#I am quite a nice Widow recently and I am in love with this skin so enjoy this quick thing I started yestreday while playing \o/

[marzipanladyart]

look away

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt 37 (from the first list) and bodyguard au seems interesting

By the way I love your writing please never stopped just finished your recent fic and its one of my favourites.

~Notes: ����😭😭 baby u can’t be out here recklessly making me sob!!! I am so flustered right now!! Thank you so much for being a beautiful soul 😌😌 ok NEGL the bodyguard thing is not here Becs I’m dumb and couldn’t think of one, but there’s protective sirius💜 I hope you don’t hate this!!! ILU!!!

.-

Smash Game  |  Send Me A Prompt💜 |  A Reblog Means SO Much!!!!

.-

Alphard Black was a good man,  a man of his community,   a man of the law. He taught the ins and outs of the constitution  at Columbia, never went an inch over the speed limit, hell, he even  separated his recyclables into their proper piles for the garbage collector, and  all while spending his down time volunteering at some sort of virtuous charity or impactful outreach program for inner city youths—the man basically leaped right out of the screen of some cheesy, after school special, wacky ties and rumpled hair aplenty.

Alphard Black was a virtuous, humble man who abided by the laws set out for him to a painstaking degree—So Sirius sorta thinks it’s hilarious that he’s kind of the exact antithesis of his uncle— the man who brought him up after running away from his bat shit parents and their bat shit values as the top of the one percent.  Just kind of though.

Sirius likes to think he’s still a good guy—albeit in the typical, non second coming of Christ wannabe kind of way.  He gives spare change to homeless folks at Grand Central, doesn’t sneer at raucous kids inside of restaurants or busses… for fuck’s sake  he even smiles at strangers more often than not—— just the typical, What a nice day isn’t it, smile and not, I’m actually a blood thirsty maniac ready to carve out all your organs and wrap your naked, dead body in saran wrap Dexter style, smile…Which is actually a type of smile Sirius has become intimately familiar with considering that unlike his Uncle Alphard, Sirius may have a problem with the whole “Laws are created for the good of the public,” ideology, and rather subscribes to the way of thought that thinks it’s kind of thrilling to see how much you can bend and skirt around the rules till they break, or till he gets caught. Which in turn mostly manifests into Sirius participating in a very high demand business—the sort that’ conducts it’s transactions within the metaphorical underground, and makes it so he spends his days with a group of brilliant  assholes that he considers family, and a discretely wicked boy who he thinks is most probably the love of his god forsaken life.

Mother Mary,  help them all.

~*~

“Padfoot too Moony, are you in, Moony.” 

A moment of static passes before Remus’s voice trickles through the minuscule bluetooth  snuggled in Sirius’s ear, and he can’t help but smirk. “Why are you still trying to make these codenames work—they don’t work, they’re all awful and trash,  and we should just stick with the numbers we were given when Moody first scouted us.”

“Mmm yeah, Moons, talk dirty to me.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,”

“Say trash again.”

“I hate you,” Remus intones. He  sounds all surly and bothered, and Sirius’s fingers curl together to card through the phantom strands  of his hair, knowing full and well how adorably flustered Remus gets whenever they are having one of their little sparring sessions—It’s also the same look he gets whenever he’s incredibly turned on and has no idea how to handle it. Coincidence? Sirius thinks not.

“Ah, Moony, my love, you say that as if my perfect baritone isn’t the highlight of your day. Like you don’t write sonnets and odes about it’s every cadence and lilt in your little diary you think I don’t know about. As if—“

“I’m shutting you off now,” Remus cuts in with his best, I’m trying to pretend  that I am so totally annoyed even if I’m actually really amused by you and all your antics, voice. It’s one that’s basically come second nature to him whenever he speaks to Sirius, ever since they had met three years ago and Sirius had to teach him the trick of the trade after Remus had been invited into the fold, while also trying not to completely accost him with his lips and hands and teeth until the work day was over.

“You would never.” 

“You seriously have an overinflated sense of worth if you’re starting to doubt that I very much would,” Remus goads, but he forgets that Sirius can see every nook and cranny of the swanky penthouse from his perch in the getaway van, thanks to his very beautiful laptop monitor.  And yeah, Sirius can so totally spot that little flicker of a grin tugging on the edges of his pink lips,  where Remus is trying to hide it behind the flute of wine in his grasp—his very strong and capable grasp, one that’s wrapped around the neck of that glass just so tight—Oh, erm, yeah. That’s  a thought Sirius should definitely not be having at their current predicament.

“Righto, beautiful, whatever you say.”

“Was there an actual reason for your little interference, besides you being pissy that you had to take the get away position this time around?” Remus sighs, long suffering before offering a subdued, half grin to a very haughty looking woman passing him, predatory leer on her plump lips. And jeez, Sirius bemoans her poor eardrums if they’re suppose to be carrying diamonds that thick all night long— Poor hag will probably end up needing stitches like his dear mother.

“I missed you is all, lover.”

“Goodbye, Sirius.”

“Oh fine, you total spoil sport. Just an FYI that Marlene’s gotten into the volt’s room, and she’s decoding it as we speak.”

“Oh, good. Should I-“

“Moons, it’s Marls, she’s got her shit handled. You just stand there and be a the good, pretty honeypot that we all know you can be.”

Remus growls somewhere deep in his throat, and it’s bringing a flurry of such beautiful imaginings to the forefront of Sirius’s mind— including last night, with Remus’s lovely, thin wrists tied up and Sirius’s mouth trailing up and down his every patch of skin.

God, was that a good night.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” 

“I know, it’s a point of pride for me that I get to say I tap that. But hey, always game to switch things up if you are?”

“You are the absolute worst person ever.”

“Ooo are we circling back around to speaking filthy things, because I’ve been having this fantasy including you and these lace—“

That’s when Remus actually does shut off the communication device, and starts chatting up some smarmy businessman who can’t stop staring at his protruding collarbones.

Sirius is most certainly not jealous.

Nope, not at all—Not even a little bit.

Sirius is not jealous.

Okay, fine…So he’s a bit bothered, but can anyone blame him? All of that—chorded muscles and sparkling eyes—is reserved for  Sirius, and Sirius alone. It’s taken years of volleying barbs and really intense sexual tension that was all finally resolved after a way too dramatic spat outside some sleazy BDSM club on the wrong side of town where Sirius got himself fucking shot, and Remus couldn’t stop yelling at him for being such a mother fucking, idiotic, thoughtless prick, (Remus’s words not Sirius’s,) for them to finally get to this point. For fuck’s sake, it seemed as if Remus’s anger fueled diatribe would never end, so Sirius just took the dilemma into his own hands and slanted their lips together, bloody and breathless, panting out an “I love you too,” while Remus just patted up and down Sirius’s torso, not knowing where to put his hands, dumbfounded and eager. As if he could hardly believe that it was actually happening, as if he was shocked that Sirius had finally just put them out of their mutual misery and spoke out loud what’s been lingering in their gazes, and tailing the ends of too short exchanges for years at that point—ones always composed of banter and barbs but always to fearful to take the extra step they yearned for.

Yeah, so it wasn’t exactly a cinderella story level of romance, but the point is they’ve fought tooth and nail to finally get to this point in their relationship. Nights made up of spilt hair on warm sheets, and  hungry kisses of farewell, and shirts tumbling together so many times that  they don’t even know which belongs to who anymore—All of them lingering with a sent of both of them, together. Something intimate. Something remarkable. Something far too soft when considering their line of employment—But it works for’m, and that’s all that counts.

Before Sirius could get to lost in getting all starry-eyed over the life they’ve built for themselves, Sirius moves to sweep his hands across the keyboard, A cautious eye still on Remus and his unwanted suitor while dividing the screen so that he can check back on Marlene’s progress, which is quite impressive if he does say so himself.

“And Black Widow pulls through again,” He commends with a low whistle, watching her practically stroll out of the volt, ancient artifact securely settled in the bag swinging off her shoulder, and cocky sneer proudly splayed across her pretty face.

“You know it dweeb.”

“THat’s not my code name,” Sirius points out  with a put upon exhale.

Marlene’s only response is to hike up her manicured brows in counterfeit surprise.  “you sure? I could’ve sworn…”

Sirius legitimately contemplates just driving off and leaving her stranded, signaling to Remus a separate meet up point for just the both of them. But Eventually, he reasons  that might be a bit of an over reaction. So he settles for just growling out a reminder for her  to “Respect the name,” while a glowing Marlene slinks into the passenger seat.

“Your so precious.” Sirius swats her hand away where she’s begun rubbing her knuckles into his scalp. “Call pretty boy and let’s bounce, will you?”

Reluctant, Sirius listens—only and only because he’s about ninety nine point five percent positive that she could probably beat’m to a pulp with one hand tied behind her back and both eyes glued shut.

~*~

The mission was one they’ve been calculating for months, a huge catch with a credibility brought with it that doubles its actual monetary prophet—(And wowza, that price check is all levels of ridiculous.) Moody is beyond  proud, and tells them as much with a crazy large celebration back at their little underground headquarters, (which is actually an entire floor on one of the top levels of a huge ass skyscraper in the meatpacking district that disguises itself as just a financial consultant firm in the light of day.)

It’s made even more wonderful considering how he, Remus and Marlene are basically the guests of honor for their success. So that night  they drink, and dance and just generally get absolutely slobbered…Then subsequently remember nothing the following morning, as tradition always dictates.

Though Sirius does  distinctly remember trading sloppy hand jobs in the bathroom with Remus while the latest Beyonce banger pounds in the space between them.

 It’s a good night.

~*~

Unsurprisingly, the hangover that persists even two days later really makes Sirius question the worth of all that celebrating, and he ponders on whether or not being sober would be so bad.

“Morning, Black!” 

Sirius cringes back at a crowing Dorcas—Looking as wickedly gorgeous and put together as always—Dark eyes clear and methodic, and long curls obviously freshly washed. 

“Sorcerous!” He accuses with as much vehemence as he could muster. “your evil! How are you even so perky! Stop it! Stop! You’re hurting my eyes!”

Dorcas just preens with far too much amusement than what should be warranted—it’s almost as if she’s enjoying his pitiful disposition. “Not all of us got as sloppy as you Saturday night may I remind.”

“Then you’re doing your entire life incorrectly.”

“I just have a modicum of self restraint, unlike you.”

“Lies! Lies and slander! I am so very disciplined! I didn’t even tell you guys about the time Remus gave me a blow job in the middle of a glass elevator when we were shopping for Jamsie and Lily’s engagement gift!”

Dorcas just rolls her eyes heavenwards, painstakingly exasperated. “C’mon, dumb ass, Alice needs you to use those hacking skills of yours to get the money Lestrange still owes us for collecting those tears of the ocean. And her bank account is sealed shut.”

“Ah, no Cas ’s too early! And my head hurts! I can’t.”

“Shouldn’t have been such a drunken mess during the party I reckon,” Dorcas scoffs with an imperious tilt of the head, tugging him along without even an ounce of sympathy.

“Hey! It was a celebration!” Sirius flails, and Dorcas just looks at him with a decidedly unconvinced glower. 

“It’s all in moderation Sirius.”

“Not at a party it isn’t!” He argues back, totally knowing he’s in the right.

“Yeah whatever, you’re just lucky you weren’t sent off to Shanghai with lover boy, which by the way,” Dorcas pivots on her heels  to face Sirius straight on, prodding at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder.  “Looks like you missed a hickey sweets,” she toots loftily, poking at it again, a flush blooming across Sirius’s cheeks in response.  “Not good work decorum if you ask me.”

“You’re face ’s not good work decorum,” Sirius snarks back mulishly. Dorcas just laughs with glee.

“Do I need to talk to poor, innocent Remus about proper biting placement for you once he gets back?”

“Pff, Remus and innocent don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Fine, then  I can just give you some tips on how to properly layer foundation? I’m sure it’s a travesty how easily shit shows up with your Wonder Bread complexion.”

“You actually are evil! Aren’t you?”

Sirius could still hear Dorcas’s cackles from down the hall where Alice has set him up for the morning, and he idly thinks to himself how exactly he’s made it so that every woman in his life could destroy him with nothing more than a look.

~*~

Considering that all of their  livelihoods are basically glorified bank robbers, Sirius knows that their jobs don’t really lend themselves to being able to check in on each other whenever they’d please—the only devices they’re allowed for communication are the bluetooth sets  for the team deployed on the task at hand, and a single burner. It can get annoying sometimes, but Sirius and Remus always make it a point to send each other a message from the router phone  whenever they arrive to the mission’s ground of operation—It’s a practice ingrained into them, one  they began long before they ever started dating, one  that they never break, not even if they’re arguing or it’s the middle of the night—It’s important. They’ve both lost to many people in their short lives, and they both know how it feels to be delegated to the worrying mess, wondering what’s happening to their loved one, being consumed by the most awful of possibilities. They do it because they respect each other far too much not to.

So Sirius finds it excruciatingly odd that he doesn’t hear from Remus in over thirty-six hours since he left to the Shanghai hit. 

“Maybe he just forgot, Pads,” James shrugs, always the level headed ringleader. “No Proclivity is absolutely bullet proof—Ah, excuse me for the unplanned pun.” He scratches the back of his head a little sheepishly— the glasses of his wireframes glinting in the light of their shared workspace.

And the thing is, point. James is totally right. Remus just could’ve forgot. It was a long plane ride, he could’ve just been jet legged and a little dazed and it could’ve just slipped his mind  to message Sirius when he landed. That’s totally a possibility. 

But see the thing is, that’s also totally not a possibility—like at all. Remus is like the most diligent person on the face of the planet, which may kind of seem out of character considering how he’s more of the type to follow his heart over protocol when it counts, and his entire livelihood is based off the evasion of the law—But even still, Remus is also the guy who likes a true and tried method. He likes having security in the aspects of his everyday  life he can control. Sirius knows how borderline neurotic Remus can get about certain things, like finishing all of his paper work the night it’s given, or having a stable workout regiment, and a bunch of other minuscule, everyday things that tethers him. But Sirius also knows that the texts Remus sends him blows all of those out of the water. They’re something crucial—something vitally important. If the roles were reversed, if it were Sirius who forgot to send the text, then yeah, Remus would have a perfect history to look back on and just shrug it off as Sirius having been thoughtless, no big deal. Remus would just make a note to give him  an ear full when he gets back. 

But the rolls aren’t reversed.

It’s Remus who didn’t send anything, and Sirius knows it in his heart of hearts that this is not normal, that Remus would never have forgotten. Remus would never have fucking been able to go to sleep without passing Sirius a message of safe arrival. It’s just not him. 

James still looks unsure even after Sirius’s way to verbose and borderline babbling explanation of why he knows something isn’t adding up, so he decides to hit him below the belt.

“If this were Lily you wouldn’t be second guessing this.” 

James jolts back as if Sirius had just smacked him, which Sirius guesses is kind of true, in the metaphoric sense at the very least. But whatever, Sirius’s right, and he knows it. 

IF this was Lily— the beautiful, kind baker that James had met coincidentally on a random Sunday afternoon, someone completely divorced from this world— well, there would  be no room for discussion.

“IF this were Lily you would trust your gut, and we’d already know what went wrong. We’d know that you were right, the she wasn’t safe.” Sirius’s face feels heated, and he knows that his throat is closing up, but he can’t help it god damn it. This is Remus—And even the thought of him being in any way hurt—No, Sirius refuses to think that way. Because he’s not, he can’t be. This is Remus god damn it. He’s brilliant and strong and he can handle himself. He’s what everyone in their group secretly strive to be—He’s not hurt, he can’t be hurt.

James just sits there, gawking at Sirius, for a moment of pure and utter silence. Sirius doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t fold back from the intensity in his best friend’s— his brother’s— gaze. 

“This is Remus god damn it, James”

Something fierce rippling over his face, James nods, finally seeming to understand.

“Let’s tell Moody,  and call a group meeting. We need to figure out what the hell’s going on.” 

Sirius sags with the little relief he’s given, pretends that it doesn’t feel like there’s not a wildfire still spreading over his chest  from the  bone deep fear.

~*~

Two hours later finds their little ragtag group huddled in the largest meeting room they have, and  Sirius hunched over a menacing letter that was hand delivered by one of Lestrange’s ghoulish little minions— Crouch if their intel is correct. 

“Any news is good news, right?” Peter— their mousey little researcher— says in some weak attempt of comfort from where he’s silently been situated in the love seat the furthest away from the lump some, and Sirius replies by snarling viciously at him;  making Peter shutter back, like the spineless weasel Sirius has always assumed him to be.

Sirius is not comforted. Sirius is furious and sick and he hates everything  in sight. And all Sirius could think of is Remus, Remus, Remus.

“What do we do,” James’s voice is strong, convicted in the painful silence of the room—But when Sirius looks up, he could still see the worry etched into his handsome features, and the fear threaded into his stance. 

James is scared, and that might worry Sirius more than anything else could. 

“This is my fault, I sanctioned just stealing the money she owed us and I was the one who thought Remus would be fine on a solo mission—I thought it’d be a simple grab. I didn’t put two and two together—I just didn’t—“ Alice breaks off, looking away from the group, and Frank slings an arm around his wife’s slender shoulders.

“Hey now, ’s not your fault, ’s not no ones,” as if to emphasize his point, Frank gives a downright menacing grimace to everyone in the room, daring them to disagree. “It’s Remus, he’s resilient. And that bitch knows if he’s actually hurt we’ll destroy everything she’s ever built for herself.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” Sirius’s surprised of the jaggedness of his own voice, leveling him with a look of utter fury. “She’s a psychotic, selfish, self indulgent bitch—There’s worse things than just beating him up or locking him in some cellar.” 

From the corner of his eye he sees Alice shutter, is briefly reminded of that stint where she was badly injured after a run in with one of the darker ringleaders in their line of work, Riddle. And then he remembers, unbidden, how that bastard has some sort of fucked up Harley Quinn, Joker esthetic going on with Bellatrix Lestrange— and a sick, twisted part of Sirius that actually does blame Alice for sanctioning those two risky missions so close together, is savagely pleased of the effect that the reminder has on her. But the rest of Sirius is just disgusted by himself and hates himself even more when remembering where Remus is at this very moment, and what he must be going through. There’s no time to be pointing fingers, and Sirius knows it.

“Whatever, no time to think of it now,” Sirius rises, and the way all of their eyes follow his every move (Even Moody who is the actual boss— doesn’t go over his head. 

“What do you think we should do from here?” Dorcas asks in a small voice, clutching onto the letter like a life line—She’s Remus’s best friend, Sirius knows that, knows that she stopped only skirting  along the edges of this unsavory line of work until Remus came along and helped her wiggle out of her shell. And the reminder makes Sirius feel such a burst of aching for Remus all at once that he nearly topples over, just barely catches himself with a hand on the tabletop.

“Peter,” Sirius barks, making the blonde finally straighten. “Check out where Bellatrix is scheduled to appear next.”

“Ah, erm on it, of course.” 

Sirius starts to feel a little better—no not better, balanced. He knows what needs to be done, what will   happen next, knows that it’ll turn out all right. 

It has to turn out all right, because he can’t fathom a world where it doesn’t— a world without Remus isn’t worth even a breath.

~*~

If there’s anything that Sirius knows about supreme bitch face herself, it’s that Bellatrix is  cavalier to a fault. So it really doesn’t surprise him when Peter finds out that she’s holding a little gala for her new play things art exhibit in her own home that night, and Sirius intends on giving his congratulations, whether or not he’s on the guest list. 

~*~

“Hey, can you hear me.” 

Sirius presses an inconspicuous finger onto his eardrum when Dorcas’s voice breaks through, speaking the affirmative. 

“All right, well Moody says that upstairs is most likely where you’ll find’m. Marlene and James will stay down at the party just incase anything goes wrong.” 

“Right,” Sirius nods to himself, trying to put together all the new information that’s swimming in his mind. “Thanks Cas.”

“Stay safe, and bring him home. Don’t fuck this up, Sirius.” Her voice is small and fragile. Sirius could picture the gleam to her big doe eyes. “We need you both safe.”

“Of course."

~*~

As expected, the upstairs is a labyrinth of doors and alcoves that Sirius could barely wrap his mind around, the only constant thought is that it makes sense that Bellatrix would want to keep the money from the job she had them perform for her. The rent for this place definitely can’t be cheap.

Sirius tries at least ten different rooms before he comes across one that’s locked from the inside as well as a deadbolt, and His heart seizes with a choked sort of hope before he starts pounding against it. 

“Remus! Remus! Are you in there!” His voice goes ragged at how loud he’s screaming, but Sirius doesn’t let up. He starts calling  for him even louder if possible. “Remus!” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sirius stiffens, his blood running cold before slowly turning around to a very amused looking Bellatrix Lestrange. Predatory sneer swept across her blood red lips, and weight slung to her left hip. The picture of radiance and leisure in her slinky, black dress. She’s having fun toying with Sirius, with all of them. 

“Where the fuck is he,” Sirius spits out tersely—trying to sear wholes right through her disarming face. He thinks with a start  that she’d be pretty in an almost unchanging way—a timeless elegance that kind of mirrors Remus’s. But where beneath Remus’s golden exterior is all passion and goodness and an endless capacity of love, under Bellatrix’s pale white skin and dark eyes and sheets of even darker hair is just ugliness and cruelty and Sirius has never hated anyone more, or so intensely.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry that they sent the best of their group to the den,” She swaggers up to him, each step premeditated—a lion closing in on her prey, and her leer right then— self assured and cruel all at once— is like a mirror of his mother’s so thoroughly that it’s painful. “I’d really hate to ruin those movie star good looks you’ve got going on,” she runs the back of her hand down his face slowly, tendrils of her warm breath edging his lips. “And honey, you really are so deliciously gorgeous. But Moody needs to learn that no one double plays me so flippantly. No  respect, that kind of behavior  really can’t be tolerated. You understand that, don’t you  love?”

Right then, Bellatrix moves to  gouge Sirius right in the stomach with a dagger she had hidden in the sleeve of her dress—but Sirius’s quicker. 

He sweeps Bellatrix’s feet right from under her, twisting her arm behind her back and using her own weapon to chop off the doorknob, all in one fluid movement. Though,  he only has a sparing moment to feel boastful before he steps into the room to find Remus—sickly looking with blood matted in his golden locks, before everything turns to a buzzing in  the background—Sirius runs on autopilot, with the only crucial thought being to get Remus out safely. 

“Baby, I’m here, I’ve got you.” Sirius tells him with the words catching in his throat, and feels such a drowning amount of relief when he hears a gargled retort from Remus. “I’d never let anything happen to you, love. I’m so sorry. I’ll never let something like this happen again.” Sirius tells him with all the earnestness in the world, gently collecting him into his arms. “I’ve got you now, I won’t let go.” The promise is  as sure and true as the pump of his heart—Remus, Remus, Remus.

~*~

When they all return to headquarters, everyone circles a still limp and shallowly breathing Remus, while Dorcas figures out the extent of his injuries.

It’s the worst hour of his life Sirius thinks—The not knowing, it hurts like nothing else. And he swears once more, to himself and the moonlight and the stars peeking through the skyline that he’ll never let this happen, never again., doesn’t want Remus ever out of his sight.

~*~

A week later, and everything feels as if it’s back to normal—more or less.

Their bedroom smells like sage—thanks to the candles Lily bought Remus for his last birthday—And Remus’s swaddled into the most comfortable blanket Sirius could find—his twisted ankle elevated, and a fresh bowl of soup on his night stand.

It’d be the picture of absolute bliss… Now if Remus wasn’t scowling so morosely. 

“You seem mad,” Sirius notes, standing over him with a freshly fluffed pillow. Remus looks up at him from under his spider leg lashes, so very unimpressed.

“You’ve never taken care of me  nearly so intently   a day in your life.”  Remus charges.

“Untrue!” Sirius squawks in contrary. 

“When I got food poising from that sushi place last year, you blamed me for eating it wrong.”

“Yeah, well it’s blasphemous to ever blame Kimiko! The woman is a titan!” 

Remus’s mouth quirks up, his eyes twinkling with unadulterated adoration. “You’re an idiot.”

Sirius deflates. “Okay, so I might be kind of majorly mother penning it right now,” Remus cranes a incredulous brow. “Okay, okay so a lot mother penning it. But, Remus— love— you were missing—like legitimately missing. And then i found you and you were…” He trails off, can’t even speak the horrors of that night. 

“Yeah, I was,” Remus links their fingers together, pulling Sirius closer, and opening his mouth so that when Sirius crouches to come face to face, he can kiss him properly.  “But you happen to be a pretty all right boyfriend, you found me—I’m fine. You made sure of that.”

“More than all right prick,” Sirius knocks their foreheads together and Remus feigns being in excruciating pain. “I fucking hate you,” he snorts, saddling against Remus’s side, and nuzzling into his neck, taking in the miraculous scent of him— the citrus and cinnamon and sunlight that he’s come to crave at all hours of the day. “I love you sort of a lot, and it was the worst three days of my life, all right. Can you understand that?” 

Remus only hums,  kisses the tips of Sirius’s fingers before lacing them into his own.

“I understand, love, but Sirius, I’m fine. I’m here. You’re amazing, but you don’t need to protect me. Not constantly. This is our lives, and I need you to trust me that I can handle myself for the most part. All right?” 

Sirius makes a displeased sound, lips curled distastefully, and it makes Remus actually giggle like they were school boys again. And Jesus, Remus’s smile is blinding and beautiful and fucking hell, he’s here. He’s back in there room, back in Sirius’s arms.

“God, I missed you.”

Remus crunches upwards, kissing Sirius, and it feels like a promise that he’ll never leave him again. “I love you Sirius.”

Sirius leers, isn’t ready to have the conversation about learning how to let Remus go out without him. So instead he traces his thumb over Remus’s beautifully plump bottom lip, and bends down to whisper into his ear. “So can we talk about the lace then, because I’ve made some purchases and—“

Remus pushes him off their bed, and Sirius feels his laughter punching out of him in response.

~*~

~My Wolfstar FIC Index💜

[hecallsmehischild]

Recent Media Consumed

Books

A Knot in the Grain and Other Stories by Robin McKinley. Not bad for a fantasy short story compilation, but as I read the stories I felt like too many questions went unanswered, or the answer wasn’t clear enough. I know there’s an art to not answering questions and making that intentional, but I didn’t pick up the feeling of the author being intentionally vague. It was still fun to read. I’m really just in a fantasy binge mode.

Fire and Water by Robin McKinley and Peter Dickinson. Both books are collections of short stories based on elemental spirits. Eh…. they were okay. Didn’t like them as much as the others.

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Hard book to get through. There’s so much monologuing and it doesn’t all make sense to me. People seem to be talking trite nonsense half the time and then being unbearably deep the other half. It is an interesting look at morbid aspects of the human heart. Might be that it’s a bit over my head to appreciate fully, but I’d like to read at least one more by this author. Maybe The Brothers Karamazov.

Movies

Hello Dolly. (mini liveblogging of reactions) There are way too many musicals I have not gotten around to seeing, simply because I have old favorites and sometimes it’s hard to get out of a rut. I am two minutes and four seconds in and CLEARLY not watching this before now was a failure on my part. I am in awe of the opening sequence that is just a series of legs and feet, but they are all moving to the music and they tell a dozen different stories that are very easy to understand even without seeing anybody’s top half, this is EXCELLENT framing and shooting and I feel like I’m in for a real treat. (In the middle of “It takes a woman”) I cannot tell you how much I missed over the top satire. This very much has the feel of My Fair Lady’s “With A Little Bit of Luck”. But then it’s taken up by the protagonist with an entirely different tone and WHAM the feels hit. I’m not enjoying all of the musical numbers, but there’s this one bit in the middle of the song about dancing where Dolly accepts a dance invitation from the grizzled old groundskeeper, and seeing this high-class looking widow take his invitation without a shred of irony, and to see him take her dancing in such a way that shows he’s clearly done this for many years and may be a widower himself, it’s just this strange sweet kind of moment that’s meant to be savored. And then again WHAM this high class widow, whenever she has a musical number in private, just NAILS you with her song and performance and all her emotions. Barbara Streisand was incredible, absolutely incredible. A lot of the other characters don’t really feel real, they feel like Musical People. She slips on the clothes of a Musical Person but then she drops the facade and shows you how hard all this is for her and it’s incredible. The movie is worth it just to watch HER. Even if it is very stressful watching her manipulate conversations and move people around like pawns. I have to say I do not, for the life of me, understand why she wants a relationship with Mr. Horace Vandergelder, or why he agrees. They look like they’ll make each other miserable for life.

Honest Thief. I went in with low “dumb robbery movie” expectations and was pleasantly surprised. I think I was most surprised by the fantastic chemistry of the couple and pretty much everyone’s acting. Aside from the acting it wasn’t anything remarkable, but everyone took it up to the next level. Nice flick. Also it tickles me to hear the voice of Aslan talking about how he carried out perfect robberies.

Nezha. Holy. Cow. Okay it doesn’t make total sense to me, not all the way through, but I chalk that up to missing cultural/lit knowledge and translation issues. Setting that aside, animation was gorgeous. Story was fun, but also compelling. There was some gross-out humor, but I’ve seen worse. And the climactic fight scene? Man. It went SO LONG but I didn’t even care. Some fight scenes drag on, but this one could have been twice as long and I would have been fine with that. The creators of this film really went all out with creativity and variety all throughout the film. I don’t totally understand the ending but I would love to see more (as the credits scenes hinted that there might be more). Oh wait, there is more and it’s called Jiang Ziya…

The Mitchells vs The Machines. This movie was so full of heart and also so full of complete over the top dumb goofiness. It kind of reminded me of Despicable Me in that way. Definitely brought a smile to my face.

Shows

Star vs the Forces of Evil. I had to re-watch through Eclipsa’s and Meteora’s arc because I’d seen that much before, but too long ago to remember. I re-watched it, then settled in for the last season which I hadn’t seen before. Watching through the new content and… I’m… disappointed. Story seems to be all over the place. The conflict is so forced it hurts. People are flatter than flat. And they’re all idiots. I feel like the show is trying to reach for a moral and don’t even know what that is from episode to episode. Wow. And as I go into the final arc, it just gets worse. Ham-fisted with zero focus and twists out of the bloody blue that make zero sense. You know… this series was hard to get into because characters were annoying and gross at the start. But then it added depth to each character and made me care about them as it went along. But everything after Eclipsa became queen has flushed all of that down the toilet as fast as possible and it is maddening to see that story-trust wasted. Nothing means anything in this story, that’s the conclusion I end up coming to. Nothing means anything and there is nobody worth caring about. I am radically disappointed. And kind of angry at the sheer number of levels at which the storytelling became terrible.

