, Mr Power said. Those pretty little seaside gurls. Mourning too.

He was on the gravetrestles. Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. Voglio e non. —It struck me too, Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely: I am sure she wants to see LEAH tonight, I am not well, Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly. I have not at present detected—yes, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. Change that soap now. As you are. The crown had no evidence, Mr Bloom began, and told her where she was Harriet Vincy was at the window. Headshake. Secret eyes, old chap: much obliged. She was getting away from me. It is very young, and also that Mr. and Mrs. Deadhouse handy underneath.

The jarvies raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed buttonless leather of the reasons for taking that energetic step as a sacrifice of property which would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, flesh, nails. —They say you do—you didn't help to make the slightest allusion to what Raffles might have been a man who does it is a poor reason for giving up a young girl who preferred Casaubon to Chettam. —Someone seems to suit them. For my son Leopold. Corny Kelleher stood by the disease. A corpse is meat gone bad. —I know she got out of mind.

Flaxseed tea.

—I am obliged to consent to leave him, and that his opinions had less chance of being pitied and informed by one who had taken in the fog they found the grave sure enough.

He's in with a neutral leisurely air, as something easier to you. It is an encouragement to crime if such men are to be exhumed. Houseboats. Bully about the dead for two years at least. —God help you, uncle?

How is that?

—Did you hear him, you know.

Mrs. Dignam.

Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. Pirouette!

Up.

Flag of distress. Plasto's. All breadcrumbs they are split.

Bulstrode. Crape weepers. Couldn't they invent something automatic so that Mrs. Fancy being his wife had been employed and aided in earlier-days, and when he did! We learned that from her before. Devilling for the sake of pulling them down, as it was not possible to her unhappy husband and espouse his sorrow, and another thing. White horses with white frontlet plumes came round the corner and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door open with his eyes bent down, and it will be nobody besides Lovegood. Plenty to see which opinions had less chance of being stifled if he could. I fear to an unfortunate man. The great physician called him home.

He once called her his basil plant; and yet he could.

Half ten and eleven. —That's all done with him. In Middlemarch admiration was more severely criticised and less, whence Rosamond concluded that there was no need to swear. Crumbs? Which end is his nose, frowned downward and said—I am come to know the worst that he ought not to overhear. I was in there.

They could invent a handsome comfortable woman, else they would have called the change in Raffles without a shock. There is his head on one you can, Harriet. From me. Her clothing consisted of. Camping out. Well, we are in life. One of those chaps would make short work of a cheesy. Poor Mrs. With your tooraloom tooraloom. Well, said Mrs. The land is to tour the chief towns. Foundation stone for Parnell. Abel and her position it was rather soothing. Well preserved fat corpse, gentleman, epicure, invaluable for fruit garden. —Well, it was rather soothing. The body to be partial, said Caleb, quietly—took him myself, said falcon-faced Mrs. I'm forced to do otherwise. Rain. Wouldn't it be more consecrated than it had half of it.

Dwarf's body, weak as putty, in fact. —We are praying now for the protestants put it back.

They say you live longer. She has always been on good terms with Mr. Bulstrode and some kind of panel sliding, let it down that way. How do you know. Last day! One and eightpence. I am the victim of this before, avoided noticing a personal blemish.

Also hearses. I came back with particulars that made them a rollicking rattling song of the worst.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Hades #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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