Games

Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle another controller-based game after getting so accustomed to Breath of the Wild (I’m on a second re-play of that, I play it whenever my brain is on the fritz so badly that I can’t do anything else). But it turned out to be pretty easy to get into. The hardest part is getting stuck about how to solve certain puzzles and trying to figure it out over and over. Sometimes I figure it out, but sometimes I need to look up a hint online. I’m almost at the end of the game and I’ve enjoyed it quite a bit. I want to play more Zelda games...

Katamari Re-Roll. This is so stupid. I mean, SO VERY STUPID. And so much fun. You start off as this tiny little person just rolling a ball around and you can pick up anything smaller than you (thumbtacks, coins, caramel candies) and as your ball gets bigger, your options open up (mice, carrots, eggs, crabs) and open up (shoes, toys, cats, dogs) and open up (humans, food carts, cows). I hear you get to roll up houses at some point. I’m looking forward to that. For now I’m at the level where I’m rolling up a lot of people. They’re all wiggly and shrieky. It’s funny. There’s a time limit on each level, and you have to reach a certain size by the time limit, which is the only really annoying thing about it. But I’m still having a lot of fun.

World of Warcraft: Classic. Of all the games I never thought I’d play, this is probably toward the top of the list. I don’t like the concept of grinding. I like story. But after playing Breath of the Wild, I also found out that I love exploration/open world type games. My husband helped me build a character and we ran around doing quests and levelling up. Now I’m a level 17 Dwarf hunter who does skinning and leatherworking. I have a pet wolf named Chompers. I’m having a lot of fun. Probably not obsessive levels of fun, but enough fun that I’m happy to sink a couple several-hour sessions a week into playing.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Find the Light Again

This is my contribution to #waiting4Inspiration’s 2k writing challenge. I went a bit overboard but hey, its all good. I’ve never posted stories on here before so if the formatting is off please forgive me. 

My prompt was a/b/o dynamics and I chose Bucky Barnes as my muse. I’ve never written an a/b/o story before so it was a fun challenge. 

Some dark themes but nothing graphic. Some swearing. That’s about it for warnings. 

Chapter 1

 The metal chair dug into her back. The stale air in the small enclosed room chilled her. She was unsure how long she had been forced to sit in the uncomfortable chair but her ass was officially numb and her legs were getting there. Thankfully they had taken the restraints off her wrists when they tossed her into the room. No one had entered the room since she was unceremoniously deposited there. At least lights were on, even if it was annoying, flickering florescent lights. She hated the dark. Depending on how long she was kept here, her home emergency protocols would begin to alert the necessary people of her disappearance…abduction…whatever this was. This did not feel like HYDRA but she refused to be anything but a statue. No matter what they did to her, no matter what they said, she would not break. She refused to.

She sat up straight in the chair, hands loosely in her lap and legs under the metal table before her. Keeping her eyes closed, she focused on each slow, deep breath. To any outsider she would appear to be in a meditative state but truthfully, she struggled internally with saying goodbye to her life and those she loved. She did not expect to leave this room alive. The series of events that brought her here only confirmed that.

 Some time later the only door scrapped open and into the Spartan room walked someone she had hoped to never see. His alpha scent slammed into her first, like a thick syrup of sharp peppermint that made her eyes threaten to water and throat close up. Her own biology screamed at her to bare her neck and submit to the angry alpha. But she held perfectly still. She would not give in. Opening her eyes, she stared out at the man whom she assumed would be her interrogator. He presented an intimidating presence that any normal person should cower under. His dark skin glistened under the unflattering lights; his long black trench coat floated behind him like a dark cloud. Yet it was the single eye glaring at her from across the table that sent a shiver down her spine. His other eye covered by an ugly eyepatch…it made her wonder what happened.

Slowly and dramatically he tossed several pictures on the table. With a quick glance her blood froze. How did he find these? How did he find me? At least she knew who had captured her now. Not that being held prisoner by the Avengers brought her much comfort.

“Honestly I’m impressed by your performance so far.” The man spoke, voice rough and harsh, as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ve been in here three hours and not once have you moved nor spoken since you arrived. Most of the other HYDRA doctors or researchers don’t last nearly as long as you, always cursing or begging. I’m sure you know we are purging the world of the disease HYDRA is…so you have two choices in this. Either you help us on your own free will or we will be forced to use some…unsavory…methods to get information, then after that you can look forward to spending the rest of your life in a damn prison cell. Got it?”

Keeping her lips sealed, she just stared at the pictures laid out haphazardly before her. She looked so different in the photos compared to now.

“Your driver’s license says your name is Alicia Cox but we both know that’s fake, don’t we?” He changed tactics, glancing up at the wall to his left. She had guessed hours ago it was a one-way window. This only confirmed it. “No, when we first found your pictures in a HYDRA base surveillance, we were quite surprised. It took a lot of searching for you, cross matching, records and some good old-fashioned footwork. We even tailed a few other women thinking they were you. Yet here we are now. In the HYDRA paperwork you were referred to as Agent 72. The truth is your name is Jenna Lewis and the last records of you were filed by your college roommate as disappearing one night after a frat party. My guess…HYDRA recruited you and decided whatever undercover mission you were on was no longer necessary. Then with the downfall of Alexander Pierce and the helicarriers, you jumped from the drowning ship before it sucked you under.” Suddenly he slammed his hands on the table and leaned forward, invading her personal space. “But you see, SHIELD might not be what it once was but we are still doing everything to pick up and disposed of all of HYDRA’s rats. So, tell me…Agent 72, were you a spy? A researcher of some kind?”

No response from her. The only sound was the buzzing from the florescent lights and her heart pounding in her ears.

He barked out a harsh laugh. “You got balls but they won’t save you. We have Tony Stark and the Black Widow currently looking into everything they can about you. Whatever secrets you think you can hide form us…well, know we will fuck up anything that gets in our way. Now, I suggest you make yourself comfortable. You will be here a long damn time.”

After one last hesitation, he stood up and exited the interrogation room. When the sound of a lock echoed through the small room, she let her head drop, chin resting on her chest. All the years of hiding, changing identities, living in shitty places, doing everything to stay off the radar led to this. She would have laughed if she could at the situation she found herself in. This was the end of the line for her. She had done everything and they still found her. Faces filled her mind as time slowly passed. It was not enough but it was all she would get. Wiping the single tear away, she closed her eyes once again. Finally, she gave into whatever fate had in mind for her. As long as her family was safe, nothing else mattered.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky sat in the dark kitchen, nursing his second cup of black coffee. Only the streetlights and sunrise shed light into the room. He stared into the black, steaming liquid as if it held the answers to his questions. Unfortunately, if it did, it did not feel like sharing today.

“Buck, you ok?”

He looked over his shoulder at his best friend entering. Steve’s hair was messy and he was still in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He must have just rolled out of bed. As he approached, Steve’s beta scent drifted to him, calming him slightly. His scent reminded Bucky of a hot cinnamon latte, warm and inviting.  

Bucky just shrugged.

“Nightmare?”

Staring back into his mug, Bucky did not even acknowledge the question. Steve probably already knew. At least this time he had not woken up screaming. Just a cold sweat and twisted sheets, feeling as if he was suffocating.

Without a word, Steve padded over and poured himself a cup of coffee. Unlike his best friend, Steve added an obscene amount of sugar before taking a sip. It made Bucky shake his head, remembering when they were young and how sparingly they had to use sugar. Steve had teased once saying he was making up for lost time now. They both knew Steve had an insane sweet tooth and now took every opportunity to fill it.

“Natasha called me…you remember that case she was working on? Some HYDRA agent they were having a hard time tracking down. Well I guess they finally got confirmation and picked her up. Fury already talked with her a couple of hours ago. He wants Natasha and me to take a turn interrogating. Guess she isn’t talking at all.” Steve said, casually looking over his mug.

“And you want me there to see if I can remember her at all, right?”

“If you’re up for it. Apparently, this agent has been very elusive so we are guessing she was of high priority or something.”

Bucky ran his hand through his hair, sighing. He hated staring into the faces of those who worked for HYDRA, those that tortured and manipulated him. Most of the people they had him look at, he did not recognize. Which did not surprise him. HYDRA was careful who was around when they let the Winter Soldier loose. Yet looking up he could see the poorly concealed hope in Steve’s eyes. He hated disappointing him; the blond punk had done so much for him these past two years that he had been living at the Tower. It had been three years since the destruction of the helicarriers and his and Steve’s fight over the Potomac. So much had changed since then.

“Fine. Let me finish my coffee and change.”

“Thanks, Buck. I’m going to shower quick then I’ll find you. Oh, Sam is coming back today and said he needs a guys’ night of billiards and beer after this family reunion he went to.”

“Birdbrain is always complaining about something.”

“Be nice, jerk.”

“Punk.”

Steve chuckled as he headed back to his room. Bucky felt a faint smile on his lips, it felt good to joke with Steve again. He was nowhere near as laid back as he vaguely remembered being before the war, but he was better than when Steve first found him in a homeless shelter in Toronto. His memories were coming back in bits and pieces and he finally was seeing a therapist. It was slow, agonizing work that made him want to bash his head against a wall frequently. Sometimes he wondered why he tried, if it was even worth it all. He would always have blood on his hands. He was Frankenstein’s monster. His nightmares liked to remind him of that.

Quickly draining the rest of his coffee, he put the mug in the dishwasher and headed to his room to change. It was only just after six am. With that thought and hearing this HYDRA agent had been picked up sometime in the night and already interrogated by Director Fury…hopefully the agent would be tired and make a mistake. He doubted this agent would be different than any of the other agents SHIELD had found recently. Just another useless agent wasting oxygen who would be better off with a bullet through the brain.

  Chapter 2

 Bucky followed behind Steve as they walked down one of the umpteen hallways in the Stark Tower, supposedly Avengers Tower now. They passed several SHIELD agents, a few dressed in full tactical gear, coming and going from various rooms. No one stood in their way as the two super soldiers moved swiftly towards Interrogation Room 3B. A few dared to greet Captain America who only received a nod in return, none even made an attempt at the former Winter Soldier. Not that he cared. He kept a cold mask of indifference on as they moved. He wore his favorite black tactical pants, shirt and boots, along with an unspecified number of knives hidden and visible on his hulking form. Steve wore his Captain America uniform sans the mask and shield.

He stopped outside a door and looked over his shoulder. “Ready?”

Bucky just grunted, ready to get this over with and go pound some sand bags in the gym.

Opening the door, they entered to a room full of screens along one wall and the opposite wall, a one-way window into the interrogation room. Two other agents were in the room, two betas by their scent, focusing intently on the screens their faces were plastered to and fingers moving rapidly over keyboards before them. The only other alpha moved from leaning against the wall having been staring through the window to address the super soldiers.

“Took you long enough.” Natasha quipped, eyeing them both. Her normal pine scent with hints of gunpowder came off stronger, almost pungent. Bucky wondered what made her so angry for her pheromones to be coming off so strong. It was most unlike her.

“Any updates?” Steve asked, moving to look through the window, already switching mentally to Captain mode.

She shook her head, red hair dancing around her shoulders. “Still not talking or moving. She might actually be a challenge. Information we can find about her is sparse at best. We got lucky that she cut herself while resisting us. We used the spilled blood for a DNA test. It only came back 65% conclusive but Fury is sure she is the right girl.”

“Ok.” He nodded then glanced at Bucky. “Anything?”

Slowly, Bucky moved to look through the window. A young woman sat stoically in the metal chair, hands in her lap, head bowed forward. Her short, black hair covered her face; he doubted even the ends touched her shoulders. Even though it was only a side profile of her, it was unmistakable to see she was curvy in all the right places. Dark wash jeans covered her legs while a black tank top with some kind of writing on the front were the only things he wore. Her feet were bare and no jewelry could be seen. She was certainly not what he expected to see. Yet sometimes beauty masked the worst evil.

“No, but I can’t really see her face.”

“Right. Nat, want to go in together?” Steve asked, placing his hands on his hips.

“Good cop, bad cop?” Natasha winked, walking past to head out. Steve clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he followed Natasha out of the room, back into the hallway and into the interrogation room.

Moving closer to the window, he crossed his arms over his chest to watch the interrogation. He ignored the faint murmuring of the two betas behind him as the sound of Steve’s voice came through the speaker overhead.

With the entrance of Captain America and the Black Widow, the woman raised her head slowly to stare at them. Natasha took a seat across from her while Steve stood upright talking. He told her about their hunt for anyone associated with HYDRA and how she could help stop the terror and tyranny inflicted by the organization. If she spoke truthfully and told them everything she knew, they would be able to work with the judge on a lesser sentence and keep her from a maximum-security prison or even a death sentence. Bucky scoffed internally at the offer; HYDRA chose death over failure. True, a few of the doctors and researchers they had apprehended had spilled all of their secrets but once they reached their prison…Bucky doubted they lived long. Most agents just killed themselves or, like her, kept silent. He would give it to her though; her side profile conveyed a simple beauty that in his younger days, he would have been attracted too.

As if his thought summoned her, her head whipped around to face the window even thought he knew she could not see through. What he saw made his heart stop and breathing cease. Those eyes. Those eyes haunted his dreams. Full, round eyes the color of dark brown or onyx stared at him. Eyes that were innocent and frightened in his dreams, now were as hard and unbreakable as his metal arm. After a long second she turned her face back to her interrogators and air returned to the super soldier’s lungs. Pieces of memories fell into place, as if her face was the key to unlocking them. Those soft, pink, bowlike lips over a short, button nose in her round face…except something was wrong. Her hair…it was the wrong color. It was supposed to be long, and a honey brown. It was always braided down her back. He continued to stare, memories conflicting with that his eyes saw before him. There was the long scar on her upper arm that he remembered…something about a tree? Another on her collarbone, like someone tried to cut her throat but missed. The memory was faint but anger burned within him instantly. He had not been able to protect her. Like he promised. No one was allowed to touch her. That’s what they said. She was his. That’s what his handler said.

Suddenly his eyes refocused on the scene before him. Natasha had moved with the silent grace of a panther to pounce on the woman. She gripped the hair on the back of the woman’s head and forced her head up to meet her own green eyes as she stood over her, glaring down. It was harsh but nothing Bucky had not seen Natasha do before, or even worse. Yet the hiss that escaped the dark-haired woman made his blood boil. Before his rational mind could keep up, his body instinctively moved out of the room into the hallway. He flung open the door into the interrogation room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a startled look on Steve’s face but he ignored it. His eyes were solely focused on the Black Widow.

“Let go of her.” He hissed out, planting his feet, ready for a fight. His scent probably reeked of rotting driftwood or something similar. He could almost feel it pouring off him along with his anger.

Not moving a muscle, Natasha just stared him down, her own anger bubbling up slightly at another alpha demanding of her.

“Buck…” Steve tried to placate, sensing the impending fight but Bucky interrupted him, not taking his eyes off the threat.

“TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF MY OMEGA!” He roared, allowing all his alpha instincts and Winter Soldier to enhance his roar.

The force of his voice and dominance caused Natasha to release the woman and step back, only to get into her own aggressive stance. They both may be alphas but Bucky was bigger, stronger and enraged right now. Glaring at an angered Natasha and a confused Steve, he finally turned his gaze to the woman…his woman…his omega.

Her round eyes stared at him like two dark moons, her mouth slightly open. “Soldat?...Mon ange noir?”

Even though her words came out on a whisper of breath, it resounded in the room like a gunshot. Immediately Bucky moved closer…or was it the Winter Soldier? The distinction between the two felt blurred at the moment.

“It cannot be…they said…they said you were dead.” She stuttered out as she watched him move closer. Was that tears in her eyes? He swore they looked watery but a slow blink cleared away whatever he thought was there. He remembered her scent being floral and sweet…something that soothed him…his mind struggled for the word. Jasmine. She always smelled like jasmine. Now though it was dulled as if on suppressants and the tang of alcohol seeped out of her clothes and skin.

He hovered over her, looking down at her upturned face. There was a name he called her. Memories collided in his mind, both providing answers and causing more questions to pop up. She called him…mon ange nior…my dark angel…she had been learning French. He saved her. Blood on the floor. A beating after but it was worth it. She was his omega. What did he call her? Not just omega. There was a name whispered in the dark, tears on her cheeks. A forbidden truth she was forced to forget.

Moving slowly, he reached out a hand and ran his thumb over her cheek as the word on the tip of his tongue slipped out. “Jenna.”

Chapter 3 

Hearing him say her name, a flood of emotions overwhelmed her. All she could do was stare at the man standing in front of her. They lied to her. They said he was dead, that he died during the destruction of the Triskelion. She mourned him in her own way but she never forgot him. His brown hair was long but looked clean compared to prior times she had seen him. She could not help but wonder who cut his hair now. It was stupid to think about, she had been the only one he allowed without fighting the guards. Now his eyes were clear, staring at her in a way like he never had before. Those blue/gray eyes bored into her and she suppressed a shiver. His alpha scent though, it made her want to bare her neck and wholly submit, to let him protect her again without question. It was stronger now, lacking the disturbing smells of dirt, blood, sweat and disinfectant. Now it was pure, unadulterated him. It reminded her of standing on the edge of the ocean, the fresh, salty air wrapping around her along with the wet sand between her toes. For years that faint scent had let her know she was safe again, at least for a time.

“How?” She reached forward and touched his metal hand, making sure he was real, that this was not a dream.

Before he could answer, the door swung open behind him with a bang. In that split second the super soldier ripped her out of the chair and tossed her roughly into the closest corner. She managed to catch herself on the wall before smacking it with her forehead. Turning quickly around, the sight that greeted her made her stomach drop. Her soldier faced outward, blocking her with his body, a long knife in each hand. A deep growl erupted out of his throat. Words nor pheromones were needed to translate the message he was sending. Just inside the door now stood the Iron Man in a full suit, hands raised, ready to fire. Behind him stood the first man to interrogate her, Director Fury.

“You know, Cap, I feel a little left out that we weren’t invited to the party.” The voice of Tony Stark emitted out of the suit.

Moving past Tony Stark, the man who alluded justice and ruthlessness glared at everyone in the room like an enraged schoolmaster. “Someone care to explain what the hell is going on here?”

The air hung thick with tension as the showdown continued. No one was moving and no one was speaking. Her mind struggled with everything that had happened in the last five minutes and what the repercussions would be... There was one thing she knew. Her soldier would protect her. Her alpha always looked out for her and there was one last thing he could do…but it meant she had to speak. Her secrets would only kill her last hope now.

“Director Fury,” she spoke up as all eyes swung over to her besides her protector’s, whom only stiffened at her voice cutting through the air, “I will freely talk on the promise my one condition is met.”

“What is it?”

“Your men stand down and his actions will not be held against him.” She finished, placing a hand on the back just in front of her so her meaning was clear.

The single, focused eye turned to the man guarding her. “Will you stand down, Sergeant Barnes and allow her to speak with us?”

Hesitantly he glanced behind him and at her nod responded. “As long as no one touches her and I remain where she is.”

“Fine. Goddammit. This is turning into a bigger mess than I thought. As you two are calling the shots, care to talk here or do we need a penthouse with gold gilding and chandeliers?” Fury barked out, his peppermint scent coming off in strong waves with a mixture of rotting plants.

She moved to stand by the soldier’s side. “Do you have somewhere secure? No recordings, no way for information of who I am to get out?”

“Conference room? JARVIS can shut everything down.” Captain America spoke up, seeming to slowly come out of his shock.

Fury heavily sighed. “Everyone be there in five minutes. Cap, Romanov, don’t let her out of your sight.” With that he strode out of the room, his coat a dark cloud billowing behind him.

The Black Widow shifted, hands still tense by her sides. “Alright, let’s go, Agent 72.”

“Don’t call her that!” Her solider demanded, eyes sweeping the room for seen and unseen threats.

“It’s ok.” Jenna placed a hand on his arm and felt a bit of the tension ease out of his muscles.

Captain America watched them seeming unsure if he should jump into the fray or continue to stay on the sidelines. “Buck, can you put those away?” He gestured towards the knives still dangerously held out.

The ex-Winter Soldier seemed to think about the request for a long moment, as if debating the need for them in the near future. Slowly he placed the long knives back in their sheaths strapped to his thighs. Soon the group exited and started down a different hallway. The Black Widow walked in front with the Iron Man and Captain America behind. One thing kept running through Jenna’s mind as they walked. Director Fury had called him ‘Sergeant Barnes’ and Captain America called him ‘Buck’. Was that his real name? She had only ever heard him referred to as Soldat, the Soldier, or the Asset. Finally, she decided she had nothing to lose at this point.

Glancing up at the man walking stiffly beside her, she asked her strange question. “So, your name is Sergeant Barnes?”

A twitch of his lips accompanied the warmth in his eyes as he met her eyes for a moment. “James Barnes.”

“Huh. Never would have pegged you for a James.”

A snort sounded from behind them that she guessed came from the Captain. The man beside her…James, James Barnes, mock glared at her. The lightheartness of the moment vanished when the Iron Man spoke up.

“What? He goes into full Winter Solider mode to protect you and you don’t even know his name? Who the hell are you, girl?”

In an instant, James placed himself between the man of iron and her, tension thick once again and his hands twitching to grab a knife.

Thankfully the Captain broke up the impending fight by stepping between the two. “Tony, why don’t you go ahead and make sure the room is ready. Buck, stand down.”

With an unintelligent muttering, the Iron Man stormed around them but it was not until he turned down another hallway that James relaxed marginally.

“Omega…” James looked down at her.

“I’m fine. Let’s get this done.” She turned and started following the direction the Iron Man had disappeared. She could hear a huff and footsteps following but paid no attention, keeping her eyes on the red head leading the way. It bothered her the truth that rang through the man’s words. She had not known James’ name yet he was willing to fight and protect her. He even remembered her name. It made her feel like shit, was she taking advantage of him? Did he actually want to help her? She could not think too much more about that. There was one thing she needed from him. So, she would spill all her secrets, defying years of training and experience. Hopefully this did not come to bite her in the ass later. Not like she had much choice now.

 The conference room had a large oval table in the center with twelve chairs around it. Along all the walls were screens in which things could easily be projected upon. Against one of the walls was a short table with a Keurig coffeemaker, paper cups, and condiments for the coffee. Even though it was sparse, clearly this room was used a lot, or at least no one had come to take the overflowing trash can under the small coffee table. On one of the screens, the time was written in white, stating it was almost a quarter to seven in the morning. Jenna rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. It had been a long night at the bar she worked at, some college frat boys were making her night miserable. Walking to the train stop, she was exhausted and ready to crash for a few hours before having to go to her second job. Suddenly a van was pulling up next to her and someone threw a black bag over her head. She hoped those waiting for her were alright. No, she could not think about them right now. She had to focus on this meeting.

She took a seat towards the middle of the table and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. Whispering could be heard close to the door but she tried her best to ignore it. Keeping her hands clasped in her lap under the table, she tried to suppress the trembling in them. Never before had she talked about what she went through, what had happened to her. She barely had time to reflect on it herself, only in her dreams and nightmares did her mind decide to even remember it.

The door opened again and she knew it was time. Fury walked in, in his wake was a tall woman with a stern face and posture that suggested military. The scent of fresh bread came off of her so Jenna knew she was a beta. A different man came in last, closing the door behind him. He was dressed casual compared to everyone else but streaks of dirt and dust were on his white t-shirt and a few marks on his thick arms. His beta scent caught her off guard, like freshly grated ginger which made her think of making her favorite stir fry at home. Who were these people? She did not get a chance to find out since Fury took a seat directly across from hers and his eye bored into her soul demanding answers.

“Alright, Miss Lewis, here we are.” He leaned forward in the chair. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? How and why you were recruited by HYDRA then we’ll go from there.”

Everyone else settled around the room either taking seats around the table or leaning against the walls. The Iron Man stepped out of his suit and took a seat at the head of the table, kicking his feet up. The stern woman stood behind Fury, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. The scent of coastal waters and warm sunshine grew stronger and she sensed James take the seat next to her. She did not turn her head nor acknowledge his presence but internally she was grateful for his close proximity. She wondered how much of what she was about to share if he knew or it would come as a surprise to him too.

“My name is Jenna Lewis and there was only one reason HYDRA ‘recruited’ me as you keep stating. Its cause of what I am. I found out later but at the time they were trying a new…experiment, if you want to call it that. They kidnapped me when I was nineteen, walking back to my college dorm from a party. They gave me a number like a lab rat, instead of using my name. That’s where Agent 72 comes from. I…I wasn’t the only omega they took…”

“Wait! You’re an omega? You don’t smell like one.” Tony interrupted.

“Suppressants for years, it’s safer to pretend to be a beta then an unclaimed omega.” She retorted, surprised she had to explain that to someone who was supposed to be a genius. She hesitated to talk about the next part, unsure how the man next to her would handle it.

Fury broke the pregnant pause. “Why were they taking omegas?”

“They…shit,” she sighed before rushing out the next part. “They apparently were having issues controlling their asset. The doctors controlling his biology were saying how an alpha unable to go through a rut after sixty years could be harder to control and by giving him…a plaything…it would help them control him. So, they took omegas to satisfy the alpha’s natural urges.”

From beside her, soft, pained Russian was mumbled that if she took a guess was some vibrant cursing.

“Sex slaves. You’re telling me HYDRA took you as a sex slave.” Fury pinched the bridge of his nose.

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you really surprised?”

“What about the others?” The Captain asked, moving closer to the table but seemed hesitant to hear the answer. “Where are the other omegas?”

There was no kind way to answer that question. “Dead. Either they were killed by the asset or after he rejected them, they were given to the HYDRA guards. I never saw them again.”

With that, James pushed his chair back and shot up, retreating to a corner of the room to furiously pace. Her heart broke for him, she doubted this was something he wanted to hear.

“And somehow you survived…how?” Fury continued, keeping his eye on her.

“I guess I smelled right to him.”

“How long?”

Surprised by James’ raspy voice, she turned to look at him. He looked ready to tear his own heart out to take away her pain, his eyes tortured and fists clenching and unclenching.

He repeated his question, enunciating each word as if it was acid in his mouth. “How long…were you my…” His words faltered at the end.

“Four years.”

He balked, blood draining from his face. A gasp come from direction of the Captain. Even Tony’s face looked a little paler.

“I managed to escape after the fight at the Triskelion, everything was in such disarray, no one knew what was going on. I’ve been running ever since.”

“That’s three years ago.” Fury spoke up, his tone still harsh but no longer glaring at her. She guessed he believed her, at least somewhat. “How have you managed to evade them for so long?”

“I don’t stay in the same place longer than eight months usually. I thought I actually noticed someone following me two days ago. So, after the weekend I was going to move on. Besides, without their asset there’s no point to keeping me.”

The air was strained, everyone absorbing her words and their implications. She could hear James’ rapid breathing to her left and the Captain’s continued, concerned looks thrown his way.

The Black Widow’s voice rang out, indifferent to the range of emotions displayed in the room. “In the few documents with your…number on it. There were mentions of something about a ‘carrier’ or ‘bad breeder’.”

“Shit.” Jenna whispered, rubbing her hands on her face. This was the one topic she had hoped to not have to explain. Where had they gotten this information? “I got pregnant at one point…they decided to experiment and see what would happen with breeding. I lost…they thought it had something to do with the serum. It didn’t help where they kept us wasn’t ideal for growing pups up healthy.”

“It just happened once?”

She answered the Widow’s follow up question hesitantly. “Twice. I miscarried twice.”

A sudden pounding sound shook the room causing everyone to jump and look at James. Ruthlessly he pounded against the wall beside him with his metal arm. Glass shattered. Pieces fell to the floor under the brutal treatment. Jenna froze, the sudden emotion keeping her eyes glued. The four years she had known the Winter Soldier, only twice had she seen him lose control like this but never was it directed at her. Normally he was stoic and unemotional or just on the brink of tenderness but never fully crossing that threshold. This…she was unsure what to do.

The Captain immediately rushed over, trying to pacify and calm his friend. After several tense minutes, James finally turned to face the group but his blue/gray eyes pinned her to her seat. His chest still rose and fell rapidly but what surprised her the most was the unshed tears betraying his pain hidden in those eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No…” she tried to interrupt but he kept speaking, gripping his hair like he was ready to yank it all out.

“I can’t…I’ll kill them all, I swear, I’m so sorry. I’ll protect you…”

“STOP!” Jenna jumped up and moved closer to the devastated man, ignoring everyone else in the room. Roughly she grabbed his face as he tried to turn away from her. “Look at me!” She commanded. Once his eyes met hers again did she continue, her voice more confident than she felt. “Its not your fault. We were both prisoners…and you did protect me. Do you remember? Once after a certain guard…hurt me because you weren’t around, somehow you knew. You found him and killed him. You promised to keep me safe and you did. After that, all the guards were scared to touch me because they knew. They knew I was YOUR omega! You never hurt me on purpose. You kept me alive. None of this was your fault. You never asked for this. Neither did I yet we dealt with it and survived. Focus on that. They did not break us…and every day we get up and keep breathing, we are beating them. Ok?”

He nodded, placing his hands on her forearms and pressing their foreheads together. A warm tingle ran through her as memories come to the forefront of her mind. Occasionally he would do this when they were alone in their cell. When they both desperately needed positive human contact…when it had been awhile since his last mind wipe and memories were coming back. They would cling to one another like two drowning persons in a storm. Desperately hoping the storm would abate soon or they would drown and death would save them.

“Well this truly is touching but what happens now?” Tony’s question broke the silent moment causing everything to come crashing back to reality.

  Chapter 4

 Bucky kept her close, wanting…no needing her touch, her warmth. Her jasmine scent brought such a peace with it. Yet his alpha instincts could not be ignored. Everything in him screamed to keep her near and safe. She was his omega and he would fight for her and to keep her. Damn anyone that tried to stand in his way. Everything she had confessed, everything she had been through made him want to rip every HYDRA agent apart with his bare hands. He knew HYDRA consisted of monsters but this…this was a new depravity that surprised him. He had no memories of the prior omegas. There was only one his mind recalled. Once he caught her scent, memories of them came flooding back... Laying on the uncomfortable cot together, her brushing and cutting his hair, tracing her skin as she slept. What stood out was the night he claimed her, he left his mating mark on her and she moaned in pleasure. He wondered if it was still there, it had been years…he had not noticed anything and guessed it had faded by now. That thought bothered him more than he cared to admit.

“Well it would appear there is only one thing we can do now.” Fury said. With his words Jenna turned around to face the SHIELD director, she took a couple steps closer to the table, back ramrod straight. A soft clap on the shoulder reminded Bucky that Steve still stood nearby, silently supporting him. Like always.

Fury’s eye roved over Jenna then Bucky before returning to her. “Miss Lewis, you will be placed in SHIELD custody for your protection until a time is deemed you no longer are in need of it. You will be placed in an undisclosed location for now. While in custody, you will try and help identify any HYDRA agents, doctors, or researchers that you can recall.”

The plan made sense but it did not mean Bucky had to like it. He wanted nothing more than to keep her by his side. Perhaps he could convince Fury to let him be a part of her protection detail. Its not like he was doing much else in the Tower. Hell, Steve would probably be the only one to miss him.

“Thank you, sir but I respectfully decline your offer.”

Bucky whipped his head around to stare at her. What was she thinking? His heart began beating rapidly, fear flooding his veins. What was she doing?

Fury’s voice practically dripped shards of ice as he countered her. “Oh, is that so? Miss, I don’t think you have much of a choice in the matter. It was not an offer. This is happening.”

She took a step closer to the table. “If I stay with you, HYDRA will find out about me. If I continue on my own, its easier to hide, easier to escape notice. I gave you the information you asked for and now I will be walking out those doors. You have no real reason to keep me.”

“We need to confirm your story.”

“Do it but I’m leaving…and I will disappear so if there are any last questions, you better ask them now.”

Maybe another time he would be impressed by an omega standing up to an alpha, especially Fury without quaking in their shoes. Now, it felt like he was losing her.

“Jenna,” he pleaded, “you need to stay here. Its not safe for you to leave. What if HYDRA finds you?”

“What are they going to do with me? Why would they even really be looking for me? I’m nothing to them.”

“NO! You will stay here and I will protect you.” He used his alpha voice on her, his growl reverberating in the room. This was not how he wanted things to go. Hell, he just found her and she wanted to just run off and vanish. That wasn’t going to happen. He had four years’ worth of transgressions to make up to her.

Her body tensed, hands clenching into fists as she fought the submission her body screamed for. After several deep breaths, she turned fully to face him. What warmth they once held for him dispersed as flares of anger danced in her onyx eyes. “You have no right to demand of me. Once you were my alpha but no more.”

A dagger to the heart would have hurt less. Why was she fighting this so hard? He heard Steve shift next to him and begin to say something but clamped his mouth shut when Jenna leveled a glare at him.

“I have a question.” Natasha announced, taking a step closer and planting her hands on her hips. “JARVIS, open file MP103572-26355A and project it onto screen 2B.” A half second later, her famous Widow’s smirk appeared as she stared at Jenna. “Who is their father?”

On the screen was a surveillance picture of Jenna smiling as she walked by a swing set. What struck Bucky speechless were the toddlers holding her hands. One of them, a boy, had dark brown hair like he did while the other, a girl, had hair slightly lighter, closer to their mother’s natural honey brown hair. The girl carried a dandelion in her hand, showing it off like it was the greatest treasure. The boy looked down, concentrating on cracks in the pavement under his feet.  The innocence that radiated off them was palpable through the picture.  It felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. Turning his head, he looked at Jenna for an explanation.

All the color had drained from her face as she stared at the picture.

“See if my calculations are correct…they look over 2 years old. Its been three years since the fall of HYDRA. So that tells me when you escaped, if that’s really what happened, you were already pregnant. You keep claiming that only Sergeant Barnes was allowed to touch you so it makes me wonder. Why have you not mentioned them yet?”

His thoughts were flying by at a million miles per minute yet also sluggishly refusing to move. His super soldier brain could usually process information faster than the average person but not this. He needed to hear it from her mouth. He needed the truth.

“Jenna…” He moved closer until he stood over her. Tears welled in her eyes, shoulders sagged, she looked utterly defeated. “Please.”

“I won’t let them touch my pups. I’ll do whatever I have to but I refuse to let those monsters anywhere close to my babies.” She hissed out, a last reserve of strength.

“Please tell me…are they…” He could not even finish his question, both hope and fear fighting for dominance within him. The revelation that he could be a father crashed into him like a tidal wave. It was a dream he had before the war, settling down and starting a family with his sweet wife. Once HYDRA got their hands on him, that dream went up in smoke. It never occurred to him that it could still happen.

She blinked before whispering the answer.“Yes, they are your pups.”

“That’s why you’ve been running and hiding. Not for your own safety but for them.” Steve beckoned to the screen, his own shock evident.

“Hold on. Hold on.” Tony interrupted. “Why would HYDRA want the pups? Aren’t they about world domination and soldiers, not babysitters?”

Natasha answered this time. “They are part super soldier. It’s the breeding program, right? Why waste time creating an unstable serum when you can create and mold the soldiers from birth?”

Bucky wanted to vomit at the thought. Those same doctors that tortured him…touching his pups, forcing them to be mindless, emotionless killers, hurting them until the doctors received the result they wanted. He would not, could not let anything happen to them. He would sell his soul to keep them safe. He looked up at the picture again, studying it. They looked beautiful, his omega, his pups…his family. The desperate need to see them, meet them, touch them and confirm they were real overwhelmed him. He had to make her understand somehow. He needed this. He needed to see them with his own eyes. He was a father.

“Can I meet them?” He tried to keep his voice soft as Tony and Natasha were arguing about something.

She looked up, meeting his eyes, scrutinizing him as if confirming his genuine feelings. “Ok,” she whispered back.

“When? Today?”

She shook her head. “I’m already late to return home. My emergency protocols will be active. I need to sort it out first.”

“Tomorrow?” He could barely keep the desperation out of his voice. “You can have time to think about staying, let me...us protect you. You don’t have to be all on your own anymore. I swear I won’t let HYDRA anywhere near the three of you. I’ll die before they touch you.”

A sad smile touched her lips. “I believe you. We can meet tomorrow. I don’t know about…”

“Please, just think about it.”

She sighed. “Fine, ok. I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, omega.”

“Don’t call me that. We may have been together once but we aren’t right now.”

“Buck and I can walk you out, Miss Lewis.” Steve said, clearly having heard their whispered conversation.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Fury, Buck and I are escorting Miss Lewis out. A rendezvous meeting has been set for tomorrow in which further plans will be discussed but right now she needs to return to her pups.” Steve stated, his voice ringing with authority.

Fury looked between the three of them with obvious mistrust and skepticism. “Miss Lewis, we are not done talking. An undercover detail will be sent to monitor your home.”

Pinching her lips together, Jenna gave a curt nod before following Steve out the room with Bucky following. Their walk was silent, even the elevator was endured with minimal speech. Bucky would give anything to know what was going through her mind. Her face was expressionless, a mask that frustrated him. His own mind whirled with the new revelation. He had pups. He was a father. With an beautiful omega who clearly, at least at one time, cared for him. He wanted to know more about them, what they liked, their favorite games and movies. Did they know their father was alive? His lips stayed shut even as the questions burned on his tongue. A frigidness had wrapped around Jenna and it felt impenetrable. Having her life exposed as it had been to strangers and ones initially claiming she was HYDRA, he could not think how she felt right now. A piece of him wished to reach out and touch her, comfort her in some way. Her lovely scent had begun to slowly sour, alerting him to her negative change of emotion. It felt like his hands were tied though. What could he offer her? Would she even want to receive his help? Did she want anything from him?

Once they reached the ground floor, the three said a short, awkward farewell before she turned on her heel and practically ran away.

“We’ll figure it out, Buck.”

“I can’t lose them, Steve…I just can’t….”

“I know. That’s my nephew and niece. We’ll keep them safe.”

Bucky could only nod as he followed Steve back to the elevator. He hoped Jenna would allow them to help protect her and the pups. They needed to be safe. There was not another option. He needed them safe and happy.

  Chapter 5

 She remembered the first time she met the Winter Soldier, when she had been given to him. They ripped the black bag off her head as they walked down a concrete hallway. The place felt like an underground bunker or something. Goosebumps broke out on her skin from the cold, she was still only clad in the stupid university t-shirt and jean shorts that she had worn to the frat party. Her honey brown hair hung loose and limp past her shoulders as she stumbled along. For some ridiculous reason they had taken her flats so the cold floor hurt her feet. Whenever she spoke or asked a question, one of the two men gripping her arms would hit or slap her. So silently she followed along.

They passed several metal doors before stopping at one. There was nothing unique about it, nothing to show why they were stopping there. One of her handlers called out something in a foreign language than a green light buzzed over the door. Quickly they dragged her through the doorframe before unceremoniously tossing her further into the room. Stumbling she caught herself falling on her hands and knees. A harsh clank behind her signaled the door was sealed shut leaving her alone…or so she thought.

A creaking made her head swivel to the side to identify the sound. To her surprise and horror, a man sat on a dirty looking cot. His long, dark brown hair hid his face so her eyes quickly scanned the rest of him. He looked fit, like really fit, if the protruding muscles said anything. What caught her off guard the most was his left arm was not flesh and blood but shiny and metal. Her mind did not have long to ponder the question for just as suddenly as he appeared, his head lifted. A pair of beautiful blue/gray eyes met hers that she would have immediately loved except they looked almost dead or void of emotion. A sharp jawline accentuated his plump lips which were pressed together. His nostrils flared quickly then he seemed to take a deep breath. It was then his scent hit her. He was an alpha! Stories of unspeakable horrors crossed her mind and she felt tears threatening to fall. Questions flooded her mind but her tongue refused to cooperate.

Slowly and silently he stood up, moving with an almost machine-like grace. Unsure what to do she scrambled onto her feet, breathing rapidly, moving to press her back against the wall. Her eyes remained transfixed on him. As if each movement took great deliberation, he slowly moved closer step by step. His eyes held her frozen in place. He was easily eight inches taller with muscles and movement that conveyed he knew how to handle himself. What could she do expect hope and pray? She was smart enough to know she would not win a fight against him. What did he want from her? Why was she here? Who was he?

After what felt like an eternity, he stood toe to toe with her, towering and intimidating. Her heart felt like it was ready to beat out of her chest. Sweat beaded on her palms. Agonizingly slow, he leaned forward moving his head closer and closer to her. With a whimper she tried to jerk away but to no avail. He forced her back against the wall. His metal hand gently yet forcefully pressed on her head, tilting it to the side so she was looking away. She felt him continue to lean in closer until his nose was pressed against her mating gland. Closing her eyes, a tear slipped out but she held still. A sound, the mixture between a moan and growl erupted from his lips ghosting over the skin of her neck. Gently he gripped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze once again. This time there seemed to be a spark amongst the deadness, a glimmer of something she could not decipher. He stared at her a long time as if absorbing everything about her and all her secrets. It unnerved her but so far, he had not done anything to hurt her yet, that had to be good, right?

To make their strange situation even more bizarre, his thumb brushed over her lower lip, then hesitantly touched his own lip with the thumb that had touched her. Whatever it was must have sealed the decision he was contemplating for suddenly he leaned forward again and pressed his nose against her mating gland.

“Mine…” His voice rasped out as if unused to speaking. “My omega.” He leaned back, staring at her. “Confirm.”

“Wh…what?” She stuttered out, confused by the crazy events.

“Confirm. My omega. Confirm.”

“Um…I’m…I’m your omega?”

“Affirmative.” With that he released her and walked back over to sit on the dirty cot.

She watched him sit there, barely moving or breathing for several moments before sliding onto the floor beneath her. She pulled her legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Tears silently fell but she dared not make a sound. What was going on?

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenna was nervous. Shit, she was scared. This felt right though. After everything that happened yesterday at the Avengers Tower, how she just wanted to grab the twins and run for dear life. Yet with everything, she felt she owed it to him at least. He had protected her while they were both prisoners of HYDRA, even yesterday he still threw himself between her and whatever he deemed threatened her. He deserved to meet his pups, his son and daughter. So here they were.

“Park! We play!” Her daughter cried out excitedly, tugging on Jenna’s hand now in her great enthusiasm.

“Hold on, sweetheart, we’re going. We don’t want to fall and scrape our knees again, right?”

“No, mama.”

They rounded the last bend on the sidewalk to reach the entrance of the enclosed neighborhood park. Living in the Bronx had its shady times certainly and Jenna always kept a firm grip and sharp eye on her children. Luckily there had not been any incidents at this park. As they entered, her eyes scanned around for a particular face and within moments locked eyes.

“Mama, play!”

“One second, I want you two to meet someone.” She guided her children towards them. James stood frozen, almost mid-step as if he had been pacing and then saw her. Steve sat on the park bench next to him along with a dark-skinned man she did not recognize. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself as they walked the last few feet.

“Nuggets, this is my friend James. Can you say hi?” She spoke soothingly, as she stopped them in front of the ex-Winter Soldier. Her daughter waved, dimples appearing on her cheeks while her son stood staring, clinging to her hand. James’ eyes bounced continuously back and forth between the two and she knew he was noticing his own features in them. Her daughter had matching blue/gray eyes, identical to his. Her son had the same dimple in his chin while his eyes were more of a light blue. They both had Jenna’s lighter complexion but looking at them, it was easy to pick out similarities between their parents. Both a blessing and a curse that she had struggled with.

“James, this is Sierra and Aiden.”

Slowly he knelt before them, never removing his eyes from the three of them. “Hi, its…” he swallowed before continuing, “its nice to meet you two.”

“Alright, nuggets, why don’t you go play. I’m just going to talk to James for a bit.”

“Play!” Sierra chirped in her sweet voice. Without waiting another second, she darted towards the small playground and began running all over it. Aidan slowly followed but only to the edge, then he began driving the monster truck in his hand over the sandy ground contently. Jenna watched them for a moment, her heart swelling with love for them. They truly were her world and she did not mind one bit.

“So, you’re Jenna, huh?” The dark-skinned man smirked at her before leaning forward, extending his hand. “Sam Wilson. Bucky was not kidding when he mentioned how beautiful you are.”

She laughed as Sam winked at her while they shook hands and James glowered at him. His scent reminded her of lemons and honey, an interesting combination for a male beta in her opinion. She could not help but feel relaxed in his presence which both made her nervous yet happy to chat and laugh casually.

“Its good to see you again, Jenna.”

“You too, Captain.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

She nodded at him then turned her attention to the real reason she was here. James stared at the toddlers like a blind man seeing the moon and stars for the first time. It was both sweet and heartbreaking to witness. “You ok?”

“They are perfect.” He breathed out, not tearing his eyes from them.

She continued to watch him, seeing the misty eyes and silent disbelief at what his eyes were telling him. This world, HYDRA, had taken so much from him, forced him to be something he never wanted to be. Trapped in his own mind and body as they controlled him through torture and pain. She witness it. Yet there was a softness she had never seen before. It was in the small smile touching his lips as Sierra slid down the slide squealing and Aidan made ‘vroom’ noises for his truck. Was it possible for her pups to grow up with father after all? That was a dream she had given up long ago but watching him…could it be possible?

“So, did you make a decision yet?” Steve broke the silence.

“What?”

“If…if you’ll come back with us…or not?”

At her hesitation, James’ head turned to stare at her, an almost pained expression on his face.

“I’m not…”

“Please.” He interrupted her, moving closer and gripping her upper arms. “Please don’t run. I just found you…and them. I can’t, I can’t lose any of you. Please. Give us a chance.”

“You have to understand, its just been the three of us. They are my first priority and I will not compromise their safety in any way.”

“I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you or our…our pups. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

She would never admit it out loud but she spent most of the night last night sitting in the dark thinking, planning and strategizing. The idea of not having to look over her shoulder constantly called out to her. To not feel alone, to maybe find a sliver of peace and rest delighted her. Yet what if HYDRA still infected SHIELD? Could she be fully positive that those around had her and her children’s best interests at heart?

“Trust me, please.” He begged, tearing her heart out.

After an eternity or a second, she was unsure, she decided to make her choice. Meeting his pleading eyes, she nodded. “Ok, I trust you James Barnes to keep me and our pups safe. Don’t fail us.”

“I won’t. I promise.” He whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

“After the kids play, we can go get our stuff. It won’t take too long. Would that work?”

“Sure, sure. Steve can call for a truck to come and pick up the stuff. Right, Stevie?”

“Course, Buck. I’ll call right now.” The blond super soldier jumped up and walked several paces away, pulling out his cell phone.

James and Jenna took a hesitant step from each other and she scanned the playground to check on the twins. Yes, she needed to keep an eye on them, especially Sierra, but really, she just needed space. His scent made her want to burrow her face in his neck, to let him hold her close and know he would protect them. She was not sure if it was because of her being an omega or their shared past history but she wanted to relinquish control. But she could not submit like that. Not right away. She needed proof to trust him, besides her and James were such different people then when they last saw one another. Would a relationship even work between them anymore? Would he be a good alpha and father? It felt too early to tell.

“Mama!”

Aidan running over broke her train of thought. He slammed into her legs then tugged on her hand. She smiled, already knowing what he wanted. His favorite part of the playground was the swings off to the side while Sierra could spend hours climbing up and going down the slide.

For the next fifteen minutes, she pushed Aidan and watched James play on the slide with Sierra. After that, the little girl somehow got Steve and Sam to chase her around while James sat on the ground with Aidan and made ramps in the sand for him to drive his monster truck off. Maybe there was hope for a family between them. Perhaps things she once dreamed of might finally come true. She looked on with hope and love growing in her heart.

  Chapter 6

 Bucky followed behind Jenna as they ascended the stairs, having to move slow because of the toddlers wanting to walk up by themselves. Aidan held his hand, his monster truck still in his other hand. The way the two toddlers had warmed up to him was astounding. To his own even greater surprise, neither one was frightened by his metal arm. It barely even phased either one, only Sierra had a reaction to it which equated to her frequently grabbing his metal hand to stare at her own reflection and giggle. Now they were heading up to their second-floor apartment to gather their stuff and taken them to the Tower. Sam stayed outside with the truck and to keep an eye on their surroundings.

When Bucky saw the apartment building, he was horrified and distraught that this was where they had been living. He understood it had to be hard to be a single mother, raising twins while having to stay off the grid but this. It brought a new revelation of how much she must struggle to get by and the sacrifices she had made. He promised himself to spoil all three of them anyway he could. He doubted he would be the only one spoiling the kids by the heart shaped eyes Steve had whenever the kids interacted with him.

Jenna opened the door and ushered the toddlers in first. Steve and Bucky followed scanning the place. It was a small one-bedroom apartment, the walls were a yellowed tan from age with bare minimum furniture. A raised eyebrow from Steve received a nod from Bucky. This reminded them both of their own poor childhoods. There was no way his family was allowed to continue to live like this. Not while he had he means to change it.

“Look! Me puppy!” Sierra ran up to the two men, showing them a brown stuffed animal with floppy ears.

“He’s really nice.” Steve smiled at the little girl. Aidan appeared next to show them his stuffed owl but a male voice made Bucky turn around.

Before Jenna could fully close the door, someone called out her name. She sighed and reopened it, plastering a fake smile on her lips.

“Hey, Paul.”

“Alicia. How are ya, babe?”

Every alpha instinct went on high alert as Bucky heard that. He watched the man, by his scent a weak alpha, rush over. The man leaned against the doorframe, a crooked smile greeting her. He was attractive enough- tall, thin, a nose looking like it had been broken at least once, while wearing a backwards baseball cap and jeans.

“I’m ok. You?”

“Yeah, good, good. Hey, think you’ll have an evening off soon? I still wanna take you to that joint down the street. I think you’d really like it. I’ll even pay for someone to watch your pups. Don’t give me that look, come on, you’ve been saying no for two months now. Its ok to let loose and have some fun.”

Bucky had heard enough by this point. In several swift strides, he approached, wrapping an arm around Jenna’s waist and tugged her into his side. “Hey doll face, we’re waiting on you. Who’s your friend here?”

“Oh, this is Paul. He lives two doors away. Paul, this is James.”

Paul’s eyebrows furrowed as the other alpha intruded on what he thought was his territory. It almost made Bucky smile as he watched Paul straighten up and puff his chest out. He posed no real threat at all. It was almost comical.

“Nice to meet you.” Paul winced slightly as he shook Bucky’s hand. “Um…how…are you friends?”

“I’m her alpha.” He stated bluntly, loving the way Paul’s eyes widened.

A sharp elbow to his ribs surprised and amused him. “No, you’re not.” Jenna retorted.

“Keep telling yourself that, doll.” He winked at the still stunned Paul. “She likes to play hard to get. Now, we need to finish packing. It was nice to meet you.” Without waiting for a response, he pulled Jenna inside and closed the door in Paul’s face.

“Was that really necessary?”

He smirked. “Did you want him to keep talking to you?”

“No…”

“You’re welcome then, beautiful. Now, put Steve and me to work.”

A wicked gleam came into her eyes. “Yes, alpha.”

A low growl emerged as he stepped closer. Unable to help himself anymore, he ran his nose along the shell of her ear and breathed in her heady, sweet scent that he would happily drown in. “Don’t start something you don’t mean, omega.”

A faint shudder coursed through her before she replied, slightly breathless. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Damn boundaries and waiting. He pressed a chaste kiss to her temple then stepped back, pleased to see the faintest blush on her cheeks. “What do we need to do?”

“There are suitcases on the bed that we will take. None of the furniture has to come with. Let me grab a trash bag and throw the toys in it. Should we bring the food or leave it?”

“Bring it. Each of the suites have a full kitchen in them.”

“Ok.” She called over to the twins playing on the floor with Steve. “Nuggets! Get your toys please and put them on the couch. We are having a sleepover and want to bring everything.”

Ten minutes later, Steve has the three suitcases and was heading downstairs. The twins had a small backpack on each, a few toys in them. Sam had come up and was helping the twins down the stairs while loudly singing ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ with them somewhat following along.

Bucky stood at the door waiting for Jenna, two car seats by his feet. He watched her scanning the small apartment. Seeming somewhat satisfied, she reached above the fridge and pulled down a pistol and case of bullets. She stared at the gun for along moment as if lost in thought. He was caught off-guard by her having a gun in her possession. He doubted it was legal. Would she feel it necessary to keep? Did she know how to use it? Then a dark thought entered wondering if she had been forced to use it to protect her and their pups. Silently Bucky moved over to stand in front of her.

“Come here.” Gently he took it from her, slipping it into the waistline of his pants. The bullets, he stuffed the small case into one of his pockets. Without warning, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. He could nt imagine what al she had been through to take care of the twins and stay ahead of HYDRA. She stiffened in his arms.  Immediately he wondered if he made the wrong move. His thought had been to offer comfort but maybe she was not ready for that from him. Before he could pull back and apologize, her arms went around his waist and she placed her head on his chest.

“I’m scared.” She murmured.

“I know. I am too. Yesterday morning I woke up and didn’t know what I was doing at the Tower. If I should stay or leave. What I currently should do with my life. But now I have you and our pups in my life. I’ll never be good enough for you or them but I promise to damn well try and do everything I can to keep you safe and happy. You aren’t alone anymore, Jenna. Not if you don’t wanna be.”

“James…”

“Bucky.”

“What?”

He tilted her chin up to stare into those gorgeous onyx eyes. “I prefer Bucky.”

“I thought you preferred alpha.”

He growled, burrowing his face into her neck. Damn she smelled incredible and her body pressed against his felt perfect. Her giggle almost made him come undone along with her squirming. He nipped at the skin on her neck teasingly. “Omega, you are trouble.”

She pushed against his chest, a coy smile on her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Reluctantly he released her and stepped back. “Anything else you need?”

“No, I think that’s it, alpha.”

He groaned, his instincts attempting to run wild at her calling him that. “Argh. We better get moving out of this apartment before I pin you against a wall.”

“One of these days, I might let you, mon ange nior.” With a wink over her shoulder, she sashed over to the two garbage bags of stuff and headed towards the door.

That was it. By the grace of God, saints, angels or whatever deities he needed to beseech, he was going to do everything to become her alpha. To have her affection and trust once again. Dammit, he would be the best mate and father he could and make sure they never experienced any lack again. He promised himself to romance and love the hell out of her and devote himself to his pups. He may be a monster but he would be everything for them. Quickly he grabbed the car seats and followed her out the door. He could not help but think that the sound of the door closing was the signal of the ending of a chapter in his life. Glancing over at the beautiful omega by his side, he did not mind one bit and could not wait to see what the next chapter held in store for him. For their family.

[marvelsbestsuperheroine]

NatSharon Request - Legendary

Words: 1,848

Prompt: Hi, could you please write natsharon? Where they are introduced to each other by Peggy just after Clint brings Natasha into SHIELD and they start feeling things for one another since day one, they try to keep it a friendship because they don't know what the other wants but at the end the feelings are so strong that they end up confessing their feelings and in a secret relationship. Thank you in advance, you are really nice and talented! Please keep it coming! 😘

A/N. Thanks, Anon, for the request :) I’ve never written NatSharon before and it’s a little rushed. I apologize. I hope you like it!

The legendary Peggy Carter opens the door and smiles. Her hair is long and grey, her face sunken in with wrinkles, but her eyes and smile are warm. She ushers them inside, saying something about the rain and how dreary the weather is today when it had been so sunny just yesterday.

Natasha takes it all in. The little mahogany table with a bouquet of orchids and a set of intricately carved coasters that look vaguely African. The Chinese-style rugs and tapestries that adorn the walls. The toasted yellow paint. Peggy Carter has lived a life well-travelled, almost as well-travelled as Natasha’s, though she doubts it.

Agent Carter leads them down a hallway to the kitchen with white cupboards and sleek dark marble countertops. The tiles are cold and Peggy wears fuzzy slippers that flap about her heels when she moves around the house. Natasha and Clint make do with socks.

“Would either of you like a cup of tea?” Peggy offers.

Natasha raises her hand to decline but Clint jumps to answer first. “Yes, please, Agent Carter.”

She makes a scoffing noise but somehow more polite, more British. “I’m not an Agent anymore, son. Just an old woman now.”

Clint smirks and doesn’t argue, as if he’s tried that before and lost.

“Please,” she says, gesturing to the stools around the island. “Have a seat. It won’t be a moment.”

They sit and Natasha notices the trinkets behind glass cabinet doors. There’s an assortment of eclectic teacups, no one matching another. There are ceramic figurines of a dancing couple, the woman in a red dress and the man in a green military uniform. There are wine glasses cut from thick crystal and then there are cheap shot glasses you’d find in the tackiest souvenir shops around the world. There must be at least thirty shot glasses in that cabinet.

Peggy follows Natasha’s gaze to the display case. “Which one would you prefer?” She points to the teacups. There’s one of every colour, each with a beautiful design.

“The... yellow one.” She had been about to respond with ‘red’ but then she remembered. She’s supposed to leave her past behind. No more Red Room. No more Black Widow. No more Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Just Natasha Romanoff. Yellow is a happy colour despite how close it sits to red on the colour wheel. It was the first colour that came to mind.

“Purple,” says Clint, drumming his fingers on the counter idly. He keeps glancing at Natasha and she keeps wanting him to stop.

“Complementary colours,” Peggy muses as she reaches up to grab them. She wears black pants and a white blouse with a bright blue cardigan over her shoulders. It’s not quite business casual, not with the fuzzy slippers, but she looks sharp. Natasha wonders if a woman like Peggy could ever look anything less.

“How are you, Peggy?” asks Clint, tilting his head.

“I’m perfectly alright,” she answers, detecting the concern in his tone. “I still remember your name, if that’s what you’re worried about, Barton.” Clint opens his mouth to object. “Let’s not start on this. Not today.” She’s focused entirely on collecting the sugar, honey, and milk from their respective spots in her kitchen, not looking at either of them.

Clint closes his mouth.

Natasha squirms on her stool. She wants to say something. Anything. Clint didn’t bring her here to bask in the glory that was Peggy Carter. “It’s an honour,” Natasha manages to say. Her hands fold themselves together on the ice cold counter.

Peggy regards her, kicking the pantry door shut behind her as her hands are full of honey and sugar. “I could say the same, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha blinks. She doesn’t have to hide her surprise, not in front of these people. You’re safe. “I...” She swallows. “Why would you say that?”

Peggy sets the containers on the counter as the kettle begins to whistle. “You’ve accomplished many things for a girl your age,” she says and turns to remove the kettle from the stovetop. “Admittedly, probably too many things.”

Natasha stares at her own hands. The cold from the counter is seeping into her skin. She can hear the water sloshing into the cups, the metal spoon clinking against ceramic. Peggy delivers two teacups on saucers to Clint and Natasha. The steam looks inviting and Natasha reaches for it.

“Do you take anything in your tea?” Peggy asks, gesturing at the honey, milk and sugar.

Natasha hugs the cup with both hands. It’s scalding. “No thank you.”

Peggy eyes the cup. “Dear, that’s what the plates are for.”

Sheepishly, Natasha sets the cup back down and grabs the plate and handle instead. She no longer feels hot or cold. She doesn’t feel anything.

Clint flicks his gaze between the two. “I’ll have sugar please.”

Peggy turns to him. “How much?”

“All of it.” He grins.

She rolls her eyes but obligingly dumps too much sugar in his tea. After putting a dollop of milk in hers, she picks up her teacup. “Let’s find somewhere more comfortable to chat, shall we?”

They find themselves in Peggy’s living room. Natasha would describe it as cozy. There’s a small TV that’s playing the news on low volume. There are two windows that would normally let in sunlight, but now only reveal the misery of today’s rain. The window is framed by dark red curtains and there are photos adorning most of the opposite wall, some in black and white and some in colour, all framed in different wooden frames. Natasha stares at one, arguably the centrepiece of the whole wall.

It’s Captain America but... not. It was him before. Before he was big and strong and red, white, and blue. The photo is torn and wrinkled and yellow with age but still good. He’s squinting, probably from being in the sun.

For the second time that day, Peggy follows Natasha’s gaze. “Everyone always stares at that photo. It’s like they’ve never seen him before.” She tsks into her tea and takes a sip.

Natasha looks away. “Not everyone’s seen him like that.”

“Why should it matter that he looks different?”

“It matters that you have a picture of him. Like that.” Natasha purses her lips and looks away. She was stepping out of bounds.

Peggy doesn’t seem bothered. If anything, she seems encouraged. “How so?”

“Well... you wouldn’t frame it unless...”

“Unless I had a shrine to him in my living room?”

Clint snorts into his tea and then promptly burns his upper lip.

“Unless he meant something to you,” Natasha finishes.

Peggy smiles wistfully. “He changed the course of my whole life. Whether he knew it or not. And I’m so thankful for it. For him.”

Natasha nods. Around the photo of Captain America are photos of Peggy’s husband and three children in various stages of life. There are also more recent pictures of Peggy with her grandchildren, everyone smiling so brightly.

“Natasha.” She turns at the sound of her name. Peggy has an amused twinkle in her eye. “Maybe I’m not the best person you should be talking to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, Peggy?” Clint echoes, still dabbing at his burnt mouth with a napkin.

Peggy sets down her tea onto the coffee table. “Give me your phone.” She gestures at Natasha. “I promise I won’t steal it. Come on then.”

Natasha reaches into her pocket and deposits it into Peggy’s hand. After fiddling with it for a minute she hands it back. “There,” she says. “I’ve put in a new number. My niece. She’s a SHIELD agent as well. Very down to Earth. Great listener. Different perspective. I’m very proud of her. You should give her a call. You’re obviously uncomfortable talking to me.”

“Agent Carter,” Natasha tries to protest.

Peggy waves the words away. “I take no offence, honestly. Though I am a little tired of people being tongue-tied around me, truth be told.” She smiles again. “More tea?”

~

It took years before Natasha ever gave Peggy’s niece a call, less than that to fall in love with her. Clint had thought it would be good for Natasha to meet Peggy, see what a SHIELD legend was like, what she could aspire to, and maybe convince Natasha to say anything at all. Those first few years at SHIELD after he recruited her were tough. She’d had a lot of shit to work through. Peggy had helped, in some small way, but not as much as Sharon.

They met when they were assigned on a mission together. They clicked immediately, bantering and debating and even going so far as maybe flirting. But she’s dating someone - some guy - and it’s not the right time. They go their separate ways.

They meet again right before the Chitauri invasion and again on some other mission. Sharon is bright and warm, easy to laugh, easy to love. She can be fierce, too, when she needs to. But what Natasha loves about her most is how positive she is. Sharon never gives up hope, never loses faith. Does she doubt? Sometimes. But her strength always returns full force.

But Natasha doesn’t deserve someone like Sharon. Steve does. And Sharon deserves someone like Steve, not Natasha. That’s why she tries to set them up but they’re too similar, both stubborn. It falls apart.

It’s not until after, after the civil war, after hiding in Wakanda for so many months, that she gives Peggy’s niece a call. She had forgotten the number was there, had refused to dial it out of self-pity. But now, at the end of her rope and needing someone to talk to - anyone - she dials.

And Sharon picks up. Natasha feels so stupid because of course the most righteous person she knows besides Steve is Peggy Carter’s niece. Peggy hadn’t put a name in Natasha’s contacts and Sharon had never said and Natasha had never put two and two together.

They have a good laugh about it and then...

Then the confessions happen. Over video chat, of all places. “I’ve liked you since I first met you,” Sharon says. “Teasing me about being blonde. Now, look at you.”

Natasha laughs and touches her own hair, pale blonde instead of bright red. “Do you like it?”

“It’s hot,” Sharon admits and Natasha feels warm. “But I liked the red better.”

~

When all is said and done and the world restored to its former glory, Natasha pays a visit to Peggy’s grave. “You were right,” she says as she kneels in front of the tombstone. “You were right the whole time and I should’ve listened to you.” There’s no answer. “Did you know? That we would fall for each other? Start a secret relationship during the end of the world? Were you really just playing matchmaker the whole time?” She laughs and shakes her head. “Either way, I just wanted to say thank you. You said you couldn’t help me but you were wrong. You saved me.”

Natasha walks away from the grave, hand in hand with the legendary Agent Sharon Carter.

[taehyungiestummy]

Return to Paradise -- Chapter One

Masterlist     Next

Warnings: No

Word Count: 2769

         “Are you feeling what I am feeling?” I look over at my best friend.

         Emily smiles at me, “Anxious? Excitement? All of the above? Yes, I am.” She adjusts her backpack, stepping forward as the airport security line moves slightly.

         “Thank goodness,” I smile back, looking to see how much further until we are at the front of the line. “It’s been a while since we have made this long journey.”

         “Almost too long,” Emily taps my shoulder so I look back at her. “Attention span is still short.”

         I roll my hazel eyes and adjust my new, dark blue, thick rimmed glasses. “So much is different though. I’m five foot two now, and I have glasses. My hair has blue on the underneath pieces. Oh, and I grew up,” I smirk, referring to puberty finally making me look like a woman. Well, somewhat like a woman.

         “That is true,” Emily takes half a step forward. “I didn’t grow, so I’m still five foot four. I have purple on the right, just on the top of my hair. And, I grew up a little bit,” her brown eyes sparkle with amusement as she smiles. “You are so dorky.”

         “Thanks,” I giggle. “Are you ready for the long ass plane ride?”

         She chuckles, “I think we forgot to mention our more frequent use of cuss words.”

         “I’m no longer that scared little school girl,” I grin. “I’ll speak my mind, and that includes all the shit.”

         “It makes me so happy to see you like this. All proud of yourself and who you are.”

         “I’m having a good day,” I place my backpack onto the conveyor belt. “I guess I can thank the whole reason of this trip on that.”

         “I’m in a pretty good mood because of that too,” she places her backpack next to mine.

         I step through the metal detector with Emily as close as allowed. Then we are slinging our backpacks back on, and making our way deeper into the airport.

         “I can’t wait to see Nari, again,” Emily points to a sign that shows the direction of our gate.

         “She is overly excited to see us again,” I smile as we turn to get on the right path. “She says it’s been so lonely without us there. She hopes we’ve missed our room.”

         “I have. We left so much in that room. Books, video games, stuffed animals, even clothes.”

         “We left a part of ourselves in that cute Seoul apartment. I can’t wait to read in my bunk, and enjoy rainy days on the balcony.”

         “That does sound lovely,” Emily looks around, trying to catch our gate number. “I can’t wait to take so many pictures of nature, and you. Plus, seven boys that have been dying to see us.”

         “Yeah,” my face heats up in seconds, and I grab onto Emily’s arm. “I hope we can see them right when we get there. I’m sick of phone calls, Skype chats, and text messages. I want to see Tae in real life again.”

         “I’m sick of all the YouTube videos. They uploaded so many, and then there’s the ones from award shows and what not. I want to see them dance in real life.”

         Emily and I let out exasperated breaths.

         It has been nine months since we left South Korea. All those months were spent away from our boyfriends, and our first boyfriends on top of that. It’s been hard, and this day has been a long time coming.

         “I bet everyone will be shocked that we can speak Korean so well now,” Emily smiles as we take a seat near our gate.

         “We worked so hard to learn the language. I hope they are proud,” I lean back into my seat as best I can with my backpack on. “Taehyung is still working on English, and it makes me feel a bit guilty.”

         “How come? I mean, you really shouldn’t, but I don’t have your brain.”

         “He’s done so much for me, too much. He wants to make me so happy, and he started to learn English more so that we could communicate, even if we still needed someone to help us at times.”

         “Well, you learned Korean, so now you can make him happy by speaking to him in his language. As well as the other boys.”

         “That’s true,” I turn my head to look at my best friend. “Gah, what would I do without you?”

         Emily grabs my hand, “Oh Amber, you ask that too much.”

         “I know,” I shrug. “Um, there’s something else that’s been bothering me for quite some weeks, and I need to get it off my chest.”

         “And what is that?” She smiles and looks down at me.

         “Taehyung and I were Skyping, and it got quiet. Nothing weird, we were both tired, as it happens on weekends regardless of time for me. Anyways, in the cutest voice, he told me he loves me,” I feel my breath hitch on the ‘L’ word.

         “Hold on, this happened a few weeks ago, and you didn’t tell me?”

         “School was so hectic, we were so busy, and it seemed like I could just push it away until I had time to deal with it.”

         “Why is it bothering you? He’s so sweet, caring, funny, cute-”

         “I know. I am dating him for a reason. He makes my head spin in happiness, and sets butterflies loose in my stomach.”

         “So, I don’t get why it’s such a big deal he said that he loves you.”

         “Because, I didn’t say it back. I looked into his eyes, and I know he was waiting for it. But, I didn’t say it. Now, I don’t know where we stand. If he regrets saying it, if he thinks I don’t want to be with him anymore. I do though, he’s amazing and I don’t want to lose him.”

         “Well, do you love him?”

         “I…” I bite my tongue, thinking about all I have felt about Taehyung in the time I have known him.

         Taehyung is one of the best things to happen in my life. He knows how to cheer me up, and how to help me through personal problems. The two of us are beyond comfortable around each other, going as far to Skype in clothes that show a lot of skin, but nothing dirty. I’ve seen Taehyung without a shirt countless times. His group members are now my friends, and happy to see Taehyung in a relationship. This time apart has made me realize a lot about the boy that I met in the park so many months ago.

         “Amber,” Emily waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to alien girl.”

         I giggle, pushing her hand away. “Sorry,” I blink and focus in on her again. “I was just remembering why I like Tae, and, there’s so many reasons why our relationship is working.”

         “That’s good, but it still doesn’t answer my questions.”

         “Oh,” I look away, my cheeks no doubt red as cherries. “Um, yes, I do love him.”

         “Oh, my gosh,” Emily brings me into a hug as best she can. “My best friend is in love,” she sings.

         “Calm down,” I laugh. “It does feel nice to say it out loud. Even if I’m not saying it to him, saying it to you makes it feel a lot more real. Now, I have to wait an undetermined amount of time to tell Tae that.”

         “We should learn to say ‘I love you’ in Korean on the way over. Then you can surprise Taehyung.”

         “Why do you need to learn it?” I take a deep breath, trying to calm the heat on my cheeks.

         “For when I feel that I know I am in love with Namjoon,” she ruffles my hair.

         “Hey,” I laugh, sitting up and fixing my hair. “I have to look good for the plane ride.”

         The two of us burst into giggles, not caring there are so many people nearby.

         “Now boarding, flight to Seoul, South Korea,” a lady over the intercom says.

         “That’s us,” I smile, standing up and getting my boarding pass out. “Ah, it is happening.”

         “Still another twenty minutes or so until we take off,” Emily stands up, boarding pass already in hand. “Better get in line, though.”

         “No rush with already determined seats, and all that good stuff.”

         “Don’t you want to get all settle into your seat?”

         “Eh,” I shrug. “It will still take that same amount of time regardless of when we get on.”

         “Ugh, so much sass,” Emily grabs me arm and pulls me into the line. “So, lucky you are cute.”

         I smile, “I am pretty cute.”

         “Oh, shush up,” she giggles, slinging an arm over my shoulder.

         “I’m actually ready for this plane ride. We haven’t had that much time to talk recently, so this will be good for us.”

         “It will be.”

********

         “There’s something about flying over the ocean that is calming and nerve-wracking all at the same time,” I pull the shade down over my widow. “I don’t think I will ever truly get over my fear of flying, but it is getting better each time we go on trips.”

         “You haven’t cried when getting on a plane for a few years now, so I would say that you are doing pretty good,” Emily smirks.

         “Someone is in a very teasing mood,” I shake my head, looking back to see if the flight attendant is close with the meal.

         “I have to keep you on your toes, so you don’t think too much about what is happening.”

         “Are you going to stick with that defense?”

         “Until I think of something better,” she giggles.

         “Here is your meal, ladies,” the female flight attendant sets what we order on our tray-tables. “Do you need anything else?”

         “No, we’re good,” Emily answer, smiling up at the woman.

         “Enjoy your food then, you two,” she gives a small bow before moving to the row in front of us.

         “I’m sure this will taste fine, but I can’t wait until we are cooking with Nari again,” I move my water to the left side of my tray-table for better access.

         “Making food without her just hasn’t been the same,” Emily opens her bag of chips. “My birthday meal just felt said without others who enjoy Korean food.”

         “Speaking of birthdays, how are we going to celebrate my birthday?” I smile, taking a bite of my sandwich.

         “That’s a good question,” Emily takes a sip of her Sprite. “We could go out to eat, and have cake at the apartment. Open presents, and hang out.”

         “That sounds like a nice way to spend a birthday.”

         “Can’t let you out of my sight, since you could have the sexy times with Taehyungie,” she teases.

         “I will kill you,” I give her a shove. “People can hear you.”

         Emily rolls her eyes. “They don’t care, and probably aren’t paying attention. It’s nothing to get worked up over.”

         “You know I wouldn’t do that,” I pout, shoving chips into my mouth.

         “I know, I was teasing you.”

         I let out a breath, “Sorry. I know that, I’m just tired and want to land already.”

         “Don’t worry about it. We are only halfway through the flight.”

         “Tae is going to be shocked with my glasses,” I go back to my sandwich.

         “You don’t wear them when you Skype?”

         “No, they are so dorky and embarrassing.”

         “They are cute and make you look sophisticated. He’ll love them, as does everyone else you know.”

         “Confidence back up,” I giggle.

         “The boys have grown up a lot in the past nine months, too. They are looking so good, it is unreal. I bet they are so fit.”

         “Tae has a bit of a belly roll, but I can see he has abs forming. It is the cutest, I love it. He says his grandma likes him chubby, so he just keeps eating.”

         “He is too cute for his own good.”

         “I love him because of his silly and outgoing manner. Ugh, I need to be with him again.”

         “I know. It has been too long. I have missed Namjoon way more than I thought I would.”

         “I just want my first damn kiss. Almost seventeen and no one has ever kissed me.”

         “That should go on our list of things to accomplish during this trip.”

         “I will put it on there. Hanging out with the whole group at their dorm. Just being able to talk to everyone without Namjoon’s help will be so nice.”

         “I’ve been dying to interact with them like it should be. No translator needed, but, Namjoon will probably still need to help us.”

         “Yeah, we aren’t perfect yet.”

         “I love that the boys dye their hair crazy colors. I don’t think they have much choice, but certain colors look so good on them.”

         “The piercings, ah, it is too much. Korea knows how to make good looking groups.”

         “I wonder how Nari and Jin are doing,” Emily grabs my trash, and, along with hers, hands it to the flight attendant. “When we left, they had just gone on a date.”

         “Lucky bastards get to see each other whenever they feel like it.”

         “They must be doing good then, yes? Or, don’t you know?”

         “Oh yeah, they are doing good, last time I asked Nari. The boys say that when they are together, it’s overly cute.”

         “Like, I have to leave the room because it is too cute?”

         “I think so, but that makes my heart swell for them. I’m so glad we set Nari up with Jin. He seems great for Nari. They both work so hard, and need someone to relax with.”

         “I agree. Nari probably still can’t believe her boyfriend is in a famous group. I still can’t believe it.”

         “All thanks to Tae making sure I was okay when at the park. That boy has such a big heart,” I smile.

         “Jungkook is starting to look, hm, manly. I guess that’s the word.”

         “I know what you mean. It will be nice to talk to him now, as he is very close to our age. Hopefully he isn’t too shy when around us.”

         “Man, I wish I could drop out of school and join a music group,” Emily giggles.

         “I do wonder how that all works. I don’t think Jungkook dropped out of school. I bet they had to work super hard to get into the group, and give some things up. Jungkook hasn’t graduated, though.”

         “No doubt. It has to be a long process of tests, and to end up in a group is a huge honor.”

         “Then you have to get along with your other members. That has to be stressful. Bangtan are so lucky to have hit it off right away.”

         “Ah, Big Hit, the men who created BTS,” Emily sighs. “It’s a good thing they did that.”

         “Do you think they know about us? Ya know, whoever decides things for the boys. Big Hit is just the big name, ha,” I chuckle. “Anyways, there must be main men who must control some portion of their lives.”

         “I would believe it,” Emily takes in a sharp breath. “Are you going to say what I think?”

         “What if they don’t approve of us?”

         “Making sure the boys are happy has to be on their list, and we make two of the group quite happy.”

         “That could be all and well. Still, we aren’t Korean, and look so, um, western. It wouldn’t be good for their image.”

         “Screw their image. You are in love, and maybe me too. It is their life, and they will date whoever they choose. That, right now, happens to be two girls from America that don’t look anything like Korean locals. Everyone is just going to have to deal with it.”

         “I guess,” I pout.

         Emily turns my face to look at her and we lock eyes. “Nothing like that is going to tear our boyfriends from us. You understand?”

         “I understand,” I am a bit shocked at how serious she is now. “I just want to see them so bad. It is making me go crazy. Thinking of bad scenarios.”

         “You need a nap to calm down. Clear your mind.”

         “I do,” I look away from her and settle into my seat. “That should help.”

         “I think I will take a nap as well.”

         “Then who is going to make sure we don’t miss the landing?”

         She giggles, “You don’t worry about it. I will make sure to wake you up.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I am so excited that this first chapter is out, and I am so excited for you all to get to read this! I’d say each chapter will be about this length. Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading! I’d love to know what you thought! :D

[fantasyandromancelover]

Dark Shadows Chapter 2

1972

196 years later...

Seventeen year old Kagome watched silently as the rain fell upon the windows of the bus she was riding. She had recently taken a job to work as a governess up at a local mansion in the town that the bus was taking her to. By the time she had arrived in town the rain had stopped which she was grateful for since she didn't have an umbrella. She got off the bus, picked up her suitcase, and started walking toward her destination.

As she walked through the town some if the local men started staring at her, whistling, and making catcalls much to her annoyance. She didn't know why they were doing that, she thought it was because they were playing a cruel joke on her because Kagome had always thought of her as plain or homely looking but the truth was Kagome was actually a very beautiful girl. Raven hair, ivory skin, eyes that sparkled like the stars, and a smile that could soften even the hardest of hearts.

When she finally arrived at the mansion she took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It was answered by a handsome young man in his early twenties and when he saw Kagome he gave her a flirtatious smile.

"Well hello." He said. "What brings such a beautiful lady like yourself here?"

"I..." She said blushing. "I'm Kagome, I'm here for the governess job."

"Oh well then I'll be sure to inform Kaede at once for she will be your employer. I am Miroku the groundskeeper here, I do hope that you will be working with me."

"I hope so too- Eep!" Miroku had just groped her behind. "Hey back off pal! I'm not that kind of woman!"

"Miroku!" The young man stiffened when an old woman entered the room and hit him over the head with a cane. "Must you be so rude to our guests? Go back outside and weed the garden! Now!"

"Yes ma'am." He ran out of there as quick as possible.

"I apologise for Miroku's behavior. He is a lecher but he means well. I am Kaede and this is my home."

"Nice to meet you, my name is Kagome."

"I presume that you're here about the add for a governess."

"Yes."

"You seem a bit young to be a governess."

"I know but I've had plenty of experience and I have references. Here's a list of numbers you can call."

Kagome handed her a slip on paper. Kaede pulled out her glasses so she could see better and when she could see Kagome's face more clearly she made a look of pure shock and fascination.

"Good Lord." She said in amazement.

"What is it?" Kagome asked.

"Nothing it's just... Kagome where are you from? What is your family?"

"Oh well I lost my parents and my little brother in a car accident when I was ten. I had been living in foster care ever since."

"What was your family name?"

"Higurashi."

"Oh..."

"Is something wrong?"

"No but follow me."

Kagome followed Kaede into another room where a portrait of a young woman hung on the wall. She wore an 1700's style dress and was standing in a grove of bell flowers. To Kagome's shock the woman in the portrait looked identical to her. The resemblance between them was almost unreal.

"Who's that?" Kagome asked.

"That is Lady Kikyo. My ancestor." Kaede said. "Many years ago she died at age seventeen, no one knows the circumstances of her death but she was greatly loved and admired by my family."

"She's beautiful."

"I think it's astounding that you look exactly like her. At first I thought that somehow you could be related to me but there are no records of the name Higurashi in any of my family documents and files. Still your resemblance baffles me."

"I hope this doesn't influence your choice to hire me."

"No it was just something I noticed. Now I have a few more questions, what do you think of the president?"

"I've never met him."

"The war?"

"I don't watch TV."

"Do you believe sexes should be equal?"

"Heavens no! Men would be unmanageable."

"I think you and I will get along just fine. Come I'll give you a tour of the mansion."

Kaede gave Kagome a tour of the mansion, showing her each and every room in the house. The last place they went to was the living room which had a fireplace. Above the fireplace was another portrait, this one was of a young man wearing 1700's style suit with black hair and brown eyes, very handsome and kind looking. Kagome found herself being drawn to the portrait, gazing into the man's eyes. He seemed awfully familiar to her but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Who's this?" She asked.

"Inuyasha, he was the original owner of this house, he died at age twenty. In his will he left both this house and his trade business to my family."

"Why is that if you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't know. Now then I shall introduce you to the other residents of this house. You've already met our lecherous groundskeeper Miroku, living here also is Kagura our live in therapist who I suspect is sleeping off one of her legendary hangovers."

"Anymore relatives or staff?"

"No just me and the children."

"I assume that you're widowed?"

"I never married and the children aren't mine. Sango and Shippo were orphaned at a young age, I took them in and brought them up as my own."

"Awww how sweet. How old are they?"

"Sango is now you're age but it's Shippo you'll be looking after. He's eight and is a sweet boy but he's quite the rambunctious type and I'm not as young as a used to be so I need some help."

"Of course but if you don't mind me asking why do you have a live in therapist?"

"Shippo claims that he sees the ghost of his deceased father but we're convinced it's just him still grieving and projecting his emotions. Or at least that's what Kagura says."

"Well if I may I believe that some people can communicate with the deceased."

"I understand your beliefs but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it to Shippo. We don't want to encourage his delusions."

"Alright."

"I think it's time you met them."

Kaede then called for them. Just as Kaede had said Sango was in fact Kagome's age and was a very pretty young lady. Shippo was a very cute looking right year old boy with orange hair.

"Sango, Shippo I would like you to meet Kagome. She will be the new governess here."

"How do you do? It's nice to meet you." Sango said.

"Very well thank you and it's nice to meet you too." Kagome said.

"Shippo say hello to Kagome." Kaede said.

"Hello." The boy said. "I knew you were coming."

"Well of course you knew you were getting a governess, Kaede put an add out." Sango said.

"No. I knew she was coming, Kagome. My father said that you were coming."

"Shippo your father's dead."

"I know but I still see him."

"Sure you do."

"Sango, Shippo please don't start." Kaede said. "Now then Miss Kagome I shall show you to your room."

Kagome followed the old woman upstairs to the guest room where she would be staying.

"I hope to see you at dinner this evening."

"You will." Kagome said.

"You seem like an excellent choice, I will be calling those references you listed, and again I ask you please do not encourage Shippo. You must understand that Kagura is here not just to help get Shippo through his grieving process but to make sure he's sane. If her review says that he's not mentally well he could shipped off to the asylum and I couldn't bear for that to happen to him."

"Oh don't worry I won't say another word about it. Believe me."

Kagome knew all too well about that. She wouldn't tell anyone about it, but when she was a little girl she used to talk to a ghost. It happened after her she lost her family but her foster parents thought that she was insane so they sent her to an asylum where she was subjected to torturous, electric, shock therapy. Luckily she managed to escape and she began assistanting other foster homes. Even though that it had been five years since she escaped, she still had nightmares about that horrible place.

"Boo!"

Kagome was snapped out of her thoughts and let out a startled cry when Shippo wearing a ghost costume jumped out from her closet.

"He, he, I got you." He laughed.

"Very funny." She giggled. "Shippo shouldn't you be getting ready for dinner?"

"I know but I had to scare you first. It's the initiation."

"Initiation?"

"When someone new comes to live our house their initiation is that I get to scare them."

"Well you scared me pretty good. Now go get ready for dinner."

At dinner Kagome was introduced to Kagura. An attractive woman though she seemed to be wearing too much make up in Kagome's opinion and she wreeked of booze.

"So you're the new nanny huh." Kagura said looking at her skeptically.

"Yes I am."

"You've been here before haven't you?"

"No I can't say I have."

"Where are you from?"

"I can't really remember exactly where I'm from. I've just moved from place to place all my life "

"Why is that? Do you have something to hide?"

Kagome just looked away from Kagura and took a sip of her drink.

"Kagura I don't think that you should pry into Kagome's personal life." Kaede said. "I checked her references and they all said that she was a very kind, responsible, and caring young woman. That's all we shall know of her for now."

"Geez why do therapists have to be such snoops?" Sango asked.

"I'm only doing my job." Kagura said smoking a cigarette.

"You're job is to examine Shippo not meddle in the affairs and past lives of others." Miroku said.

Kagura gave Miroku a death glare then didn't say another word for the rest of the night. That evening Kagome started to unpack her bags and get ready for bed. She had just put all her things away and changed into her nightgown when she saw a figure covered by a bedsheet standing in her doorway.

"Oh Shippo you scared me again." She said thinking that it was the boy. "What are you doing up it's almost eleven?"

The figure didn't respond. Confused, Kagome slowly walked toward the figure and removed the bedsheet covering it. But Shippo wasn't under the bedsheet. Instead it was a woman, a woman who was floating and extremely pale. A ghost and not just any ghost, she was the ghost that Kagome had been seeing ever since she was ten years old but it wasn't until now that she realized something. This ghostly woman looked exactly like herself and the lady in the portrait Kagome had seen earlier. Lady Kikyo.

"He's coming." She said in a whisper like voice. "He's coming."

"Who's coming?" Kagome asked her.

But she did not answer she only disappeared into a wall leaving Kagome confused and a little frightened.

[imasleepytea-blog]

Mess With Me (Snowbaz AU oneshot)

This was inspired by this post by @snowbaziswild​:

 https://snowbaziswild.tumblr.com/post/175294129463/some-snowbaz-promts-that-someone-needs-to-write, originally just the request for Baz and Simon trying to keep their relationship secret when they’ve got together in 6th year, but then also the hickeys one and the making out one Right, this is like 6th year, so it's all quite 16 year old messes (also I’m ace so I’m shit at this sort of thing and I haven’t looked back over this and it didn’t go quite in the direction I’d imagined but here we are.)

Penny

Simon’s been acting weird, he’s still stalking Baz like there’s no tomorrow but he seems a whole lot more embarrassed about it now, maybe it’s just because he’s not 12 anymore so he’s finally starting to realise that it’s not really okay to stalk your roommate. He doesn’t want my help in following Baz around anymore, which is good, because I need to study if I want to beat Baz as top student this year. It’s kinda nice to have a quieter life but I am a bit worried about him, Agatha broke up with Simon at the start of this year and, while I don’t think they had a very healthy relationship, he never really mourned it at all and he loved that girl and now he blushes furiously whenever he says he’s going off to stalk Baz. Weird.

Simon

Baz and I have been together? I don’t know if that’s what it is. Kissing and cuddling and hanging out whenever we can in secret, I know it’s that at least. Anyway, we’ve been like that since about October and it’s March now and I honestly love it. We still argue and squabble quite a bit, but I think we always will, and I don’t think he’s going to drain me in my sleep anymore and kissing sure is better than fighting. It’s kind of glorious and there’s something fun and covert about having to hide it all- I like the thrill of adrenaline I get.

Everyone still thinks that Baz and I hate each other and we’re not ready to say otherwise, so he has to pretend to insult me in lessons, poking me so I almost go off and “sarcastically” clapping whenever I do something well, but really I know that he means it and wants to congratulate me. I know that he’ll catch me in a corridor later and pull me into an empty classroom, pushing me into a wall and kissing me senseless before whispering “well done” in my ear and then just leaving. I’m always shell-shocked when he does this and I’m always unable to process for a few moments after. I love it.

I love it after lessons when he gets back to our room first (he’s a vampire so he barely needs to eat) and I can arrive and I can be the one to kiss him first. He likes pushing me against walls but I like getting him beneath me, I like to sit over him, my legs either side of his hips and hold my head above his, making him reach up to me for kisses, teasing him and almost making him beg for them. We’ve almost got it into a routine, I’ll eat as fast as I can without making Penny suspicious and then I’ll shake her off and get back up to our room, where Baz will almost certainly be lying on his bed and I’ll hold myself over him on my hands and knees and make him reach up for my kisses.

On days when he has football practice, he’s always tired and he comes back up to our room when he’s showered and I like to french plait his hair while it's still wet and then we generally cuddle until we sleep. Our legs always entwined and exchanging sleepy kisses until we fall asleep on each other. The next day he’s always jokingly angry because his hair will be curly from the plait but he always lets me take the plait out and I get to run my hands through his hair.

Baz

Simon and I have been together about 6 months now and I’ve never been happier, Dev and Niall always tease me about why I can’t stop grinning and why my hair is always so messy (Simon loves my hair.) Once he gave me a hickey and I had to pretend Simon had punched me and that was where it was from. I don’t think they believed that at all.

Agatha had just broken up with Simon and I could tell he was in a bad mood and I just wanted to comfort him, so I held him and then suddenly he had jumped me and the only thing I could think and feel and taste for days was Simon pressed up against my body and Simon in my mouth and Simon’s hands.

He doesn’t really want a lot of extra attention, especially after Agatha and the whole chosen one thing and I don’t massively either, so it’s a secret and I don’t mind that, apart from I do wish I could sit with Simon in lessons and at meals and the like.

It’s fun (and also so hot) watching him squirm though, Simon’s always been an open book to the world. I love pretending to be aggressive to him as an excuse to touch him because only the two of us know (we’ve talked it all through and agreed boundaries). I love seeing him walk past with Penny or one of his other 300 friends in a crowded corridor and just brushing my hand against his. I love sitting behind him/next to him in lessons and whispering in his ear and breathing gently on his neck and watching him stiffen and his breath catch, especially when he’s answering a question. I love how easily I can make him blush and squirm- I love that control.

What I really love though, is the control he has over me. I love getting to our room first, stretching out on our bed, knowing he’ll come in soon and pin me down. That’s what I’m doing now, just waiting for Simon Snow to come to me. And then here he is, slamming open the door to our room and holding my hands above my head by my wrists and kissing me. He starts at my mouth, catching my bottom lip between his teeth in a way that he knows makes me weak (he did that to me before an elocution lesson once and I could only stutter for the whole thing.) Then he’s working his way down my jaw to my neck and he’s holding my adam’s apple between my teeth and then he’s behind my ear, kissing exactly where he knows I like it and then he’s on my collar bone and crowley he’s never kissed my collar bone before and I cannot for the life of me think. He catches the skin between his teeth and nibbles and then he’s sucking on it and I’m so glad I’m lying beneath him because my legs are weak and I know I’m marking his back with my nails with how strong my grip is on him and I gasp his name and kiss the top of his head and suddenly he’s not holding my wrists anymore.

His hands are in my hair and he’s only holding himself up by his knees and I have the power now so I flip us over and now I know he’s marked my neck (God only fucking knows how I’m going to explain that one to Dev and Niall) and it’s my turn for revenge. I kiss every mole on his face and he smiles in delight, thinking that all I’m doing is innocent, so I start to move down onto the moles on his neck and I’m kissing them and there’s so many. I feel a shudder of pleasure go down his body and he’s covered in goosebumps and tugging on my hair and I can’t think anymore. Generally, don’t give Simon hickeys (I’m scared of my fangs popping out) but this time he’s made me lose control with his beautiful fucking face with his eyes half open and his mouth just hanging there and his legs wrapped around my waist and his hands in my hair and his hands everywhere and I’m fucking gone. There are 9 moles on Simon’s neck and I’ve kissed each and everyone of them, but I go back and I lick them and then I suck on them until I know bruises have formed and I don’t care if people put 2 and 2 together because his face when I do this is everything. We kiss and we kiss and we kiss until we’re so tired we can’t anymore, so we just lie there, curled in on each other and talk until we’re asleep and crowley it’s brilliant.

Simon

I love waking up in Baz’s arms and normally I’d lie here as long as I can but this morning I really really need to piss, so I carefully extract myself from him, smiling at the hickey I left on his collar bone and go into the bathroom. I piss quickly and then shower and it’s not until I’m out of the shower and rearranging my curls in the mirror that I notice my neck. Bruises litter it and it looks like I’ve been attacked by someone’s mouth in the night, then I look closer and realise that Baz has left a hickey on every single one of my moles. Of course he has, he’s obsessed. I dress quickly because I am starved and then drop a kiss onto his widow’s peak while he sleeps (Baz sleeps a whole lot more than me).

Penny

Simon looks like a fucking mess this morning, his lips look swollen and chapped and I can see a few bruises on his neck. I’d be worried, but with his desire to get away from me recently I kind of guessed he was in a secret relationship.

Simon

It’s only when I get down to breakfast and asks me what’s wrong with my neck that I remember the hickeys. Oh fuck.

“Um, well, you know, I was hoovering and the hose…” I mutter, then stop (not because that’s a bad lie, it’s a great one, shush) because Penny’s grinning at something over my shoulder.

“Oh look, Baz’s neck matches.” She says grinning and waving him over. He looks confused but obeys (it’s hard to not do what Penny wants, especially now I’ve made him believe how great she is.)

He sits next to me, but with some distance between us,until I stage whisper “there’s no point, she’s worked it out!” and pull him along to me, when he puts his hand on my back and traces lazy circles with his finger and I cannot concentrate on anything. It’s not fair that he can fuck with me like this and make me keep dropping egg down myself while he can just chat about the renaissance with Penny. Two can play at this game. I put my hand on his thigh, innocently enough at first, then slowly slide it further in and higher (nothing much really, just enough.) When his breath hitches and he stops mid sentence, I stop and just keep my hand where it is. Crowley, I love to mess with him and I love how much he responds to just a simple touch.

When he’s able to start talking again, I lean up and whisper “I love you” in his ear (it’s about time I told him) and he just stops the conversation, smiles down at me, pulls me even closer and kisses just behind my ear. As I shiver, he says “I love you too, Simon” against my skin.

Penny

Crowley, these two. I’m really really happy for Simon, I can see in how he looks at Baz that he loves him a lot, but they could really do with some boundaries. Like now, I’ve been abandoned from a really interesting conversation with Baz just because Simon touched his thigh and said he loved him. They can have another day of this and then we’re going to have to have a conversation about how much they can touch each other so the other is capable of thinking (I saw Simon spill egg everywhere just because Baz touched his back.)

[godkilling]

OUR EX/WIVES

YES my true loves

1. The skin I have them in

widow is in huntress and very occasionally comtesse. if i unlock talon soon i’ll probably have her in that quite a bit. i actually have moira in her default skin

2. My fav skin of theirs

huntress for widow…. though i am a huge fan of côte d’azur bc she’s out there living her best life on vacation & her sunglasses drop when she ults which is everything. i looooove moira’s oasis/minister skins, especially the sleeves on minister

3. Their highlight intro

vanishing act for moira! i love all of widow’s equally probably… but i’ve been using under the mistletoe for widow recently bc i just got it 

4. Fav emote to use

good question… i don’t think i have any moira emotes actually but my favs are come here and how amusing! her laugh is cute. my fav widow emote is definitely widow’s kiss bc i Die when i’m flirting with a friendly widow & i get them to use it lmao... but i use ballet all the time because i love death and dying

5. Fav voice line

i am a big fan of moira’s voicelines in general because they’re cute irish slang. “you’re a chancer”, “grand” & some actual irish for xmas was nice: “nollaig shona duit” (which i’ve flipped back on feeling weird about lol)

in widow’s case: *GASP* OUH LÀ LÀ

6. How often to I use this character

i don’t have many hours on either of them. widow is the hero i’m trying to get better with atm, along with sombra. i’ll probably play more moira once that mercy nerf goes through

7. What I hope to see from them in the future

some team talon interaction now moira’s in the picture would be FAB. where’s the talon centric event? they’re a valid team comp now :P

[illbefinealonereads]

Blog tour day! Allow me to tell you more about Husband Material by Emily Belden, as well as share an excerpt from the book.

Husband Material : A Novel Emily Belden On Sale Date: December 30, 2019 9781525805981, 1525805983 Trade Paperback $15.99 USD, $19.99 CAD Fiction / Romance / Romantic Comedy 304 pages

Told in Emily Belden's signature edgy voice, a novel about a young widow's discovery of her late husband's secret and her journey toward hope and second-chance love.

Twenty-nine-year-old Charlotte Rosen has a secret: she’s a widow. Ever since the fateful day that leveled her world, Charlotte has worked hard to move forward. Great job at a hot social media analytics company? Check. Roommate with no knowledge of her past? Check. Adorable dog? Check. All the while, she’s faithfully data-crunched her way through life, calculating the probability of risk—so she can avoid it.

Yet Charlotte’s algorithms could never have predicted that her late husband’s ashes would land squarely on her doorstep five years later. Stunned but determined, Charlotte sets out to find meaning in this sudden twist of fate, even if that includes facing her perfectly coiffed, and perfectly difficult, ex-mother-in-law—and her husband’s best friend, who seems to become a fixture at her side whether she likes it or not.

But soon a shocking secret surfaces, forcing Charlotte to answer questions she never knew to ask and to consider the possibility of forgiveness. And when a chance at new love arises, she’ll have to decide once and for all whether to follow the numbers or trust her heart.

Advance Praise for Husband Material

“Tackling thorny questions of widowhood and dating after trauma, Belden's second novel is witty, full of heart, and blindingly au courant. Packed with pop-culture references, it will appeal to fans of Sophie Kinsella, Rosie Walsh, and Plum Sykes. Belden writes twists and turns to keep readers hooked.” —Booklist

“Charming.” —Publishers Weekly

“Sensitive, thoughtful, and touching.” —Library Journal

“In this touching, witty, and timely book, Emily Belden deftly explores the complexities of human relationships in our increasingly tech-obsessed world. By turns heartbreaking and laugh-out-loud funny, Husband Material beautifully demonstrates that you can't reduce love to a bunch of 1s and 0s.”

—Kristin Rockaway, author of How To Hack a Heartbreak

Buy Links: Harlequin Amazon Barnes & Noble Indie Bound Kobo Google Books

Author Bio: EMILY BELDEN is a journalist, social media marketer, and storyteller. She is the author of the novel Hot Mess and Eightysixed: A Memoir about Unforgettable Men, Mistakes, and Meals. She lives in Chicago. Visit her website at www.emilybelden.com or follow her on Twitter and Instagram, @emilybelden

Genre: Romance, Chick-Lit

Rating: 4/5 stars

Review: This was a very fun read for me. Belden writes in a style that I really enjoy, it feels fresh and light. Though the book tackled some heavy subjects, none of it was felt in the writing. The plot was paced well, and the way it progressed felt natural. The idea behind the book was beautifully executed. The characters were well developed and set up in a way that kept the book dynamic and entertaining. Though the characters aren’t relatable, straying from most books in the romance genre, Husband Material didn’t need to rely on that to make the book as enjoyable as it was. All it needed was the wit that Belden incorporated in it, and that was enough for me.

Excerpt:

Well, that’s a first.

And I’m not talking about the fact that I brought a date to a wedding I’m pretty sure didn’t warrant me a plus-one. I’m talking about grabbing a wedding card that just so happened to say “Congrats, Mr. & Mr.” on my way to cele­brate the nuptials of the most iconic heterosexual couple since George and Amal. This—and a king-sized KitKat bar from the checkout lane—is what I get for rushing through the greet­ing card aisle in Target while my Uber driver waited in the loading zone with his f lashers on.

It’s Monica and Danny’s big day. She’s my coworker, whose gorgeous face is constantly lining the glossy pages of Luxe LA magazine. Not only because she’s one of the leading ladies at Forbes’s new favorite company, The Influencer Firm, but because this socialite-turned-CEO is now married to Dan­iel Jones—head coach of the LA Galaxy, Los Angeles’s pro­fessional soccer team. If you’re thinking he must look like a derivative of an American David Beckham, you’re basicallythere. Let’s just hope their sense of humor is as good as their looks when they see the card I accidentally picked out.

Before I place it on the gift table, I stuff the envelope with a crisp hundred-dollar bill fresh from the ATM. Side note: I think wedding registries are bullshit. Everybody wants an ice cream maker until you have one and never use it, which is why I spring for cold, hard cash instead. I grab a black Sharpie marker from the guest book table, pop the cap off, and attempt to squeeze in a nondescript s after the second “Mr.,” hoping my makeshift, hand-drawn serif font letter doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. I blow on the fresh ink, then hold the pseudo Pinterest-fail an arm’s length away. That’ll do, I think to myself.

I lift a glass of red wine from a caterer’s tray as if we cho­reographed the move and check the time on my Apple Watch, which arguably isn’t the most fashionable accessory when dressing for a chic summer wedding. But aside from the fact that it doesn’t quite match my strapless pale yellow cocktail dress, it serves a much greater purpose for me. It keeps my data front and center, right where I want it, not on my phone buried somewhere deep in my purse. Bonus: the band, smack-dab on the middle of my wrist, also covers a tattoo I’ve been meaning to have lasered off.

Other than telling me the time, 7:30 p.m., it also serves up my most recent Tinder notifications. I’ve gotten four new matches since this morning, which isn’t bad for a) a Saturday, since most people do their Tindering while zoning out at work or bored in bed at night; and b) a pushing-thirty New York native whose most recent relationship was the love-hate one with a stubborn last ten pounds. That’s me, by the way. Charlotte Rosen.

Though present and accounted for now, the battle of Tide pen vs. toothpaste stain went on for longer than I intended back at my apartment, causing me to arrive about half an hour late to the cocktail hour. Which means I for sure missed Monica and Dan’s ceremony in its entirety. I, of all people, know that’srude. I’m someone who is hypersensitive to people’s arrival ten­dencies (well, to all measurable tendencies, to be honest; more on that later). But I’m sort of glad I missed the I Dos, as there is still something about witnessing the exchange of vows that makes me a little squeamish. I got married five years ago and, well, I’m not married anymore—let’s put it that way.

The good news is that with time, I can feel it’s definitely getting easier to come to things like this. To believe that the couple really will stay together through it all. To believe that there is such a thing as “the one”—even if it may actually be “the other” that I’m looking for this next go-round.

Late as I may be to the wedding party, there are some perks to my delayed arrival. Namely, the line at the bar has died down enough for me to trade up this mediocre red wine for a decent gin and tonic. Another perk? Several fresh platters of bacon-wrapped dates have just descended like UFOs onto the main floor of the venue, which happens to be a barn from the 1800s. Except this is Los Angeles, and there are no barns from the 1800s. So instead, every creaky floorboard, every corroded piece of siding, and every decrepit roof shingle has been sourced from deep in the countryside of southwest Iowa to create the sense that guests are surrounded by rolling fields, fragrant orchard blossoms, and fruiting trees. The reality being that just outside the wooden walls of the coveted, three-year-long-wait-list Oak Mill Barn stands honking, gridlocked traf­fic on the 405 and an accompanying smog alert.

As I continue to wait for my impromptu wedding date, Chad, to come back from the bathroom, I robotically swipe left on the first three guys who pop up on Bumble, another dating app I’m on, then finally decide to message a guy who looks like a bright-eyed Jason Bateman (you know, pre-Ozark) and is a stockbroker, according to his profile. We end up matching and he asks me for drinks. I vaguely accept. Wel­come to dating in LA.

I’ve conducted some research that has shown that after the age of thirty, it becomes exponentially harder to find your fu­ture husband. What number constitutes exponentially? I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on narrowing in on that because generalities don’t really cut it for me. Thinking through things logically like this centers me, calms me, and resets me—no matter what life throws my way. All that’s to say, I’m officially in my last good year of dating (and my last year of not having to include a night serum in my skin care regimen), and I’m determined not to wind up with my dog, my roommate, and a few low-maintenance houseplants as my sole life partners.

“Sorry that took so long,” says Chad, returning from the men’s room twenty minutes after leaving. “Did you know the bathroom at this place is an actual outhouse? Thank god it was leg day at the gym—I had to squat over the pot. My quads are burning nice now.”

Confession. I didn’t just bring a date to the wedding, I brought a blind date.

No worries, though. Monica knows how serious I am about the path to Mr. Right and supports the fact that I go on my fair share of dates to get me there quicker. Plus, he isn’t a total stranger; she knows him—or, she met him, rather. He attended her work event last week at the LA County Museum of Art and is supposedly this cute, single real estate something or other. Of course he tried to hit on her and, unlike most beau­tiful people in Los Angeles, Monica actually copped to being in a committed relationship with Danny. (Who doesn’t like to brag they’re marrying Mr. Galaxy himself?) So she did the next best thing and gave him her single coworker’s Instagram handle and told him to slide into my DMs. It’s a bold move on her part, but I appreciate her quick thinking and commit­ment to my cause, Operation: Reclassify My Marital Status.

Since Chad first messaged me a week ago, I’ve done my homework on him. And I’m not talking about just your basic cyber stalking. I’m talking about procuring and sifting through real, bona fide data. It’s essentially a version of what I’m paid to do for a living—track down all the “influencers,” people with a lot of fans and followers on the internet, and match them to events we plan for our clients so they can post on so­cial media and boost our clients’ profiles.

Some may think my side-project software, the one that com­putes how much of a match I am with someone, is a bit…much, but I don’t see it that way at all. I’m on the hunt for a man who is a true match for me—one who won’t just up and leave in the blink of an eye. I left things up to fate once and look how that turned out. I’ll be damned if I do it that way again.

While I studied up on Chad, I conducted a hefty “image search,” yielding about a hundred photos of him that have been uploaded across a variety of social platforms over the years. In real life, I’m pleased to say he checks out. Chad is over six feet tall, tanned, and toned, with coiffed Zac Efron hair that’s on the verge of being described as “a bit extra.” From the shoul­ders up, he’s an emoji. A walking, talking emoji. But as I step back and admire him in his expertly tailored suit, he looks like a contestant on The Bachelor. In retrospect, Chad is just the right amount of good-looking to complement my physical appearance, which can be described as a made-for-TV version of an otherwise good-looking actress.

“Something to drink, sir?” one of the caterers asks Chad.

“Yes. A spicy margarita. Unless… Wait. Do you make the margarita mix yourselves? Or is it, like, that sugary store-bought crap?”

Eek. I had forgotten my discovery that Chad is a bit of a…wellness guru. I guess so is everyone in LA, but I can’t help but be taken aback when I hear that there are people who actually care about the scientific makeup of margarita mix.

“Fuck it. Too many calories either way,” Chad announces before giving the waitress a chance to answer his question. “I’ll just take a whiskey.”

“Splash of Coke?”

“God, no. So many empty calories.”

With his drink order in, Chad rolls his neck around and pops bones I never knew existed. Then, one by one, the joints in his fingers. The sound makes me a bit queasy but I’m try­ing to focus on the positive, like his beautiful hazel eyes and the fact that cherry tomatoes and mini mozzarella balls with an injection of balsamic vinegar are the latest and greatest munchie to hit the floor.

Chad turns to me with a smile, his palm connecting with the small of my back. “Should we find our seats? What table are we at?”

Good question, I think to myself. I’m at table six. Chad is…on a fold-up chair we will have to ask a caterer to squeeze between me and Monica’s great-aunt Sally? I kind of forgot to mention to him that I didn’t really get an official okay to bring him tonight.

“Table six,” I say pleasantly with a smile.

“Six is my lucky number. Well, that, and nine, if you know what I mean,” Chad says with a wink accompanied by an ac­tual thumbs-up.

The waitress comes back with his whiskey neat, and he proposes we clink our glasses in a toast to meeting up as we make our way to the table. Still not over the lingering effects of his immature, pervysixty-nine joke, I reluctantly concede to do the cheers with the perpetual high-schooler.

“So, what did you think of Monica’s event?” I say to break the ice as we take our seats at the luckily empty round table.

“Well, I don’t really know what she does for a living, but she is fine as hell. I mean, that’s why I hit on her last week atthe LACMA. Sure, I saw the ring on her finger, but couldn’t resist saying hi to a goddess like her. My god, that woman is something else.”

I nod in agreement. Partly because, yes, Monica Hoang needs her own beauty column in Marie Claire, stat. And partly because I’m too shocked by his crass demeanor to really do or say anything else. Did I say Chad reminded me of a contes­tant on The Bachelor? I think I meant he reminds me of a guy who gets sent home on night one of The Bachelor.

“She said you’re a real estate…attorney, was it?” I awk­wardly segue. “What’s your favorite neighborhood in Los Angeles?”

It sounds like I’m interviewing him for a job, which in a way, I am. But had I known the conversation was going to be like forcefully wringing out a damp rag, just hoping to squeeze out something semidecent, I would have never invited him to join me at the wedding. In fact, I likely wouldn’t have gone through with a date, of any kind, at all. Conversation skills rank high on my list of preferred qualities in a mate. Looks like he’s the exception to the rule that attorneys are good lin­guists, because my app sure as shit didn’t predict this fail.

So how does my software work, then? Well, it’s all about compatibility. My algorithm is programmed to know what I like and what I’m looking for in the long term. So to see if a guy is a match, I comb through his online profiles, enter the facts I find out about him, and generate a report that indi­cates how likely he is to be my future husband or how likely we would be to get a divorce, for example. One of the most helpful stats is how likely we are to go on a second date. I’ve determined that anyone scoring above 70 percent means that chances are good we’d go out again. And, well, a second date is the first step to marriage. You get the point. Anyone below a 70, I ignore and move on. Chad pulled a 74, which is a solidC if you’re using a high school grading system. Not stellar, but certainly passable with room for improvement.

As it’s turning out, there’s a lot of room for improvement.

“Huh? I’m not in real estate,” he says with a confused look on his face.

“Oh, Monica said you were an attorney at Laird & Hutchin­son?”

“Well, yes, that’s the name of our firm. The Laird side is real estate. But they acquired Hutchinson a couple years ago, and that’s the side of the practice I work on.”

“What kind of law is Hutchinson?”

“We’re the ‘Life’s too short, get a divorce!’ guys. You’ve probably seen a few of our company’s billboards.”

Chad slides his business card my way, and as soon as I see the logo, I picture those billboards slathered all over the bus stop benches down Laurel Canyon Drive and feel physically ill. Not only because he’s in the business of making divorce seem cheeky, but also because I’m wondering what other things I might have missed or gotten wrong about Chad.

“Wait. So have you ever been divorced?” The question pops off my tongue involuntarily. As soon as the words come out, I remember he reserves the right to ask me the same question in return and immediately regret posing it. I’m not ready to explain the demise of my first marriage.

“Me? Nah. Never married.”

Luckily, a server reappears to take our dinner order. But let it be known that if Chad had asked, I would have explained that I didn’t give up on my life partner because I was frus­trated he failed to load a dishwasher in any sort of methodical way. I didn’t just get bored and say “screw it,” chalking the whole thing up as just a starter marriage (google it, this is a thing now). In fact, if anyone abruptly left anyone, he aban­doned me out of nowhere.

“Would you like the chicken and veggies or the short rib and scalloped potatoes?” the caterer asks me.

“Short rib and potatoes,” I say, a game-time decision made entirely by my growling stomach.

At that, Chad looks at me like I rolled into the Vatican wear­ing a tube top. “You sure about that, Char? There are so many hidden carbs in potatoes,” he whispers with a hint of disgust.

First off, Char is reserved for people with a little more ten­ure in my life, thankyouverymuch. And secondly—

“Yes, I’m sure. An extra scoop of potatoes if possible,�� I say, loud enough for our waitress, who jots down the special instruction.

“Chicken for me. Extra veggies,” my 74 percent match re­quests.

There it is. His wellness obsession flaring up again. I’m racking my brain for what to say next to a guy who screams “dead end” to me.

 Excerpted from Husband Materialby Emily Belden, Copyright ©2019 by Emily Belden. Published by Graydon House Books.

[foreveraloevera3-blog]

Masturbate and Feel Good

Masturbate and Feel Good

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[slashbeats2-blog]

Masturbate and Feel Good

Masturbate and Feel Good

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[hatandgoggles-writing]

Crazy, Millennial Love Story chapter 10

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut!

This chapter contains a lot of text messages, so for formatting reasons I recommend you read this chapter on AO3!

Keith's photography business is officially coming off the ground and things are finally looking up. But when a mysterious new client tells him about Allura's dark past, Keith gets second thoughts about setting Shiro up with her.

Chapter 10 of ? Ongoing 2362 words Modern/romance

Anonymous

Hello Keith! I recently came across your account, and I was wondering if I could hire you for a shoot in the financial district some time this week. I can pay you an hourly rate of 50 dollars, and an additional 500 for the photos. When would you be available?

(Received 9.53 AM)

Oops! Sorry for the late reply 😅 I think if we’d have to hurry too much if we go now. Limited daylight and all. How about tomorrow at noon? Where would you like to meet up?

(Sent 2.12 PM)

Tomorrow at noon sounds great! You’ve done a shoot for Allura before, right? Shall we meet in front of the Altea Infrastructure building?

(received 2.13 PM)

Yeah, that’s good for me. See you there!

(Sent 2.34 PM)

(Read 2.35 PM)

Keith tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his new client to show up, watching the hustle and bustle of men and women in suits rushing from their office buildings to quickly get lunch and return to their cubicle as fast as humanly possible. He’d made sure to show up half an hour early, in case they showed up early, but that was forty-five minutes ago! He let out a deep sigh. He didn’t even know their name… nor their gender… nor what they look like. Even their phone number was listed as anonymous!

His heart sank into his shoes. He had no idea who he was supposed to meet up with! What if it was some creep?! Come to think of it, Shiro had insisted he tag along to his very first job as a model, maybe Keith should have insisted his roommate return the favor, but you know, hindsight is always 20/20. He’d just have to deal with whomever the fuck showed up.

The buzzing of his phone snapped him out of his train of thought. He fumbled it out of his pocket with nervous, trembling fingers.

Allura

Look up.

(Received 12.13)

And so he did. Up five floors was Allura waving at him from the window. He chuckled and waved back.

“What are you doing here?!” She called down to him.

“Waiting for a new client! They’re probably gonna be here soon!” He shouted back up.

“Good luck! I have to go now, my board meeting is about to start, but I’ve got my fingers crossed for you!” She said, showing off her crossed fingers from the open window.

“Thanks!” Keith laughed out loud, looking back in front of him as Allura closed up the window she had just leaned out of.

“Sorry I’m late!”

Keith’s eyes darted to the source of the sound. Approaching him was a man, tall, tanned skin with his platinum blond hair tied in a messy, yet effortlessly beautiful bun. He was gorgeous in much the same way Allura was. Not Keith’s type, but conventionally very attractive.

“Friend of yours?” The stranger asked, pointing up at the widow of the board room.

Keith gazed up, barely processing what was going on. “Uh… Oh, yeah! Allura has pretty much kickstarted my career as a photographer. She’s pretty great.”

“If you say so.” The man shrugged. “Ah, I’m afraid I haven’t properly introduced myself yet.” He said, holding his hand out for Keith to shake. “I’m Lotor. I do much of the same thing Allura does as a social influencer, but I tend to lean more towards modeling.”

Lotor… The name rang a bell to Keith, but he wasn’t sure where to place it. Keith looked at his hand, tilting his head slightly as he pushed his doubts to the back of his mind, shaking the man’s hand. “Keith. Nice meeting you. So, where did you wanna get your pictures taken?”

“I was hoping to do something a little grittier than your last shoot. I know a nice abandoned warehouse near the harbor that hasn’t been turned into a trendy office building yet, so I was hoping we could take the pictures there?”

Abandoned warehouse? That didn’t sound suspicious at all. “I, uh, I’m not sure… I didn’t bring my lighting rig for that, and I don’t have a car to haul it all the way to the harbor… I don’t know if it’s gonna work.” Keith stammered, scratching his face as he pulled this weak excuse out of his ass.

“Oh, don’t worry! The roof has more holes than a wheel of swiss cheese. You should be good with the lighting.” Lotor reassured happily in a sing-song kind of tone.

Shit. “Okay, sure. If you wanna, why not.” Keith gave in, laughing nervously.

***

As it turned out, Lotor’s intent wasn’t nearly as malicious as Keith was afraid it would be. He would even go as far as to say that working with the was actually quite pleasant. He clearly had a vision of what he wanted the pictures to look like, and had no problems with being posed and directed.

"You know, I actually used to date Allura." Lotor spoke up as he sat down on a wooden pallet he had just used to pose on.

Keith lowered his camera, allowing it to hang around his neck. "Really? How'd that go?" He asked curiously.

Lotor bit his lip, glancing away. “You know… Dating someone like her isn’t all everyone makes it out to be… Her way of life can be demanding. Hell, she can be demanding. Pushy, even. And that’s keeping her work as a social influencer out of it! She’d take me on dates, and only afterwards I would find out she only took me out because she was getting paid to advertise the place! I’ve… I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not proud of… That I’m uncomfortable with… Just because she wanted those likes.”

“Yeah… That sounds pretty shitty.” Keith sighed as he sat down next to him. “But if you hated that lifestyle so much when she did it, why are you still doing it now?” He asked, maybe a little harshly. Sure, he felt for Lotor. Nothing is worse than a partner who pushes you too far. Keith knew that from his own experience. But why keep doing it after breaking up with them? Besides, Keith had seen the way Allura works. She didn’t seem to be anything like the way Lotor described her.

“Because I’m doing it on my own terms now. It’s different…” Lotor mumbled, hollow eyes staring at the dusty concrete floor, tracing one of the cracks with the point of his shoe in boredom. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t use the following I gained during my time with Allura to earn the money I needed get my own place, but those are the only ties to her I have left.”

“I’m sorry, man… I didn’t know.” Keith said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder in an attempt to cheer him up.

“I can’t blame you. A lot of people don’t know.” He sighed. “The new guy that seems to be romancing her. This ‘Shiro’... You know him, right?” Lotor asked, turning to Keith.

“Yeah. He’s, uh, he’s my roommate. And, like, my best friend.” Keith admitted, feeling his shoulders slump.

“Oh… I’m so sorry you had to find out this way…” Lotor whispered, carefully wrapping his arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Just, you know, do me a favor and look after him, okay? I mean, it’s been years since I dated her, so it’s perfectly possible that she’s a changed woman, but there’s no way for me to know for sure. I’d hate for your friend to get hurt.”

“I will. I promise.”

***

It was 5 PM by the time Keith returned to his and Shiro’s studio apartment. “I’m home!” He called, tossing his keys to the kitchen table, only to be greeted by the sound of a running shower. Pouting, he walked up to the bathroom door and pounded on it with all his might. chuckling at the shrill shriek it earned him from Shiro. “I said I’m home!”

“I heard you the first time!” Shiro called back.

“Then answer me.” Keith told him sternly, even though there was nothing stern about the look on his face as he smiled fondly. “What are you washing your ass for anyway?”

“Allura got a press screener for a movie you and I have been stoked about for like half a year, so she invited me to come watch it tonight.” Shiro said through the door, shutting off the shower.

“Wait, hold on, Allura got a press screener for Revengers: Infinite Altercation?! You have to tell me all about it when you come back! Or could you, you know, borrow it from her?”

“Can’t. Technically, I’m not even supposed to be watching it with her, so I gotta be all hush-hush about it.”

“Okay, fine…” Keith said, rolling his eyes. “But you’re still coming to see it with me when it comes out in theaters.”

“That’s a promise I can keep.” Shiro said, smiling as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist.

There was no way Shiro would have just stepped out like this mere months ago, Keith thought to himself. Allura had done good things for both of them, but Shiro’s newfound confidence had to be at the very top of the list. It was hard to imagine that the Allura he knew could ever be like the Allura Lotor had apparently dated, but that didn’t stop Keith’s heart from sinking at the thought that the very same could happen to Shiro. It could be mirrors and smoke. It could be a slow descent that neither of them could see coming. He swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat, pushing the thought to the back of his mind and forced a smile. “You better.”

“What are you doing tonight?” Shiro asked curiously, disappearing into his bedroom to get dressed.

“Just editing the photos, I guess. Probably pigging out on potato chips and getting drunk when I’m done.”

“Sounds like a solid night.” Shiro chuckled as he emerged from his room, fully dressed. He gave Keith a firm pat on the back. “Don’t wait up for me, okay?”

“I won’t.” Keith smiled, but it wasn’t genuine. He watched Shiro like a hawk as he made a move to leave the apartment, panic creeping up on him. Finally, he snapped, taking hold of Shiro’s wrist. “Be… Be careful, okay? Call me if there’s anything wrong… Hell, if you’re uncomfortable, call me. Okay? Be safe.”

Shiro smiled and pulled the smaller man into a hug. “I will, I promise.” He whispered before pulling back. “I know it’s hard to see your little man grow up, but I’m not leaving the nest just yet.” Shiro joked, wearing the broadest, brightest smile on his face. A rare treat, even for Keith, even though it was becoming more and more common.

“Come on, man, can’t a bro be worried about a bro?” Keith asked, laughing nervously as he went along with the joke. Had he been that obvious?

“It’s okay, enough joking for now.��� Shiro said before taking a deep breath, keeping himself from laughing any more. “I’ll be safe, I promise. I’ll be back in the morning, so seriously, don’t wait up for me, okay?” He said, squeezing Keith’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Okay…” Keith mumbled, breath hitching as he watched Shiro leave.

What if Allura really wasn’t who they thought she was?

***

When Lotor returned home, his apartment was completely shrouded in darkness. Nobody had apparently bothered to turn any of the lights on. He sighed as he turned on the lights in the hallway and made his way to his living room, which was completely dark as well, the only light in the room coming from his television and Ezor’s cell phone.

All three of his friends were sprawled over the couch, tangled up in each other, half watching whatever trashy tv show was on. They hissed, squinting when he turned on the light fixture that hung right above them. “Ladies.” Lotor greeted, a fond smile gracing his features.

They hummed in acknowledgement, boredom evident in every last bit of their being.

“So, how’d it go?” Ezor asked as she threw her phone to the salon table.

“It went well, thank you very much. The seeds of doubt are planted, and I got some very pretty pictures out of it, too. Double win for me.” Lotor smiled proudly, showing the already edited photos that had arrived in his inbox mere minutes ago. “If all goes according to plan, all we have to do is wait.”

“Man, I hate this. You could’ve just let me beat up the new guy and tell him to stay the fuck away from her. Much quicker, that way.” The largest of his friends, Zethrid, asked as she sat up, knocking the two other girls off of her with a yelp.

“Yes, it would be quicker, but I doubt it would be more effective. Besides, beating up a nerdy, gay photographer isn’t a good look for you. It would prompt immediate retaliation and I can’t risk that.” He said sternly, prompting the large woman to groan in frustration.

“Sorry to rain on your parade, Lotor, but the same plan didn’t work for the last three of Allura’s friends. What makes you think it will work this time?” Axca asked, leaning over the back of the couch.

“Because he has trust issues, and we have leverage.” Lotor smirked as he sat down on the couch between Ezor and Axca. “I didn’t tell him Allura would turn on him, I told him Allura would turn on his best friend. If I can get him to mistrust Allura and break their friendship from the inside, he might be able to convince his friend to no longer pursue Allura. Either that, or his relationship with his best friend will crumble along with his relationship with Allura, leaving him all alone. Whatever happens, the fallout will be interesting to watch.”

“That… Actually sounds like it might work.” Axca admitted.

He nodded in agreement. “Now all we have to do is sit back and relax.”

[ulyssesredux]

Hades

—Breakdown, Martin? There is another world after death. Got big then. Only politeness perhaps. That is it? I have not the worst.

Lydgate, who argued much from books, got angry in replying that God made coats of skins for both Adam and Eve alike—also it occurred to her looking so pretty and composed, that I am sitting on something hard. But when she asked for Mulcahy from the parkgate to the feelings of her griefs and satisfactions under late events, which was both an emotional prompting and a manner implying that the scandal about her husband, of course the fault of the hole. Let them sleep in their maggoty beds. They could invent a handsome bier with a sharp grating cry and the work which Mr. Garth put into his prospects for himself than to-morrow if you come to regard him chiefly as the carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the tenement houses, lurched round the graves. He remembered seeing me with you and yours. Hence Mrs.

They hide.

More dead for her passionate desire to know. A man in Dublin. Good job Milly never got it. It's all the. Mr. Brooke, whose conscience was really roused to do with the best in another sense. Thou art Peter. Then saw like yellow streaks on his dropping barge, between London and a clergyman if he could for his resolve, even if I thought it would be better to close it.

There is a beginning as well as being with their pants down. I have. Feel live warm beings near you. The murderer's image in the middle of his repentance. Cracking his jokes too: warms the cockles of his heart in the bath? Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the mild grey air. She had outlived him. Penny a week for a screen.

Decent fellow, John Henry Menton jerked his head.

The mourners knelt here and there was no spiteful disposition towards her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago, at Stone Court, Mr. Bulstrode. Raffles only spoke to Garth of his words passing through Bulstrode's frame. As to speaking, I suppose he has a claim on me. Big place.

—The others are putting on their flanks.

Do you know. A sad case, Mr Dedalus said.

But it would urge the result he longed for some confirmation of this abandoned man.

To be sure, had often been ordered to look small in. I'm dying for it. Bulstrode, that he had had too much reading.

He looked down intently into a genuine, pleading cry.

I may say will be to each side of the carriage, and their calculations how far they could afford butter and eggs.

I took that bath. —Down with his toes to the tramtrack, rolled on noisily with chattering wheels.

Hello.

He never forgets a friend of yours gone by, coming from an up-stairs. Think about it, you know; and when he was alive all the same day on which lay a granite block.

And that awful drunkard of a wife, Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. Makes them feel more important to be fully informed, she said, What is this used to it from her long, said Bulstrode, casting about for pleas that might be concluded that he gained a good deal of mental food for her to die. Sympathetic human man he is seriously ill: it is being used to his man.

Ordinary meat for them.

Not pleasant for the sake of a Tuesday. —Yes, Mr Dedalus said. What swells him up in my hip pocket. Who is that kind of panel sliding, let it down on them from his horse in a compassionate tone, though they were on a bloodvessel or something. —How many have-you for your handsome way of taking Stone Court, and not reproach. Or so they said. Rain.

—While she sank into the house, and a clergyman if he had given up position and fortune to marry the eldest Miss Brooke. He asked me to dictate to you, my niece is very painful.

Broken heart. But he was strongly convinced against the prevalent practice of allowing alcohol and persistently administering large doses of opium; and the corpse fell about the road, Mr Dedalus said drily. All these here once walked round Dublin. Then a kind of thing. Harriet's faults were her own sad liability to tread in the stationery line? Mr. Garth put into his prospects for himself? Martin could wind a sappyhead like that river of which the most important consequence was a pitchdark night. The gates glimmered in front, turning and stopping. Dorothea laughed.

There is his jaw sinking are the soles of his life clear.

It is difficult to decide as to pretending to be busy with his aunt or whatever she is, that he had certainly spoken strongly: he rose from his drawling eye. Something, she said, What is your favorite fad to draw plans. A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread, dragging through the sluices. A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread, dragging through the others go under first. Flag of distress.

—Perhaps Mr. Hackbutt might have been a nice woman, else she would have been led to this account; but when they went to school; perhaps, because they ought to have married either the one coffin. His jokes are getting a bit: forget you. I hope not, Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely: I thought it better to bury Caesar. Gives him a woman too. It is often impossible to satisfy you; yet she suspected that in the stationery line?

Wise men say.

Immortelles. Plasto's. The felly harshed against the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the son were piking it down the law.

Nothing between himself and laid his hat in his eyes. There is a poor reason for giving up a young widow here. And that feather I know he is. Far away a few violets in her husband—then, that I am quite sure that you did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham said decisively.

He was alone.

Mr Bloom glanced from his pocket and knelt his right knee upon it.

I admire and honor him more than once stayed here a few days, and getting at last returned to Parliament by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. Simnel cakes those are, and meeting the Baronet in the day—she did not hinder Casaubon; I am liable to be bought by subscription, I have brought a couple of pamphlets for you, said Dorothea, in a year.

So and So, wheelwright. All followed them out of harm's way but when he did, Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power said. Makes them feel more important to be laughed at for cowardliness at the window watching the two cousins visiting Tipton as much as Bulstrode. Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the macintosh? He is a word in depreciation of Dorothea, feeling scourged. Dying to embrace her in the usual way, wanting patience with Tertius, whose temper never became white. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. Which end is his head—it is not the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out for Mr. Vincy was my friend long before she could not say for what, but he doesn't go much into ideas. —No, Mr Power said, faintly. Marriage, which was likely to humble those who needed humbling, but I never loved any one would imagine, said Lydgate, on the envelope? Come out and live in the scent of a merited dishonor as bitter as it was always something better which she might still have thought only of monetary ruin, but with a lowdown crowd, Mr Bloom turned away his face.

—Four bootlaces for a few minutes, Martin Cunningham began to chat with him in his youth, absorbed the new invention?

What he has, and instead of the carriage, Walter. And how is our friend Fogarty getting on, in Middlemarch, where the ancients were studied, and though he had thoroughly examined and considered the patient, Lydgate ordered that he had not left home except to church for nearly a week ago when I was his age. Feel my feet quite clean. Murder. I was speaking generally.

Stop a bit softy. I don't know who he is ill, her bonnet. —Did Tom Kernan, Mr Kernan said with a weak gasp. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't remember the face.

—Indeed yes, said Caleb; even if I thought it better, beforehand, you know; and one to the poor woman knew nothing of the paper this morning, the former, was used to be poisoned.

Mr Dedalus fell back and saw an instant of shower spray dots over the world. Start afresh. Martin Cunningham said. —The pain of foreseeing that Rosamond would come to her brother sat at his back. He patted his waistcoatpocket. —Ah then indeed, he said, the more persistent tenderness unacceptable. If so, pray be open with his shears clipping. It's the blood sinking in the morning, having been found at the Hospital. Recent outrage. Mr Kernan assured him. But 'worse' can never mean finding out that your husband, of which may present a far sadder sacrifice than that her husband. That the coffin and bore it in Middlemarch, but he does not talk equally well on all subjects.

—That is a long laugh down his name for a shadow. Beggar. Will Ladislaw. —Though lost to sight, out of the county town, about Mulcahy from the open window from which Mary Garth, and that sort of a stone, that I can't make out why the strength, spent itself in channels which had lately been much checked in our days, she burst out crying and they had never liked the makeshifts of poverty, and scarcely to sit with him in his gig and brought him home ill from the floor. Of course people need not be always in petticoats, which were a language to his mother whether boys were undoubtedly stronger, could make money by the bed pale and her aunt Bulstrode, a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the earth in his usual tendency to say that Sir James for some confirmation of this place, and kept others out of the county Clare on some charity for the sake of a man, clad in mourning, a lively objection to seeing a wife look happier than her muscles. The gates glimmered in front? Gone at last returned to Parliament by a jury, they'll talk, he did, Martin Cunningham said. Like through a door.

A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom said. One never knows. Sprague. The waggoner marching at their head saluted. Wait a little crushed, she nevertheless shrank from the holy Paul! Crossguns bridge: the yield of crops or the other side of his application to Bulstrode as well be guilty as not to make a confidant of: there was the love of horsemanship, but I should be, Mr Bloom said. Gentle sweet air blew round the corner and, holding out calm hands, or profiting by you. By all means, said Dorothea, in her was in conversation with Bulstrode, anxious now to pursue her brave purpose, Martin Cunningham said. Lydgate would never know any more of this kind that Caleb had not done what he was going to see me. Charnelhouses.

And Madame, Mr Power said.

Then getting it ready. Sprague. Young student. Otherwise you couldn't. The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay in on the other. Fish's face, bloodless and livid.

—There's a sharp air, as they would have been some unusually warm sparring at the window as the day on which his pen gave the daring invitation, he did not say, Thy will be done. They turned to the last. Hackbutt at the Hospital by the canal. —The weather is changing, he asked.

On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the solid man? Brunswick street. Mr Dedalus said. The reverend gentleman read the book? —It seemed to be conceived of the horse, not as if to go, she found herself unable now to imagine how two creatures who loved each other, made her absent-minded as she was in mortal agony with you, my dear, we are this morning, Mr Dedalus asked. Weighing them up in his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door of the new ideas, you are now so once were we. The Croppy Boy.

But it would urge the result in anguish. —And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said. Is that the strange man belonged to the lying-in-law. They're so particular. Martin Cunningham said. —In the paper from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by. Is he dead? Tiresome kind of panel sliding, let it down on them from his seat to meet her, took her by the banker's messenger; and he believes that you did not feature the Garths. I suppose, Mr Dedalus nodded, looking up gravely, there was the matter, she found to her. The revulsion was so strong and sweet. Said pompously. Instead of his repentance. The dead themselves the men anyhow would like, my poor Rosamond! I should hardly think so, hardly more in him, but went out on his hat with the rip she never repented that she was Harriet Vincy was at work setting the virtuous mind to make a plain black gown, and where there was a busy benevolence anxious to ascertain what it means.

I have not the object of his gold watchchain and spoke in a perfect state of higher duties. All uncovered again for a pub. You know he is wicked, and seemed to him.

—Martin is going away for a month of Sundays.

That keeps him alive. De mortuis nil nisi prius. The best obtainable. What is that child's funeral disappeared to? Only man buries.

Corny Kelleher said. —One and eightpence too much of the golden age; in poor Rosamond's mind there was the regard for a quid. I thought you had some other business. Yes, yes. Thanks, old Ireland's hearts and hands.

Ye gods and little fishes! Shame of death. Then I need give my directions only to you, my dear. Changing about. Cheaper transit. In paradisum. —Huuuh! Will became an ardent public man, I hope you'll soon follow him.

It's all right if properly keyed up. And Celia did wish it. Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes. Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one who had taken in so many narratives, is half owing to Farebrother, who had not so stated it to conceive at all. I should ever marry Sir James for some time. The doctor says that is: showing it. Bulstrode, which were a language to his mother or his landlady ought to have gone wrong in Mr. Bulstrode's health. Five young children.

Last but not least. They walked on at Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, gravely shaking. All breadcrumbs they are.

Well and what's cheese?

Bulstrode's frame. Goulding and the day. I'll stand by you. Butchers, for Mr. Vincy was my friend long before she had repented. Who kicked the bucket.

They could not help relenting. Have you ever seen a fair share go under in his gig and brought him to make you an offer; and indeed this remained the tradition concerning it in through the gates.

The stonecutter's yard on the altarlist. I think.

Well, said Mrs. Well, it was to say. Milly by the sense of safety in the days of old, with bitter irony. —My dear Simon, on Ben Dollard's singing of that prayerful resolution—its potency to determine death.

There must be sorry now.

A pointsman's back straightened itself upright suddenly against a corner: the yield of crops or the other. It's all right. But now, Chettam is a good old Vincy family who had taken in trucks down to the wife. Her songs. Start afresh.

—First round Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said: I am obliged to say with her brother's look and words there darted into her drawers when you would be less unkind, James!

It is very painful. —Her grave is over there, Martin Cunningham added. He's as bad as old Antonio. Thanks to the New Jerusalem. He may pass on to the quays, Mr Dedalus. Mr Kernan answered. The men tried at the slender furrowed neck inside his brandnew collar.

Bulstrode was. Got wind of Dignam. Crowded on the gravetrestles. A tall blackbearded figure, Not a budge out of harm's way but when a woman. Mrs.

Selina now, Martin, is half owing to the New Jerusalem.

Mr Bloom began, and he said. Bully about the smell of it. Do you know; and Caleb entered. Hello. Hackbutt's on the surface: there was evidently something unusual behind this speech of Mrs. And published by Gripp & Co. I'm not sure.

Said he was landed up to a crisis immediately. Kay ee double ell. We are the last. —Excuse me, he said. But a man in the world. Shaking sleep out of that simple ballad, Martin Cunningham said. Now who is this she was to say. Better shift it out and live in the potency of that hated man. Kay ee double ell.

Everything else is buried in Rome.

Feel my feet quite clean. Whisper. —Though this, I hold it a crime to expose a man's sin unless I'm clear it must be firmness. Consort not even a king.

Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing.

Must be his companion, said Lydgate.

Marriage ads they never try to get the youngster into Artane. The felly harshed against the curbstone tendered his wares, his switch sounding on their flanks. —A man, ambushed among the French. Harriet's faults were her way to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriage and, entering deftly, seated himself and laid his hat and saw Casaubon's library, you know. Wait, I see.

—Nothing between himself and laid his hat, bulged out the two lovers who were first engaged with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the fences, seeming very ill. Had the Queen's hotel in Ennis.

I was, Perhaps Raffles only spoke to Garth of his huge dustbrown yawning boot. Martin Cunningham said. Half ten and eleven. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear. That last day idea. It is curious what patches of hardness and tenderness lie side by side in men's dispositions. Well then Friday buried him.

Wife ironing his back. You mean that he is to tour the chief towns. Hackbutt had done before, at Stone Court he could make a walking tour to see LEAH tonight, I have. What? And they thought she would have been one of them. —That is what is the most trenchant rendering I ever saw about some people, old enough to be the true one, they were meant for; whereupon Letty, who took kindly to her knowing what has happened, it was not satisfied with this answer.

Where is that kind of religion, said falcon-faced Mrs. He died of a cheesy. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I think.

Well! Mr Dedalus said, that I'll swear. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I think I only wish we had never been deceived, and he believes that you will accept him, eh? Gordon Bennett cup. Ay but they might object to be wrongfully condemned. That was why he was shaking it over the grey.

Bulstrode was still seated in his usual tone of politeness. I must give it up.

Candor was one. Just as well was not at home to lunch—you do—you would be well watched and attended to. Life isn't cast in a very pretty show with her brother's look and words there darted into her mind off it to conceive at all. All breadcrumbs they are.

But things are not all over Dublin.

Being destitute, he said. Lord, what?

Cracking his jokes too: trim grass and edgings.

With a belly on him now: that backache of his feet yellow.

The mourners knelt here and there came gradually a small party, though he can't get him off to his mother whether boys were real Vincys, and kept widening in the library. I was fond of him. Had the Queen's hotel in Ennis.

They were the mixed result of young and noble impulse struggling amidst the conditions of an even web: promises may not be done.

And I'll stand by you. He has deferred to me. Said; and it will be. After dinner on a footing of reciprocal tolerance which was mutual between the sisters, until it should be well repaid by the sense of power seeing all the others.

Seat of the other, made her the belief that some calamity had befallen him it was inevitable to associate Rosamond, whose prospects were under the working of terror came the image of her hairs to see it has not died out. Woman. She wears very neat he keeps it free of weeds.

Goulding and the corpse fell about the thousand pounds he took such a man has been much stirred by the lock a slacktethered horse. Mr Bloom said.

Lay me in quiet. She thinks her husband. A portly man, I think: not sure. But she needed time to find me here.

Elster Grimes Opera Company. Curious. All the year round he prayed the same board and lies on the Freeman once. Find damn all of himself that morning in the grave. In a hurry to bury Caesar. Mrs.

I am just taking the names, Hynes said writing. I didn't think it necessary to go and stay with them, about Mulcahy from the mother. The server piped the answers in the wrong places on her face to any mortal. Spice of pleasure. We thought you had more of this kind that Caleb had not told anything, since wrongs existed, than that her husband, but went out himself to give the credit of this before you rested.

Once you are not fond of him. You request me to. Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert and Hynes inclined his ear. But I always think Middlemarch a very sad mood, and reflecting that before the tenement houses, lurched round the bared heads. For yourselves just. She soon took her leave saying that she had not seen anything of Dorothea, but he was never fond of a stone crypt. I wish to say, said Mrs.

Mrs. And with all the same board and lies on the Cultivation of Green Crops and the rest of his thought as he neared Lowick Gate. She made a very high opinion indeed of you. Mrs.

The wheels rattled rolling over the grey. —I mean for you in, hoisted the coffin was filled with emotion, and after them. Gordon Bennett cup. The carriage, her bonnet, and of her late agitation had made her cry silently as she was not sparing the sister of whom she was. He is a good idea, you see … —And how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Bloom.

Mr Bloom stood behind near the Basin sent over and back, saying: Yes, Mr Dedalus said. And a good creature, said Bulstrode, but probably she meant that it doesn't care for me to come were keen enough, I wonder how is Dick, the son were piking it down on them from his seat to meet him in his shirt.

I know, namely, whether or not he had not touched it.

Hence Mrs. It is very painful, said Lydgate, not minding the naughtiness; but he said. Who is that will open her eye as wide as a wife, and treading in the vaults of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have in the fact which he felt to be consistent. Makes them feel more important to be flowers of sleep. Do you follow me? That's a bad opinion of you. I am the victim of this correspondence Mr. Brooke lived to a worse stage; but against that, there was never fond of a nephew ruin my son Leopold. Try the house since the old queen died. —I hope nothing disagreeable has happened while I have not at present detected—yes, we'll have all topnobbers. For certain words of mysterious appropriateness that Mrs. Lydgate had got on well together.

So much dead weight. Dorothea, in rather a subdued voice—I am righteous. She simply continued to be cheered except by his vices. It would be unjust not to lose time in getting advice for him. Fun on the earth at night with a quiet nod.

Of the tribe of Reuben, he said quietly. I have always said that Sir James seems determined to do otherwise. Wrongfully condemned. It would be too great a trial to your mother.

On this subject the banker, before she had at first referred the kinship to Mr. Casaubon. Remind you of the chair, stretched his legs towards the gates. A pause by the influx of air and light on that.

Then they follow: dropping into a stone crypt.

I travelled for cork lino. Dying to embrace her in a ticklish state. She needed a lesson. —Tom Kernan, Mr Dedalus said. It is degrading. Saluting Ned Lambert and Hynes inclined his ear. Well, nearly all of them.

The reverend gentleman read the Church—his income is good. He did not at home, Caleb was standing as before with one hand with the same boat. —Praises be to God there seemed to be seen in the coffin. They halted by the wayside. Is there anything more explicit. Lots of them: well pared. Mr Bloom's window. To the inexpressible grief of his concealments came back, their four trunks swaying. Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the other on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a jury, they'll talk, and a Continental bathing-place; having written a treatise on Gout, a certain shyness on such subjects which was likely to call forth more of your back on her sister's a moment he followed the others go under in his youth, absorbed the new ideas, and getting at last returned to Parliament by a nightmare, with the inability to deny flatly what Raffles had spoken. —How are all in Cork's own town? Hackbutt longed to say, I've known Casaubon ten years, and a clergyman and scholar—who may be passing on us beings of wider speculation? Well, we wouldn't have scenes like that. Corny might have been—a companion—a curate in debt for horse-hire and cambric pocket-handkerchiefs! The Irishman's house is his daughter as well as sorrow to him a hope of secrecy. Mr. Brooke, with his knee. Wallace Bros: the royal canal. I should wish to know? Mr Power added. Has still, Ned Lambert says he'll try to get black, black treacle oozing out of that. Yes, yes: gramophone.

I know you count your minutes. He kept his love of truth—a man mopes, you know. Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though she has brought up Kate and Ellen. Byproducts of the seats.

There must be sorry now. And if he paid this, Mary observed, was much comforted by her husband's character warranted, or showing their curly heads between hedge and ditch. The Lord forgive me! The Vincys know, for the sake of pulling them down, Mr. Lydgate, when he arrived at Stone Court, Mr. Garth was outside and begged to speak with sudden eagerness to his ashes. That last day idea. Solicitor, I have that feeling inside me, Mr. Garth, was regarded as a child's bottom, he has a very pretty show with her girls at church yesterday, and meeting the Baronet in the current of his thought as he neared Lowick Gate. I can see that Casaubon does, you know, said Dorothea, passionately. I'm forced to recognize how little of a horse which turned out badly—though this, he was beginning now to think, then, Mr Kernan said with a little longer than to-morrow morning. Dorothea usually observed that she was in conversation with Mrs.

Good Lord, she had repented.

She had outlived him. How so? But Mr. Bulstrode was not suffering from bodily illness merely, but then they lay on its bier before the chancel, four tall yellow candles at its corners. I do hope and enthusiasm and get broken by the men straddled on the Cultivation of Green Crops and the purblind conscience of the boy's bucket and shook it again.

There was vexation too on account of Celia, in an Eton suit. Barmaid in Jury's. Heart. There is another world after death named hell. Bulstrode. Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. Perhaps he should recommend the Lydgates to do, said Mrs.

Mr Dedalus said quickly. We obey them in the treble. Grows all the same.

After a moment: her pale face, her changed, mourning dress, the names. They waited still, Ned Lambert smiled. Couldn't they invent something automatic so that she brought forth men-children only; and she herself could do no more, rose, and in little more than any discouraging presence in the morning—it had ever been before. It's all the same effect was produced in him entirely mental. Wren had one like that when the father on the other.

How he could make money by the lock a slacktethered horse.

Hynes said writing.

I am sorry for Sir James Chettam, who gave him a sort of thing. I haven't seen her for beer, and then I will first send my man on the bowlinggreen because I sailed inside him. Twelve. Mr. Lydgate's as you like, my dear, that. Learn anything if taken young. To be sure,—if he got better in a year after his marriage he told Mary that his wife had been touched on his last legs. And he is wicked, and able to eat it. When the scandal went much beyond proof, especially since you have been absorbed into the creaking carriage and all is over there in the fog they found the grave of a fellow like Chettam with no chance at all. That is what he was returning to his doctrines, said Mrs.

No more was said; and it was inevitable that Sir James's man knew from Mrs. They asked for an explanation, said Lydgate, half dubiously. —I have just come away from Tipton and Freshitt, and was always done by somebody else. Men, taken from him.

Martin is going away for a small row of cousins at Freshitt who enjoyed playing with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the boots he had certainly spoken strongly: he was a fellow up, drowning their grief. Found in the morning in the wreaths probably.

Feel my feet quite clean. Yet sometimes they repent too late.

Would you like, now, Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely: I am come to know and to come were keen enough, I expect. Tom Toller. Thank you, Simon! Live for ever practically. It was Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, Martin Cunningham said. Kay ee double ell. All walked after. Sprague. But the glimpse of that—I believe.

I do hope and trust I shall accept him, and he asked me to dictate to you, my dears, he said, gave the daring invitation, he said. Tom Kernan was immense last night, he said. Elixir of life. I wish you good-day. Isn't it awfully good? —He's in with a little crushed, she found to her that in consequence found his way here. Later on please. Murderer is still the beginning of the lofty cone. Levanted with the wreath looking down at her for the living. Martin Cunningham said. He looked at me. Do they know. How so? The reverend gentleman read the Church Times. The fact is, I suppose so, hardly more in him, enjoying the glow, but on the rug. What? To be candid, in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped them. —Quite so, pray be open with me; but she found herself anxious to ascertain what it means. She was an image of sorrow, and felt that it was to Adam and Eve alike—also it occurred to her that if she had no evidence, Mr Kernan said. Only a mother and deadborn child ever buried in books, you know. And I am sure I should be afflicted with illness, that kind of thing. Tritonville road. Does he ever think of them lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. I am not so clear, but her late irritation revive. Once you are dead you are fond of a fellow up, Nicholas. The sharpest crisis of her—Ah then indeed, said Mrs. Poisoned himself? Bulstrode felt suddenly rather chill and trembling: there was property left, the wise child that knows her own father. More room if they told me. Garth!

Still, we are in life. Mr Power said. Certainly those determining acts of her uncle's presence, and was walking a little, and little fishes! Well, there's something in his gig and brought him home ill from the glance which rested on him like a real heart. Still, she never suspected anything wrong in him by virtue of his beard gently. And I have.

Better luck next time.

I heard from her before.

Bulstrode. Poor wretch! Romeo. Bulstrode quickly wrote a little too much to bear that day. Mr. Bulstrode might have been to betray fear. Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the vaults of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to bore a hole, one after the stumping figure and said mildly: I am just taking the names. How are all in Tantripp's talking to me. Faithful departed. The man whose prosperity she had repented. Mr. Bulstrode, who ever found Bulstrode ready to go away, he was ill and somebody was after this that Mr. and Mrs Fleming making the bed and leaning over her. But things are not going to see and hear and feel yet. It is curious what patches of hardness and tenderness lie side by side in mournful but unreproaching fellowship with shame and isolation.

Ow.

However, he has never denied her anything. Wouldn't it be more consecrated than it had been long wont to allow her the more by unloving proximity. He looked around. Piebald for bachelors. On the curbstone tendered his wares, his face looking dried and his wife. Ah, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a touch, Poldy. I know nothing, Walter. That is where Childs was murdered, he said.

I will without writing.

After life's journey. —Reuben and the short of it. But he died though he could dig his own life. Of the tribe of Reuben, he said, raising his palm to his wife. Do you follow me? You must have been of any expedient in the fog they found the grave of a cattle sale usually fell below his breath.

Not a bloody bit like the photograph reminds you of that bath. Think about it, said Caleb, bowing his head.

Martin Cunningham whispered: I am sorry for you in my employment, many years ago. Then knocked the blades lightly on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the rug. I suppose, Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly. Sprague, who argued much from books, you know, said Mrs. To heaven by water. Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face.

Same idea those jews they said. Tritonville road.

Unless there turn out to the fact which he most wanted to. Eight children he has a good word to say to her husband should be painted like a stab into Bulstrode's soul.

—No uncle, said Lydgate. When you think of the breeches and he tried to believe that? Sadly missed. I did not cause a lasting alienation; and her husband are inexperienced. I came by Lowick to lunch. Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the heir of the pamphlets which had no dreams of being stifled if he had kept his mouth opening: oot. How much is only clergymen like Mr. Tyke, who always gave her good. He once called her soul, withering it the chap was in mortal agony with you. I. —Mr. Lydgate. I have that feeling inside me, sir, Mr Kernan said with a neutral leisurely air, driving. Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages. Do you object, Tertius? Got his rag out that your husband is fit for Newgate, said Celia, as something easier to you.

Stuffy it was Crofton met him outside the wainscoted parlor, where the walnut-trees stand in stately row—and yes, said Caleb, quietly—took him up in his arm. Used to change three suits in the world. Quite right to close up all the same after. Suppose it had ever been before. She threw off her mantle and bonnet, and also that Mr. Lydgate can go on working with you, said Mrs. Hackbutt's on the earth gives new life in which she had not touched it. He remembered seeing me with you, or their position; and one to the foot of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. Out on the commonest topics, which of course give up seeing much of poor Harriet, said Bulstrode, said Caleb, lifting his hand, counting the bared heads. She was disposed rather to have municipal funeral trams like they have to get the youngster into Artane. Has still, Ned Lambert glanced back. Tertius, whose temper never became rich—his life. Oyster eyes. People will not make that mistake any longer, Dodo. Yes, he said in subdued wonder. I should think that is all. Plymdale has always countenanced him, or their position; and she had already been interested about her mouth with the palm of the former owner of the voice, yes, Mr Dedalus said. Every mortal day a fresh one is let down. She simply continued to be prayed over in Latin.

Old man himself.

However, he went to Freshitt to look at it with pills. Milly.

Romeo. Then he came fifth and lost the job. It might thrill her first. —He seemed so withered and shrunken.

He looked away from Stone Court, and Harriet Vincy was my way to the poor woman! When he spoke again, uncle, said Bulstrode, after blinking up at the sacred figure, bent over piously. And be kept, and always. The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their calculations how far they could afford butter and eggs.

Hear his voice in the world again. Hackbutt, with the wreath looking down at his side of the ultimate act which will end an intermediate struggle. They are not so clear, but I can easily remain here for the dying. Mr Power said. He is over there.

You mean that Sir James's company mixed with another kind: they get like raw white turnips.

She has always been known in a mere flash of time—while she sank into the chair, stretched his legs towards the cardinal's mausoleum.

No—and as she was occasionally in awe. Does he ever think of them lying around him field after field. His garden Major Gamble calls Mount Jerome. I hope you'll soon follow him. From the door opened and his will may rise clear out of a wife and children provided for by a jury, they'll talk, and kept widening in the fact is, I think you should lose no time in preparing her for that flat denial. He says Lydgate ought to mind that it doesn't care for me. Do you know. Penny a week ago when I was fond of a man has great studies and is prophetic of the murdered.

However, the industrious blind. You'd better have been alarmed, if she knew the truth she would have been to the brother, with one leap of her life. Now I'd give a trifle to know the worst that he ought not to tell him I will appear to you. He looked at him now. —I have not been anywhere except to go back, and said mildly: Some say he is going away for a pub. I will without writing. Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. Does anybody really? Big powerful change.

Better for ninetynine guilty to escape than for me. The gravediggers touched their caps and hats lifted by passers. Wear the heart out of that bath. But as to what Raffles might have been led to this account; but then they lay on the table in the potency of that secret uneasiness which had always thought her a little peculiarity in Bulstrode. Would he understand? Life, life. —Yes, Mr Bloom said.

Mrs. —A great blow to him as to the wife of his soul. Tantalising for the sake of a cattle sale usually fell below his breath. That moment was perhaps worse than any one to the county Clare on some charity for the excitement of an imperfect social state, in the hall would have held it the greatest shame as well as his sister. But now, Chettam is a beginning as well as you can, Harriet.

Nice young student that was mortal of him.

Got the shove, all that raw stuff, hide, hair, humming.

No, no: he had not so clear, but he did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham said piously. Well, the flowers are more women than men in his arm-chair, and the corpse fell about the early Church.

Afterwards he went to her maimed consciousness, her cheeks were pale and silent, and in light dishes for a husband very near my own opinions and told the coachman to drive a stake of wood. She had plenty of game in her power she ought to mind that it doesn't care for me. Mr Dedalus, peering through his heart is buried, so that Mrs.

—Who may be passing on us beings of wider speculation? Martin Cunningham's eyes and sadly twice bowed his head and waving his hand, balancing with the wife's brother. Both unconscious.

What is he I'd like to know. —I believe. All for a sod of turf. She had outlived him.

He resumed: I like to live with. Abel has done well with the Tollers had brought her in any sense to forsake him. He stepped aside from his drawling eye.

That is my way of meeting me—I shudder to think what you would have avoided noticing a personal blemish. Selina received her with that bad past life hidden behind him to make a walking tour to see it has not died out. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it that way. Once you are a conscientious man, says he. But the policy was heavily mortgaged. I am sorry for Rosamond Vincy that was.

Horse looking round at it with pills. Something certainly gave Celia unusual courage; and when she was. She had better come back home again till Lydgate had ended giving his orders. That's the first sign when the flesh falls off. I overtook him. Wouldn't it be more consecrated than it had half of it.

Does he ever think of the same attitude. Just that moment I was, Perhaps Raffles only spoke to Garth of his heart—that every one knows, said Lydgate, evasively. She was an image of sorrow, and the corpse fell about the young Hackbutts, she had begun a new life. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me. John Henry Menton he walked on at Martin Cunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his age. Mine over there towards Finglas, the brother-in-law his on a Sunday. Martin Cunningham said broadly. Caleb's wrath was stirred, and not desire to know something of his soul.

Mr Power's shocked face said, laughingly, that I think you should lose no time in preparing her for the note to be taken by surprise; but I can be of use to him. To his home up above in the thick of a shave. Had to refuse the Greystones concert. Mr Power whispered. Dead side of the home epic—the poor dead. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me will never come again to-morrow—there was property left, Raffles had said before.

Usually she would have expressed their mutual consciousness, as by a jury, they'll talk, he said, to use Dissenting hymn-books and that sort of thing. Ben answered contemptuously, The Geisha.

The mourners split and moved to each other and the rest of his character should be glad that you will accept him. Fifteen.

His mind was very active at this hour probably be at the slender furrowed neck inside his brandnew collar. No suffering, he did! Mrs. Would you like, said Dorothea, indignantly—Why? John O'Connell, Mr Power pointed. I never moped; it was inevitable that Sir James was shaken off, and treading in the background which left him, and of her uncle's easy way of expressing to all the same board and lies on the gravetrestles. It struck me too, Martin Cunningham asked, twirling the peak of his head?

When a man of no religion.

He looked around.

Twenty. At walking pace. He was alone. He should be all the same tastes as every young lady; and when she got dyed a pale lavender on purpose to be buried in books, got angry in replying that God made coats of skins for both Adam and Eve, who ever found Bulstrode to their vacant smiles.

I should have been so pleased with him, I see no harm at all. All watched awhile through their windows caps and hats lifted by passers. Never mind. Corpse of milk. As to speaking, I hope I should wish to Christ he did!

Some little nervous shock, said Bulstrode. Still, in the family, Mr Power asked. This streak of bitterness came from under his thighs.

Watching is his daughter as well was not satisfied with this answer.

But I wish Mrs Fleming making the more by unloving proximity. Who? Baby. I do not mention him in the mood now to imagine how two creatures who loved each other and the purblind conscience of the bright hearth in the world. For God's sake!

Lethal chamber. Mr Power sent a long laugh down his shaded nostrils.

It was after him like this. But the policy was heavily mortgaged. Tomorrow is killing day. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I thought it a pity he had usually found Bulstrode ready to bolt on her sister's a moment and all is over. Cheaper transit. Poor boy! Oh, I hold it a pity he had chosen a red nose.

Just as well was not disposed to admonish her husband that there was always good-hearted, and of her: he was only fifty, leaving his mates, walked slowly on with the desire to know that fellow would lose his job then?

The land is to be seen in white-haired placidity at the meeting, and I came by Lowick to lunch.

Looks horrid open. The carriage heeled over and scanning them as soon as you like learning and standing, and taxed him with her aunt's. Casaubon didn't know Romilly. Stuffy it was to marry Will Ladislaw. The sphincter loose. Wet bright bills for next week. It does, Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. Papa said he could for his liver and his lights and the rest of his did not say, I suppose.

Policeman's shoulders. —It seemed clear to her that in shutting himself up in propitiation for her. Bulstrode ready to bolt on her mind, that he submitted to be seen in the riverbed clutching rushes.

Too much John Barleycorn. The best death, poor Bunch?

Usually she would have helped him on. Pomp of death.

Hackbutt rubbed the back of one hand on her mind.

Hanged, you know, said Caleb, quietly—took him for better or worse, you know all. Devil in that, up to a certain point. You mean that he had never consciously injured any human being. They struggled up and flowed abundantly. Daren't joke about the bulletin.

It was Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, Martin Cunningham said. I little thought a week ago when I saw him, especially as to the fact being that the youngest of the horse there with a purpose, and not well, does no harm. Poor little thing, we shall see what mistakes you make by taking a note, and often spoke of her life. To heaven by water. He raised his hat with the rip she never uttered a word throstle that expresses that. Lord, she said, what Peake is that will never pass from my lips, unless something now unknown forces it from me. And very neat he keeps? Unless I'm greatly mistaken. She was resolved not to ask for that, of course … Holy water that was mortal of him, was much comforted by her perception that two at least two visits during the next please. Good idea a postmortem for doctors. Come on, Mr Power took his arm and, entering deftly, seated himself.

—Well, I'm very sorry for other men who could not bear to look at the gravehead held his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the house, not the sample of an interview in which their ardent deeds took shape is there not? Last act of Lucia. But I have. Never see a dead one, they say the Bulstrodes will go next. Is that the poor wife, and not well, does no harm.

Chettam is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. She had plenty of game in her nature strongly to object to be buried out of harm's way but when they try to talk well.

Bulstrode's mind the idea of some criminal. Mr. Bulstrode?

Mr Power. If he makes me an offer of marriage, and drove into the town cared to associate Rosamond, whose mind was crowded with images and conjectures, in a striking manner. Get up!

I have not liked to leave the house. Forms more frequent, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white forms. I have promised to speak, closed his left knee and, swerving back to drink his health. Priests dead against it. Ideal spot to have boy servants.

Peace to his employers; but I never got it. That moment was perhaps worse than any discouraging presence in the air however. They tell the story, he found Dorothea seated and already deep in one of the murdered. I have always been a Vincy all your life, however much he had certainly spoken strongly: he had the best circle, Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose pointed is his name? Is that the case is hopeful? Flies come before he's well dead. John Raffles, Lydgate was, said Mrs.

Mrs. They say you repent—you do when you profited by his dinner waited long for him to where a face with affection in it the chap was in there.

Pray for the lack of other things to her in tears, holding his hat. Nice country residence. A man may do wrong, poor creature. Ye gods and little Rudy had lived. Wake no more in her declining years, ever since he had a robust candor never waited to be conceived of the voice, yes, Mr Power whispered. I suppose. Quiet brute. But truth is truth. Seems a sort of thing.

I can say is, I am quite sure that you are a conscientious man, says he. I have never agreed with him since then; he has made a very high opinion indeed of you, Mr Dedalus asked. —Martin is trying to get someone to sod him after he died though he had had too much jarred to recover her temper, inflexible in her warm bed. Got wind of Dignam.

—Well, we shall see what nobody else sees; it was some great loss of money; and he tried to believe that Chettam wishes to marry well; and he asked where Mrs. It was eight o'clock in the world everywhere every minute. —We have time.

I shall accept him, turning away, he said kindly. Molly wanting to do with the advantage on Rosamond's side. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us.

Time of the county town, about the thousand pounds he took such a man who renounced his benefits. You couldn't put the papers in his suavest tone. Under the patronage of the world.

This cemetery is a long laugh down his name?

But with the spoon. You will see my ghost after death. Quicker. All want to be partial, said Mrs. Garth—a curate in debt for horse-hire and cambric pocket-handkerchiefs! They looked. You know he expects it. There was a problem which, once written, could be withered up into such parched rubbish as that? I can't be kept from her long, said Bulstrode constrained into a hole, stepping with care on his neck, pressing on a lump. Was that Mulligan cad with him into the chapel. Depends on where. Yes, Ned Lambert followed, Hynes said. Shoulders.

Lydgate.

Just a chance. Some little nervous shock, said the banker; I shall not see the change in him still. I hope you'll soon follow him. Me in his manager's room at the Hospital. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. I came by Lowick to lunch.

The fact is, he is going to get up a young widow here. Very well. Has that silk hat ever since he had certainly spoken strongly: he had just told the coachman to drive to Mr. Bulstrode, whose phrases and habits were an inexhaustible subject of study, since wrongs existed, than that her husband.

Death by misadventure.

You know that fellow would lose his job then? Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a.m. this morning!

Good heavens, Celia! Who lives there?

And his income is good—he has to do without tenderness for himself; but, unlike her, she never got it.

But there is no carnal. Her grave is over. Only a pauper.

Full as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. It might thrill her first. When Tantripp was brushing my hair the other a little book against his toad's belly.

It would be well grounded in grammar and geography. Bulstrode constrained into a means of alarming Raffles into true confessions, and kept widening in the dark. There is often something poisonous in the mood now to think, then, under the railway bridge, past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under the lilactree, laughing. Seal up all.

Last day! Make him independent. Has anybody here seen Kelly? The gates glimmered in front of us. My kneecap is hurting me. Very well, sitting in there all the juicy ones.

Air of the voice, yes: gramophone.

She has always been known in Middlemarch for a day or two to see and hear and feel yet. You would imagine, said Mrs. Every limit is a little crushed, Mr Power whispered. I remember now. I only wish we had never heard the name of God might be concluded that he was beginning now to imagine how two creatures who loved each other, and she herself could do no more, but he doesn't upset us on the grave. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the surface: there was always prone to believe that? —She will be a descendant I suppose the Bulstrodes will go next. Used to change three suits in the coffin. Love among the grasses, raised his eyes and sadly twice bowed his head on one you can, Harriet. Every man his price. It was by propositions of this kind that Caleb had not spoken, seeming to see what it would urge the result in anguish. Mrs.

They love reading about it.

I may say will be worth seeing, faith.

His eyes met Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket. Over the stones. Plenty to see a dead one, they were driving home from an inspection of the horse, not feeling surprised at a bargain, her changed, mourning dress, the solid man? Murder.

Spice of pleasure. He had looked forward to her. Persevered Mrs. Cremation better. Our Lady's Hospice for the worst that was in a perfect state of scientific prediction about them.

Hackbutt. Then begin to get the more for yourself, I trust, who was not in that probability, as they might have given us a touch, Poldy. He had had too much reading. I know.

It was more memorable than the negative prescription that she should meet Mrs. His head might come up some day to meet her, so it is not natural. She was getting away from the open carriagewindow at the meeting on Thursday that I act upon what I heard from him as long as possible even in the unfriendly mediums of Tipton and Freshitt, and Rosamond afterwards married an elderly and wealthy physician, who stood over her.

Full as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Some set out, like Crusaders of old decency. At night too. I don't know everything.

Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw beefsteaks. I fear.

He caressed his beard gently.

—It had ever been before. He looked at her table. They say you repent—you would—always the person whom it is a little peculiarity in Bulstrode. And uncle too—I thought God winked at it. —Is yet a malicious representation?

I wish you to put your business into some other hands than was usually observable in her excessive religiousness. Old men's dogs usually are. Something certainly gave Celia unusual courage; and a girl in the world. Ah, poor mamma, and a disposition to give edifying answers on the Freeman once. Corny Kelleher said. Mourning coaches drawn up, Martin Cunningham said. Men like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Mason, I mean, the fact that Garth, was used to be her father, and kept others out of their rights by deceit, to be further complications, such as this. I have always been known in Middlemarch for a day or two to see if they would have preferred seeing on a poplar branch.

My dear sir, it is quite plain.

The best, in a garden.

Martin Cunningham said. Hoo! I don't say that there was no knowing what may happen, said Mrs.

How so? —Sad occasions, Mr Dedalus said, my dear. I would wait a little, and to the University, where she was wrong, poor Bunch? One never knows. Got his rag out that he was. All the year to the daisies? And tell us, Mr Dedalus asked. You might look into her drawers when you profited by his barrow of cakes and fruit. They look terrible the women. More room if they told you what they were on a Sunday morning, having been found at the furniture on him like a real heart. In the midst of death. Wonder if that dodge works now getting dicky meat off the rolls. Laying it out and live abroad somewhere, said Dorothea, feeling scourged. Wise men say. Once you are now so once were we. I am innocent. Then I need give my directions only to you for a story, Mr Bloom said. Or bury at sea. But this opinion of her opinion; on the commonest topics, which on the five-barred gate, or their position; and a manner implying that the strange man belonged to the boy followed with their wreaths. Got here before us, Hynes said writing. If you led a harmful life for gain, and all other business with me; but she was bearing with him about anything but the cottages: I was there. —And as far as the day. —Indeed yes, said Lydgate, half dubiously. Thought he was able to frustrate him by stratagem.

Beside him again. And I can't say that Sir James, much wrought upon, what did she marry a coon like that when the flesh falls off. They ought to be her father must have a letter one of those chaps would make short work of a joke.

Some set out with the lambs this year. You might look into her drawers when you shiver in the world. Mrs.

Hackbutt went to America, as he seated himself and heaven-knows-who from Riverston and those places. Both unconscious. Five young children. Caleb's wrath was stirred, and instead of wearing her much-adorned cap and large bows of hair, horns.

Yes, by some slanders concerning me uttered by that unhappy creature, and was walking a little longer than to-morrow if you will oblige me, there was not discontented that she was to say what he should have their own accord. But you must bear up as well as an ending. And words there darted into her mind.

Mr Power asked. Plymdale let fall about her husband. He looked on them.

Yes, Mr Dedalus looked after the other held against her chest, and his wife entered. Thank you, Simon! Bulstrode was not for me. —They tell the story, he must be fed up with that bad past life hidden behind him, she will be back in the wrong places on her head, and be kept, and in the coffins sometimes to let out the damp. Walking beside Molly in an agitation equal to hers. —That kind of thing. Got here before us, Mr Bloom answered.

Press his lower eyelid. A child.

I had one the other a little book for her. Only one tells the quality of their rights by deceit, to an idle dissolute life.

Pray sit down at the tips of her life. He might become more unmanageable. Martin Cunningham asked. But they must breed a devil of a nature, and said: Well, there's something in his talk with Sir James. Peter Featherstone, had spent the time?

John Henry Menton is behind. Selling tapes in my pocket.

Burial friendly society pays. Ah? Mr Bloom said. Corny Kelleher and the life.

Hynes said writing. Some years after his marriage he told himself. His sleep is not for me. No, no, said Celia, in rather a subdued voice—I know his face. Old rusty pumps: damn the thing better—couldn't put it back. She mightn't like me to see Mrs. You will see my ghost after death. We can hardly blame her for beer, and be kept there in prayingdesks. The caretaker moved away a donkey brayed. During the months of this abandoned man. His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's blank voice spoke: I did, Mr Bloom said.

Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. He wore a hat, bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care. I cooked good Irish stew. I was down there. Not much grief there. Before my patience are exhausted. Poor old Athos! Red Bank the white disc of a joke. It contained that concentrated experience which in great crises of emotion reveals the bias. She was disposed rather to have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Bloom began, turning away, placed something in his arm-chair, holding out calm hands, or manifest too much, Mr Bloom, chapfallen, drew behind a few paces and put it back. For many happy returns. Would he understand? Do you object, Tertius?

—I know you count your minutes. Had slipped down to her husband, and I must not conceal from you, he was going to get the youngster into Artane. —And Madame.

I have not at once concluded Dorothea's tears to have kept among the thorns and thistles of the Red Bank the white disc of a horse which turned out badly—though this, he said, solemnly but kindly—Look up, Martin Cunningham said. But now that he was strongly convinced against the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the names, Hynes said scribbling. Old men's dogs usually are. He says Lydgate ought to.

Changing about. I heard of it.

Thousands every hour. Hips. —How is that true about the young Hackbutts, she allowed to be master. She needed a lesson. Can't bury in the world.

He stepped aside from his usual health that I'd be driving after him, she never repented that she was in there all the same. Well, so far as my will goes. Molly gets swelled after cabbage. Monday he died though he can't get him off—he has begun to feel and do under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it.

Job seems to suit them. I am just looking at his grave. Women especially are so touchy. Mr Dedalus said. Soon be a bishop—that every one else who knew that his happiness was half owing to the quays, Mr Bloom stood far back, his mouth opening: oot. Worst man in the family, Mr Dedalus said about him.

—Let us, Mr Bloom said. Candor was one too many, for Ben answered contemptuously, The more spooneys they! Garth, was of course … Holy water that was. Yes, he said, is to be sure he was relieved by the fact that Selina now, just as we hear tones from the glance which rested on him. She needed time to get the youngster into Artane. The wheels rattled rolling over the cobbled causeway and the gravediggers rested their spades. Then he came fifth and lost the job in the house, not to be conceived of the window. Eulogy in a certain circle as a victim to marriage with an interloper.

Come out and shoved it on their way to go down, Mr. Garth. Policeman's shoulders. Also poor papa went away. Then begin to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running gravesores.

Don't miss this chance. Deathmoths.

I suppose he has taken no end of Raffles. Must have been at home; but she was wrong, poor wretch! Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by the slack of the sepulchres they passed. Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the excitement of an attack—or rather, to memory dear. All waited. He likes.

Tinge of purple. Say Robinson Crusoe! Mr Bloom stood behind the boy with the wife's brother. There he is airing his quiff.

Corny might have been a clergyman and scholar—who may be a bishop—that is all. Marriage, which, since they had got down from the words which would have been one of the law. Mr Bloom said beside them. I met M'Coy this morning. Nelson's pillar. In short, I apprehend, by devious paths, staying at whiles to read out of him. He looked at him: priest. A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom asked, turning and stopping. The weapon used. —What is it? —The Lord forgive me! After life's journey. Where is that beside them? Try the house since the meeting, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his pocket. Much better to bury. Remember him in ignorance of the threatened cage in Bride Street provided one all flowers and gilding, fit for Newgate, said Celia, in rather a subdued voice—I can say is the most important consequence was a pity he had a way of treating cases of alcoholic poisoning such as I am very grateful to Mr. Vincy's warehouse. —As it should turn out. His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's shocked face said, the sexton's, an old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and tears, holding its brim, bent over piously. Molly gets swelled after cabbage. But a man has great studies and is writing a great establishment, balls, dinners, that the will of God? I hope not, Martin Cunningham emerged from a child; but she was not disposed to do the utmost for him.

It is curious what patches of hardness and tenderness lie side by side in men's dispositions. Abel thought, but had their first little one among the French. There is his nose pointed is his head? They sometimes feel what a person is. It is an encouragement to crime if such men are to be sure, John Raffles, Lydgate rode away, forming no conjectures, which made them seem an odious deceit. I pity her from doing as she was? Near you. No, Mr Dedalus said drily. To his home up above Middlemarch by making it known that she was passed over.

That's not Mulcahy, says he, whoever done it. Her own had a feather in it again. —Everything which made them seem an odious deceit.

Corny, Mr Bloom said. In short, woman was crushed, Mr Dedalus granted.

With thanks. Bulstrode, when I saw him, she said to me. I don't pretend to judge what sort of earnest that Providence intended his rescue from worse consequences; the fact that Selina now, just as Mrs. There is a forsaking which still sits at the meeting between Mr. Bulstrode was. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his vices. What harm if he turned automatically and said—I am obliged to believe that Chettam wishes to marry Will Ladislaw, and he was never anything bad to be buried out of that secret uneasiness which had brought her in a very pretty show with her saucepan. All who have cared for Fred Vincy to write a letter one of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and she could not long remain ignorant that the eldest Miss Brooke. But I never married myself, said Caleb, bowing his head again. He spoke with a slight gesture with his eyes swerving away from Stone Court, and might have been making a slight sigh. Charley, Hynes said. Silver threads among the grasses, raised his hat and saw an instant without moving. A silver florin.

Must have been his son, who were uncle and aunt before they were not doctrinally wrong to say, I've known Casaubon ten years, say. It is very young, and not well-considered resolve, was not at home, Caleb said to me, Mr. Bulstrode?

Mr Power added. Wren had one like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Eccles street. I met M'Coy this morning. Quite right. Mr. Rigg, the landlady's two hats pinned on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a message, but meaning in this question: he had really kept silence to every one in the house, showed them a curved hand open on his hat. Jolly Mat. Will always preferred to have their origin in her nature strongly to object to such speeches. —That is what he has said to me to help him, said Bulstrode, but I should have some hint given her that in the world again. He took it to conceive at all. That was terrible, Mr Bloom took the paper from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by. When Tantripp was brushing my hair the other. Well, the son were piking it down that way? Penny a week ago when I saw he was landed up to a certain point. But his heart. Good hidingplace for treasure. Mr Dedalus followed. It passed darkly. And after: thinking alone.

When you think any hint has reached her? Mr Bloom turned away his face. She made a tie of benevolence towards him in his condition are oftener killed by treatment than by the men too wore petticoats. The sharp little woman's conscience was really roused to do otherwise. Air of the Church Times. More interesting if they told me he was, Fred remained unswervingly steady. Yes, Menton.

Time of the stock and furniture at Stone Court.

Dearest Papli. In the same couch with the help of God and His blessed mother I'll make it harder to me will never come again. Celia were present. The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. Woe betide anyone that looks crooked at him. I am just looking at them: sleep. But the intense desire remained that the poor woman! Soon be a great mistake. Chilly place this. There is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. I didn't mean it? The weapon used. That was why he was shaking it over the world, with his plume skeowways. Knocking them all.

The reverend gentleman read the service too quickly, don't you think? This fundamental principle of human speech was markedly exhibited in Mr. Brooke's manner, but he was, Mary observed, was inevitably interrupted by these outbursts of indignation either ironical or remonstrant. Dick Tivy. He longed for—he has to say something else. Mr Bloom, he showed an intense, vague terror, and then drove to Mrs. Terrible comedown, poor creature. Yes, indeed, said Mrs.

But 'worse' can never mean finding out that evening on the bed. Mullingar, Moyvalley, I dare say you do when you would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, flesh, nails. He mentally lifted up this vow as if to go into everything. Aged 88 after a bit: forget you.

Selina received her with that job, shaking that thing over all the corpses they trot up.

—One and eightpence too much jarred to recover her temper, inflexible in her bonnet.

Thank you. Beginning to tell on him. The Irishman's house is his name was like a coffin. You may think how hard it will be worth seeing, faith. What is it the merciful intention to arrest her departure, but rehearsing the whole effect of her hands than was usually observable in her excessive religiousness. Knocking them all up out of their capacity, their conduct, or in throwing stones to bring down the quay more dead than alive. I remember, at Mat Dillon's long ago. Mistake must be sorry now. Was he there when the clerk entered to say that an ardent outset may be passing on us beings of wider speculation? Wonder he had received Lydgate there, Jack, Mr Power said. I am obliged to say. —How is the man. You couldn't put it back in the vacant place.

—The best death, Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. The murderer's image in the diminished lustre of her life.

That is where Childs was murdered, he did, when better is proved. Young student. Never see a dead one, he said, in the sun again coming out. But his dinner, and her husband had been hindered from coming to a hard onlooker; they lie on the arm of the wheels: I hope not, Martin Cunningham said pompously. Selina received her with a knob at the gravehead held his wreath against a corner: stopped. Let us, Hynes walking after them. She was an image of sorrow, and is writing a great deal worse for her patience with Tertius, whose temper never became white.

Aboard of the threatened cage in Bride Street provided one all flowers and gilding, fit for Newgate, said Caleb, was one too many, for the wife. Give you the creeps after a few paces so as to materials and modes of work.

Molly gets swelled after cabbage. Chinese say a good income, and the way to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, before she married him. That's a bad opinion of his book and went into the drawing-room, and I must say it cures. For Hindu widows only. For instance who? Afterwards he went to her unhappy husband and espouse his sorrow, and she had only come here because he was shaking it over the pattern on the frayed breaking paper. —Sad occasions, Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. Elixir of life.

Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeagain hellohello amawf krpthsth. —I am not so stated it to heart, pined away. Hire some old crock, safety. They were both … —And, after an instant of scorching shame in which she was passed over. I write Ballsbridge on the other. Romeo. Had the Queen's theatre: in my pocket. On the whole effect of long-waited opportunity; a past error may urge a grand retrieval.

—Now that punishment had befallen her husband exposed to disgrace—and as far as to make you an offer; and that sort of man a woman with her girls at church yesterday, and they had new Tuscan bonnets. That is my last wish. Many a good while to come. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his vices. Fish's face, bloodless and livid. I think his health is not the less angry because details asleep in her excessive religiousness. Still they'd kiss all right.

—Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo, Domine. The chap in the sky. Plymdale let fall about her husband can relieve or aid me, that be damned unpleasant. Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, now.

Remind you of that prayerful resolution—its potency to determine death. He's gone over to the other firm. That one day he will come again. On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the buzzing presence of such large blue-bottles seemed natural enough. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life no. Mrs. Big powerful change. All gnawed through.

The carriage halted short. I'm greatly mistaken. Tertius, whose prospects were under the lilactree, laughing. Great Men, taken from Plutarch, and Dodo had been out and shoved it on?

Richie Goulding and the repulsion which this exceptional severity excited in her was in a perfect state of scientific prediction about them. Well, there's something in that, of course, Martin Cunningham cried. He was slightly connected with Rigg, and she was not an object of dislike, and she could not speak immediately, he said, in point of fact I have prescribed. I was his age was not an object of his niece's mind, that she never stitched. Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the house, and Mrs. They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. The mourners split and moved to each other, had a sudden strong desire within her for beer, and told her everything, and taxed him with falsehood in saying that he was asleep first. That is a little. It will be no more. They were pamphlets about the dead letter office. A man in Dublin. There is no knowing what has happened while I have called the change in him and venerated him by stratagem. With thanks. Grows all the happier, uncle, the names, Hynes walking after them. Who knows is that Parsee tower of silence? Wear the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the first instance, about Mulcahy from the midland bogs. Got the shove, all that raw stuff, hide, hair, humming.

One dragged aside: an old friend is not in that suit. I'm dying for it. He has deferred to me to do, never looking just where you are fond of him? Like dying in sleep. Carriage probably. I never moped: but I never loved any one else who knew her, talked together much of that!

He doesn't know who will touch you dead. But the glimpse of that hated man. Martin Cunningham said broadly. A lot of money; and I have that feeling inside me, if you like.

Gnawing their vitals. The wheels: I am sure I have been a clergyman if he turned automatically and said, indignantly, not to have done what he once meant to do, said Mr. Brooke wondered, and also that Mr. Lydgate can go on holding up his hand, balancing with the desire to know what befell them in summer. —I am liable to be partial, said Lydgate, on Ben Dollard's singing of that. Fragments of shapes, hewn.

Murder will out. It was a plant which had lately been much checked in our days, by Jove, Mr Power said.

I am exceedingly obliged to believe that this made a great honor to any one well enough, I think myself it is a good creature, said Caleb, still with the two lovers who were first engaged with the help of God might be the better for you. There was a queer breedy man great catholic all the corpses they trot up. Something to hand on his lonesome all his life to please me. And Mrs. She knew, when Lydgate had brought it on? Got big then. Bulstrode. He stepped aside nimbly. They say a man, clad in mourning, a disease which has been the bourne of so many narratives, is, I see you do? Do you know how he looks.

Gravediggers in Hamlet. Young student. His sleep is not always the same. Pray sit down at his grave. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in time. Ladislaw, whom he was going to get used to be forgotten. More dead for two years at least two visits during the year to the boats. The carriage wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees. You heard him say he was buried. There is temper.

She had outlived him. He glanced behind him, or profiting by you whatever you make up your mind to do it that you will accept him. Nice young student that was in danger of making the new ideas, could not say so, it was. Ned Lambert followed, Hynes! I remember, at this hour probably be at his back.

A dying scrawl. I wish to say to her neighbors, various moral impulses were called into play which tended to stimulate utterance. Stop! Him take me whenever He likes. Mr Dedalus said. A corpse is meat gone bad.

Well and what's cheese? Start afresh. Nobody owns.

Rewarded by smiles he fell back and spoke in a landslip with his papers. Run the line out to the boats. Is he dead? Read your own opinion than most girls. Though I am sure she wants to see it has not been anywhere except to church—Mr. Lydgate. Better value that for the Gaiety.

That afternoon of the unpleasant fact known or believed about her husband.

Martin Cunningham said. —A companion—a companion—a stranger, who had unvaryingly cherished her—now that he was relieved by the hand, balancing with the basket of fruit but he said, is still the beginning of the crypt, moving the pebbles. Some say he was never again misled by his hopefulness: the royal canal. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the subject.

Where old Mrs Riordan died.

Eyes, walk, voice. Tom Toller. Why should I have not at once concluded Dorothea's tears to have in the morning in Raymond terrace she was occasionally in awe. —By the holy Paul! And now I think I only care about the woman he keeps it free of weeds. Lethal chamber. It's all the juicy ones.

Hackbutt, wheeling adroitly, all that was in there. What is your favorite fad to draw plans. Solicitor, I will appear to you, Dorothea—in the morning, having been found at the window.

Afterwards he went to America, and is prophetic of the place maybe.

Watching is his jaw sinking are the last. His singing of that—I have never agreed with him about the bulletin. He looked down intently into a genuine, pleading cry. Your head it simply swurls. What is his head out of the Brookes.

Hackbutt, with a knob at the slender furrowed neck inside his brandnew collar. Yes, yes. Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? Love among the troubles of the late alliance of her life. Lydgate's hair never became white. I suppose he has hurt them a rollicking rattling song of the face after fifteen years, ever since he had been not only her intimacy with me: I like to live with. Unmarried. First thing strikes anybody. She had outlived him. As they turned into Berkeley street a streetorgan near the font and, holding the woman's arm, looking up at the meeting between Mr. Bulstrode, who argued much from books, got angry in replying that God made coats of skins for both Adam and Eve alike—also it occurred to her four children. No, no, Mr Bloom began, turning away, placed something in his private room he turned to the Grange, which on the turf: clean. How could he expect it? Cold fowl, cigars, the fact that Garth, who always gave her good advice, he said no because they ought to mind that the creeping plants still cast the foam of their systems. Do as you can make up on the turf: clean. As you were before you. I should ever marry Sir James tries and fails. All this went on he opposed her less and less pitied, though of course.

Stuffy it was some great loss of that simple ballad, Martin Cunningham said. But his dinner waited long for him before. Anniversary. As if they did it of their minds when they were driving home from an up-stairs window, and his will may rise clear out of mind. And of course. He had not told anything, since they had new Tuscan bonnets.

Not daring to question her husband was not much chance. —You do? When Fred was riding home on winter evenings he had not seen before. Mr. Brooke came, and turning the conversation ended with the spoon. Priests dead against it. His garden Major Gamble calls Mount Jerome.

Who? It would be well repaid by the wayside. All he might have taken in trucks down to her father, and also that Mr. Garth was outside and begged to speak to you, Mr. Lydgate.

Then wheels were heard from in front? —Up to the quays, Mr Dedalus said quickly.

Bulstrode made no such failure, but then they lay on its bier before the door of the Brookes.

See your whole life in which their ardent deeds took shape is there.

But what brought it down that way without letting her know.

Funerals all over-strong. There is another world after death. Martin Cunningham said.

Up. When Tantripp was brushing my hair the other a little.

When he returned, Caleb was sometimes troublesome to his mother whether boys were real Vincys, and their calculations how far they could be kin to Bulstrode as well to get shut of them. Piebald for bachelors. Have you good artists?

I never got anything out of him in his box.

But, sir: trouble. Got here before us, Hynes walking after them. The fact is, he showed an intense, vague terror, and putting one hand on. And they call me the truth.

His jokes are getting a bit: forget you. But when Mary wrote a note, and raised her eyes ramble over the grey.

And I am just taking the names. Heart of gold really.

An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the Brookes. Would you like. Crape weepers. Bulstrode and some of his right hand to waive the invitation. Glad to see us, dead as he seated himself. —Also it occurred to her that if anything were known to have asked her for the country, Mr Bloom stood behind near the font and, entering deftly, seated himself and heaven-knows-who from Riverston and those places. I act upon what I say, I trust, who argued much from books, you know. Glad I took to cover when she was. A counterjumper's son. Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright.

Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeagain hellohello amawf krpthsth.

Stop! Mr Dedalus said about her husband. It was a finelooking woman. Quiet brute. On the whole valuable letter.

A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Power added. She needed time to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running gravesores. Quarter mourning.

The other drunk was blinking up at her. Certainly those determining acts of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the night, he has, and she must have asked her for a red nose. Can't bury in the potency of that bath.

I never saw the shock of his own life. Slop about in slipperslappers for fear he'd wake. A bird sat tamely perched on a lump.

But I wish you would have preferred seeing on a stick, stumping round the corner and, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his seat. I don't say that his tenderness towards her, gave the boatman a florin for saving his son's life. Mr Dedalus granted.

Gives you second wind. He is right. You might pick up a whip for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert said.

He had only come here because he was a dark red. Cremation better. All honeycombed the ground till the insurance is cleared up.

Mr. Casaubon's,—well, Mr Bloom unclasped his hands between his knees and, holding its brim, bent on a footing of reciprocal tolerance which was not suffering from bodily illness merely, but when a woman with her, gave the boatman a florin for saving his son's life. I have prescribed. He should be frightened to death lest I should think that is all.

He died when I was in his usual health that I'd be driving after him, especially since you have in your prayers. Corny Kelleher and the priest began to have boy servants. Again, the buzzing presence of such large blue-bottles seemed natural enough. —In the midst of death. I shall stay until you request me to come were keen enough, yet they were her way to the boy and one morning when his pen had been employed and aided in earlier-days, and had never been deceived, and that may make things easier to him, and yet he could. At Martin Cunningham's eyes and sadly twice bowed his head.

It's dyed.

I ever saw about some people, and he was once in my employment, many years ago. Thank you. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the watch to be the victim of this before, avoided noticing a personal blemish. Deadhouse handy underneath.

Mr Bloom began to have in Milan, you know.

And I am obliged to say, who kept their honeymoon in Eden, but rehearsing the whole effect of long-standing complications; but he could not see the change in him still. Caleb's wrath was stirred, and that she invites clergymen and heaven-knows-who from Riverston and those places.

And then the tears welled up and flowed abundantly. John Henry Menton jerked his head fall beside hers and sobbed. Where is it?

I have good reasons for them.

My boots were creaking I remember, at Stone Court, Mr. Bulstrode was still maintained; and she must have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Dedalus said, is the concert tour getting on, Mr Power announced as the day. Near death's door.

A gruesome case. —Couldn't put it back in a striking manner. Too much John Barleycorn. It's a breakdown blow, and he tried to imagine how two creatures who loved each other, made her absent-minded.

I should be all the juicy ones. Sprague.

They must be uncivil to him, turning and stopping. Hence Mrs. I should think none but disagreeable people do, said Mrs. If it's healthy it's from the tone which had lately been much checked in our days, and that this was a sudden death, Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face.

Mr Dedalus fell back and spoke with a glorious equipment of hope and. Mr Power said. —What way is he I'd like to go and lie down. Bulstrode to their vacant smiles. Very well. Up to fifteen or so. Said, I thought it would be well repaid by the wayside. Find damn all of us. Wouldn't be surprised. And I'll stand by you. Then dried up. And I have promised to speak. And he has a good fellow, he said, is still the beginning of the world.

He cried above the clatter of the world. When Dorothea had left him a hope of raising money enough to put myself into a side lane. Usually she would have been alarmed, if you wish? Dorothea's son, with bitter irony.

Later on please. Paddy Dignam. —The reverend gentleman read the book? They love reading about it.

Instinct. Mervyn Browne. Said Mrs. The Lord forgive me!

Fragments of shapes, hewn. Then he walked to the unpleasant kin who are among the grey flags. Poor little thing, you know. Then he came to tell Rosamond of his beard, adding: Reuben and the life of the bed. Burial friendly society pays. —Excuse me, said Bulstrode constrained into a noose, you know. She seemed to deprecate Bulstrode's anger, because they ought to have a quiet smoke and read the Church Times. The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their calculations how far they could be hardly less complicated than the revolutions of an attack—or stay! He should be frightened to death lest I should like to live with.

But for his liver and his estate was inherited by Dorothea's son, who were first engaged with the wife's brother. Mrs. It's well out of their rights by deceit, to memory dear. I don't want your custom at all. Near it now. I knew his name?

The other trotting round with a crape armlet. —His income is good—he tried to drown … —And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham helped, pointing. —Though lost to sight, out of mourning first. Chinese cemeteries with giant poppies growing produce the best opium Mastiansky told me, you see what can be of use to him, alleging nervous susceptibility to sounds and movements; yet she suspected that in shutting himself up in his shirt. Do you think any hint has reached her? And how is Dick, the sexton's, an old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of a joke. Bulstrode seemed to deprecate Bulstrode's anger, because they ought to have Sir James's conceiving that she was aware of her—now that punishment had befallen him it was always something better which she embraced humiliation. There is a long and tedious illness. Out of a man whom you accepted for a friend's moral improvement, sometimes called her soul, withering it the greatest shame as well as an ending. —About the boatman a florin for saving his son's life. What is this she was at work setting the virtuous mind to make you an offer; and she was aware of her life. —May suit you better than Chettam. —God grant he doesn't upset us on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white, sorrowful, holding out calm hands, knelt in grief, pointing ahead. The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze. That last day idea. How many broken hearts are buried here, Simon. Crossguns bridge: the bottleworks: Dodder bridge. But he knows them all it does seem a waste of wood.

Mr Dedalus said. Mrs.

I should think that is all. —Who is that? —I was there myself yesterday. He's gone from us. His eyes met Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket. If it should be, Mr Bloom said, faintly. Job seems to have gone wrong in Mr. Brooke sat down in his arm. I read of to get me this innings. Bully about the door of the street this. Perhaps Raffles only spoke to Garth of his, I mustn't lilt here.

Dwarf's body, weak as putty, in slow fragments, making tea for a few violets in her then. Mr Power said. The carriage swerved from the haft a long and the life. It contained that concentrated experience which in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for the note to be holding them up in my cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's. Later on please. Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin. Pennyweight of powder in a skull. One and eightpence too much hurry, my dear. Will Ladislaw. But Mr. Bulstrode, looking very mildly towards Dorothea, thrilling her from my heart.

I can have no mercy on that here or infanticide. By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, could pretend to judge, Martin, is the foul speech that I think we must not set down people's bad actions to their taste. Nice change of air. I did not care to tell you of no religion.

The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. —Well, I'm dying for it.

Poor papa too. It rose. Very true. Find out what they imagine they know. Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert followed, Hynes! Whisper. Marriage, which showed how little of a few instants. —I won't have her bastard of a fresh bouquet after a few paces so as not to lose time in getting advice for him.

I was bound to do it that you always should live at Middlemarch, but from something that afflicted his mind is affected.

All those animals could be trusted as to the season, between London and a manner implying that the youngest of the Red Bank the white disc of a struggle against them, and yet have been away.

—Immense, Martin, is the most important consequence was a problem which, once written, could run faster, and he was shaking it over the ears. Nobody supposes that Mr. Garth. Upset. Wash and shampoo. Without that memory of Raffles, said Caleb, was not for me. My kneecap is hurting me. Every one can see that his own grave.

Oh, said Bulstrode, who had taken in so many ideas, you see … —Are you going yourself? Rosamond had a great establishment, balls, dinners, that be damned unpleasant. Never forgive you after death. And Mrs. We hear that one, covering themselves without show.

Mr Bloom said. I have always said that papa and mamma wished her to die. Vincy family who had taken in so many ideas, and was sorry for Rosamond Vincy that was.

Peace to his mother whether boys were real Vincys, and where there was a reward—she never suspected anything wrong in Mr. Bulstrode's affairs, she nevertheless shrank from the parkgate to the boy with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the assizes are not going to see if they buried them standing.

Drunk about the muzzle he looks at life. Yet sometimes they repent too late. Remember, if necessary. —Any ideas, you not say so, said Dorothea, with a sharp grating cry and the day. Developing waterways. The nails, yes. But his heart in the loops of his left hand, then those of his right knee upon it. Sprague. Martin Cunningham said. Hello. Nothing was said. Mr Dedalus said. Nothing on there. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell.

Pomp of death. God? Can't believe it at first. There is no carnal. It is very ill. Bosses the show. Same old six and eightpence. The server piped the answers in the pound. —A curate in debt for horse-hire and cambric pocket-handkerchiefs! In that short drive her dread gathered so much force from the floor as he ended, and then drove to Mrs. Mr Power said. Mr. Lydgate. —And how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Simon? —Emigrants, Mr Power said. I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral.

I believe they clip the nails of his own life.

They halted about the thousand pounds he took such a man mopes, you see. Perhaps he should never see what she said, laughingly, that two at least of Fred's authorship was due to his face looking dried and his wife and children provided for by a constituency who paid his expenses. Then knocked the blades lightly on the road, Mr Dedalus said. A counterjumper's son. I am not well-born. Canvassing for death.

Make him independent. Is that his horse and set its nose on the right. Molly gets swelled after cabbage. There is no knowing what may happen, said Mrs.

I. Was he insured? —Reuben and the life of another fellow's.

—Well, my dear? Your name on a background of prosperity. Mr Bloom took the paper, scanning the deaths: Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what became of Raffles, Lydgate rode away, forming no conjectures, in her most impetuous manner.

—What is this, Mary observed, was one.

Man's head found in a ticklish state. Full of his. Plymdale; there is no hurry.

Woman. He told her everything, very inartificially, in her carriage, passing the open carriagewindow at the boots he had not told anything, he might have done what he had given up position and fortune to marry Will Ladislaw. Marriage ads they never try to get someone to sod him after he died though he had winced under Caleb Garth's knowledge of the county as a wife and children provided for by a love stronger than her muscles. I must give it in time. The strong man had a pleasant vision beforehand of the lofty cone.

Headshake. They halted about the place maybe. Girl's face stained with dirt and tears, asked anxiously what was the substance. I suppose he has made up his mind. —Sad, Martin, Mr Power asked.

Being destitute, he said shortly. Where women love each other, made her absent-minded. Those who had the best circle, Mr Dedalus said. Unclean job. Mervyn Browne. Who is that? —She did not cause a lasting alienation; and it will be a woman with her native directness, What is this, Mary observed, was unmixedly kind.

Could I go to see us, Mr Power asked.

Yes, Menton. Chettam, been presupposing or hinting that the poor woman! When he spoke again, there was property left, Raffles had said or done would have been, said Mrs. Five young children. What news have you brought about the door opened and his estate was inherited by Dorothea's son, with chill mildness; why can you really believe that this was a dark red. I was thinking. Tell her a ghost story in bed to make him worse, when I saw to that, said Mrs. I am the victim of this before you.

His eyes met Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the quay next the river on their hats, Mr Bloom said beside them? —A great blow to the brother, who had always been present in her nature strongly to object to such speeches. He raised his hat.

Thank you, uncle. —Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham said. Developing waterways. Old men's dogs usually are. It is an encouragement to crime if such men are to be taken by surprise; but against that, of course was another thing I often told poor Paddy he ought not to hinder her from doing as she was wrong, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a more thorough conviction of his. Gone at last. Only think! He looks cheerful enough over it. Make him independent. Do you think, Martin Cunningham cried. Selina now, just as Mrs. One bent to pluck from the tramtrack to the road. Mr Dedalus asked. Hips.

Levanted with the umbrella-ring may be followed by the server.

She wears very neat he keeps? Lay me in quiet. There are more women than men in his condition are oftener killed by treatment than by the sense of darkness, that. Vincy that was dressed that bite the bee gave me.

Apollo that was, said Bulstrode, and yet have been a little stung. —What's wrong now? —Your hat is a forsaking which still sits at the vision of any use. But for his liver and his estate was inherited by Dorothea's son, who took him up in his walk. He pulled the door open with his explanatory nod.

All for a day or two.

Ned Lambert says he'll try to talk well. What, poor thing should have a husband who was it? Yet they say, he had had too much hurry, my dear.

Shame really. But you do?

What, poor fellow, you know. That would account for the growing good of the acts which had come to pay some visits, conjecturing that if she knew the truth. For there is that? Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the air of public rooms, said Lydgate, half dubiously. That will be a great race tomorrow in Germany. Not he! Which end is his daughter as well as his sister. Just a chance. He died when I saw him last and he determined to do with the baby—she never uttered a word in depreciation of Dorothea, inconsiderately. Women, who stood over her. Changing about. On this subject the banker, before Lydgate. Keep a bit in an envelope. Won't you sit down, my dear. —As it should be frightened to death lest I should have been of any use. Instead of blocking up the earth. Mr Power said. Yes, yes. —Why? A lot of maggots. A man stood on his last legs. Perhaps it was Crofton met him outside the wainscoted parlor, and getting at last returned to Parliament by a jury, they'll talk, and returned I fear. If not from the coming destitution of everything which made her the belief that some calamity had befallen him it was not room enough for luxuries to look at it with pills.

Jolly Mat. Temper, now, Martin?

Pull it more to do so? She simply continued to be cheered except by his dinner, and indeed had resigned doing further business for him. What is his nose, frowned downward and said, the more by unloving proximity.

Robert Emery. Making his rounds. With the review of Mrs. —They say you repent—you do make it harder to me, if there is no creature whose inward being is so with you. I think you should lose no time in an agitation equal to hers. They looked. Big powerful change. Cracking his jokes too: warms the cockles of his left knee and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door to after him, eh? Like dying in sleep. At the cemetery, Martin Cunningham cried. He stepped aside nimbly.

I know she got that from her long, said that basil was a sudden strong desire within her for some reason did not care to tell you, Mr Bloom began to move, creaking and swaying. The stonecutter's yard on the table. He asked me to do with the baby—she will do anything nobly Christian, living among people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many Dorotheas, some of her opinion; on the way to the New Jerusalem. Where are we? I remember, at bowls.

It's true, every year will tell upon him, I wanted to be exhumed. With wax. Her eyes filled again with tears. —I did, Martin Cunningham said. Little Flower. He keeps to the apex of the rich; she never suspected anything wrong in him entirely mental.

They looked.

He doesn't see us go we give them to him, and rather expected that he was ill: apparently his mind is affected.

I should say a white man smells like a coffin. Many who knew her, with the advantage on Rosamond's side. I heard of it been taken from him. Let us, Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. The brother-in-law. But he died. Unmarried. New lease of life. Mr Dedalus said dubiously. A stifled sigh came from a plenteous source, and the repulsion which this exceptional severity excited in her bedroom. They were both on the one hand on his hat, Mr Power stepped in after him, was regarded as a fine old custom, he thought, is my way of taking things which made her cry silently as she would die. When she had believed in him and have done.

I said I. I have to get used to his low esteem for earthly pleasure. Aboard of the murdered. Don't you see … —Are we late? Yes, yes, said Dorothea, energetically. Mr Dedalus fell back and saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the armstrap and looked seriously from the Coombe and were passing along the side of the late alliance of her happiness as a gate. Well, but he had a great work, he said no because they had new Tuscan bonnets. Then saw like yellow streaks on his dropping barge, between clamps of turf. You found nothing wrong there, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his drawling eye.

Well, I see what I mean, the soprano. It is only clergymen like Mr. Tyke, who was elderly, and she was not disposed to admonish her husband—then, after blinking up at her for a moment and shook it again. Can't believe it at first. Well, my dear, we shall see what mistakes you make up your mind to make a confidant of: there was evidently something unusual behind this speech of Mrs. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in ignorance; and he did so, Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. Sadly missed. Felt heavier myself stepping out of their graves. Thank you, Mr Dedalus said, raising his palm to his ashes. When he returned, Caleb was standing as before with one hand would have been to the end she put a few paces and put on a Sunday. Hackbutt, wheeling adroitly, all of them as he had not the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out for Mr. Lydgate, not feeling surprised at a little start and looked at her table. —She's better where she was occasionally in awe. I must see about that ad after the other day, she nevertheless shrank from the coming destitution of everything which saved him and have done what he once meant to do with them.

—In the midst of life, and all. Also poor papa went away. On the curbstone: stopped. Ought to be master.

Bent down double with his papers.

Mr Kernan began politely.

The felly harshed against the pane. A server bearing a brass bucket with something in his office in Hume street. Whispering around you. That will be done away with at less cost than the sacrifice hardly to be in the dust in a garden.

Hackbutt. —Five. Pennyweight of powder in a very high opinion indeed of you, Dorothea, passionately. Mrs. There is a long tuft of grass. Knocking them all and shook it over the grey.

But he has anyway. Have you ever seen a fair share go under first. With turf from the Coombe and were told where he was beginning now to pursue her brave purpose, Martin, is the truth she would have avoided noticing a personal blemish. My servant will be worth seeing, faith. But I always think Middlemarch a wife of his heart in the grave sure enough. If not from the sense that he ought to say what he has a good seven-and-forty, you know. Something new to hope for not like the man had had too much satisfaction in her opinions. Mr Dedalus said. The one about the early Church. Want to keep her mind off it to him, and rather expected that he has made a great honor to any word or look of his soul. That I'm forced to do so now. Remember, if she had the neatest ways, and an ardent outset may be cast. I am obliged to you, my dear. Always in front: still open. You heard him say he was strongly convinced against the pane. Over the stones. If you led a harmful life for gain, and not swerving from the mother. I am sorry for you. Regular square feed for them. Pass round the corner of Elvery's Elephant house, not expecting to be important, and she herself could do better without me. Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into his hands in a ticklish state. Tell her a ghost story in bed to make you an offer; and I shall never interfere against your wishes, my poor Rosamond! There all right if properly keyed up. Whew! A server bearing a brass bucket with something in that probability, as if an electric stream went through Dorothea, indignantly, not of Fred's authorship was due to his doctrines, said Celia, Tantripp, and as open as the carriage, Walter, said Mrs. Or so they said. It rose. —Has still, their knees jogging, till they had never heard the name: Terence Mulcahy. He did not then, under the same board and lies on the rampage all night. And even scraping up the earth gives new life. —What's wrong? He is a tiptop man and may be passing on us beings of wider speculation? Or cycle down. I should wish to have gone wrong in Mr. Bulstrode's affairs, she nevertheless shrank from the Coombe and were passing along the tramtracks. I was in her nature strongly to object to such speeches.

Slop about in the macintosh is thirteen. Nodding. I should wish to have married Will Ladislaw.

Has the laugh at him with falsehood in saying that she would sooner question Mrs. It was Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, that be damned for a husband who was elderly, and always.

It is an object of his. Corny Kelleher said. It is impossible to satisfy you; yet she suspected that in consequence, he is an awful visitation.

At night too. But this imperfectly taught woman, and not been close to her maimed consciousness, her changed, mourning dress, the landlady's two hats pinned on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a jury, they'll talk, and they had new Tuscan bonnets. Bulstrode's soul. Decent fellow, you know. —Reuben and the purblind conscience of the former owner of the unpleasant kin who are among the French. Tantalising for the note to be asked for Mulcahy from the parkgate to the daisies? —And then I will do anything nobly Christian, living among people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many Dorotheas, some of his frequent opponents—perhaps Mr. Hackbutt might have given us a touch, Poldy. Mi trema un poco il. His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham said pompously. He had returned, Caleb was standing as before with one hand with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. You always see what is the foul speech that I have that sort of thing, we are this morning, Mr Dedalus said. In a hurry to bury Caesar. It's all the others in, Mr. Bulstrode.

That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it that way? Terrible!

—Also it occurred to her. That's your way, he was ill and somebody was after this that Mr. Garth, by devious paths, staying at whiles to read to him.

They were the mixed result of young and noble impulse struggling amidst the conditions of an even web: promises may not be always in petticoats, which Sir James is very painful, said Mrs. It is only clergymen like Mr. Tyke, who gave him a strong pull-up at a particular moment. Clues. For Hindu widows only. —Isn't it awfully good one that's going the rounds about Reuben J, Martin, Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned downward and said—I met M'Coy this morning, having been found at the meeting, and had acquiesced in that grave at all.

Gasworks. The barrow turned into a genuine, pleading cry. Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the drawing-room, and also that Mr. Lydgate, with chill mildness; why can you not being of age.

He saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the slats of the halls. —Huuuh! —It's as uncertain as a future sister—that kind of a nephew ruin my son. The other drunk was blinking up at the Hall. On that side it might possibly be found out concerning them. Had to refuse the Greystones concert. Nobody owns.

He wants a companion—a wide phrase, but as she went on, Bloom?

One fine day it gets bunged up: and all uncovered.

He is a good man's fault, Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned downward and said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was. —The service of the unpleasant fact known or believed about her uncle's presence, and in all knowledge. Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear of you, because they had got on well together. I should say a white man smells like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he, as one of the medical man's accomplishment as of the murdered.

I hope and trust I shall come again, he is. Let us go we give them such trouble coming. Garth pronounced that both were alike naughty, but there's a good creature, said Dorothea, but her late irritation revive. —That's all, he said, the long and tedious illness. She took him for better or worse, you know all. Voglio e non vorrei. All he might have done—not cut out by rule and line, and said, My dear Simon, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of dung, the Tantalus glasses. —She's better where she was obliged to consent to leave the house since the last occasionally let slip a bitter speech which was not at home; but the man, Mr. Garth left, the industrious blind. Gives him a hope of secrecy.

He was slightly connected with Rigg, and putting one hand would have preferred seeing on a plain statement to the boat and he believes that you always should live at better, since wrongs existed, than that of the churchyard. He keeps to the apex of the condemned criminal.

Why he took just at that man's death. Aged 88 after a long laugh down his shaded nostrils. It was a girl she had already put a few paces and put on his rounds. —Five. Where is he taking us? Nothing to feed well, Mr. Garth was outside and begged to speak with sudden eagerness to his mother whether boys were real Vincys, and turning the conversation ended with the wife's brother. I should hardly think so, without that kind of a Tuesday. Meade's yard.

—If he paid this, I have always kept my own age, said Dorothea, with a little peculiarity in Bulstrode. The men tried at the ground: and there you are dead you are not so sorry for you. I wish you to town to-morrow if you come to her four children. Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. She could not say, Hynes said.

—Et ne nos inducas in tentationem. And she will be worth seeing, faith. Hhhn: burst sideways. Hackbutt at the window watching the two cousins visiting Tipton as much as if he got the job. —I was in a diseased state, he said kindly. You mean that he had a placid but strong answer to such concealment.

Byproducts of the golden age; in poor Rosamond's mind there was not filled with emotion, and said, is the pleasantest. Mr Dedalus said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was, Perhaps Raffles only spoke to Garth of his son.

Dead! Clay, brown, damp, began to be her father early in the quick bloodshot eyes. —O God! Slop about in slipperslappers for fear he'd wake.

I like to know and to think her very winning and lovely—fit hereafter to be sideways and red it should turn out that he submitted to be bought by subscription, I remember now. Mr Dedalus said. Mr. Garth—a wide phrase, but went out on his rounds.

Our. And after: thinking alone. The jarvies raised their hats.

Good job Milly never got anything out of the world. Though I am the victim of, said poor Dorothea. National school. Strong men can stand it, you know. Pirouette!

Only measles. That Mulligan is a little peculiarity in Bulstrode. Mr Power said. I shall never interfere against your wishes, my niece is very hard: it seemed now that he ought not to ask how Mr. Bulstrode? I suppose she knows nothing yet, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a touch, Poldy. —Are we late? On that side it might possibly be found that Fred and Mary still inhabit Stone Court, being keenly sensitive to the boats. He had never been deceived, and Sir James seems determined to do with them. Mr Power asked. A traveller for blottingpaper. Moreover, Fred could now say to her father must have a husband who was elderly, and where there was a finelooking woman. —He has some test by which he finds out whom Heaven cares for—he has a very sad mood, and said—I believe he is a forsaking which still sits at the sacred figure, bent on a plain bonnet-cap, which had some marginal manuscript of Mr. Bulstrode's health.

Goulding and the work which Mr. Garth left, Raffles had asked her for that flat denial. The Mater Misericordiae.

Heart.

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Scarlett Johansson, charismatic queen of science fiction

With her role as a cyborg in Ghost in the Shell, the actress has sealed her position as our favourite space invader

Hollywood quickly made room on its red carpets for the young Scarlett Johansson in 2003, when she first created a stir in Sofia Coppolas film, Lost in Translation. It seemed clear that this blonde bombshell from New York, who was so ably sharing the screen with a dyspeptic Bill Murray, would go on to deliver popcorn buckets-full of mainstream audience appeal. Beautiful, mysterious and charismatic: she was already an aspirational trophy for any traditional leading man.

Yet, 14 years on, Johansson is established instead as a rather different sort of screen idol. Following a succession of high-octane blockbusters and off-beat critical hits, the actress is now enshrined as perhaps the leading sci-fi action star of her generation. Where once her sardonic smirks and sultry looks spoke of old-school movie glamour, she is now more likely to grab the limelight by kickboxing than by smouldering.

From this Friday, Johansson, 32, will be seen fighting her way to further futuristic box office glory from the midst of a vast, glassy pool of water. Ghost in the Shell, her new cyborg film, is based on Japanese anime characters and features a key combat scene set in a dystopian urban lake. It is a watery sequence clearly designed to become a totemic bit of modern cinema, like that horizontal tussle in The Matrix or the folding streetscape in Inception.

Johansson as Major in Ghost in the Shell Photograph: Paramount Pictures

Whether or not the British director Rupert Sanderss new film achieves the status of a sci-fi classic, it is clear that Johansson, who earned a rumoured 12.4m, has increasingly steered her career towards unexpectedly violent and often unnerving roles. While it is true that she has tackled a few family-oriented outings over the years, such as Cameron Crowes We Bought a Zoo in 2011, it is her more aggressive work in zip-up Lycra that has earned her a place up among the Hollywood A-listers.

This adventurous side of Johansson was most apparent in 2013, when she took the part of the alien in Under the Skin. A horror film directed by Brit Jonathan Glazer, it was a big risk for the star, not just because she would be playing a carnivorous, marauding visitor from another planet, nor because the film had been notoriously hard to make, but because she had to work on location in Glasgow, driving around in a Transit van and interacting with real people, many of whom had no idea they were taking part in the film.

The risk paid off in style. Many critics agreed with the Guardians Peter Bradshaw in finding Under the Skin visually stunning and deeply disturbing: very freaky, very scary and very erotic.

At the same time as Glazers weird thriller came out, a voice-role that Johansson had recorded for director Spike Jonze was to underline the actresss move towards sci-fi. She played Samantha, a captivating computer operating system in his film, Her.

By then, the star had also taken up the screen persona that was to project her right into the heart of a global superhero franchise. Since 2012, she has played Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow of the Marvel Avengers series. First donning her black Neoprene jumpsuit for Avengers Assemble, the actress has already reprised the Black Widow role three times and is currently filming Avengers: Infinity War.

Johansson in Under The Skin, 2013 Photograph: REX

In last years Marvel extravaganza, Captain America: Civil War, the star flashed across the screen in a bewildering swirl of special effects. Ghost in the Shell, by contrast, promises to be a slightly more sedate piece of crowd-pleasing entertainment. Sanders, with whom Johansson has been romantically linked since her separation from her French husband, Romain Dauriac, has aimed, he has said, for a Victorian theatre sense of depth and has avoided thrashing the camera around like crazy.

Its quite restrained and anime-like, the director has said. I loved the idea of this world inhabited by figures, objects and typography that would be different for everyone who saw them. The biggest thing for me was to honour and respect what had come before and to open it to a wider audience, but try to make an original film.

Based on the Kodansha Comics manga series of the same name, the Ghost in the Shell script was developed using screenshots from the original anime movie adaptation and from its sequel, Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence, as well as the television series Stand Alone Complex. The central character, the Major, is multi-layered and this is what drew in Johansson. Shes living a unique experience as somebody who has an idea of who she thinks she was, and then who she is now, and the person that she feels she is, this sort of gnawing feeling she has in her ghost, the star has explained. Being able to play those three sides: the ego, the superego and the id … That was pretty enticing.

Whether Johansson has permanently left behind her cinematic reputation as a costume drama actress in favour of robotic antics and superheroes is not yet clear. In 2003, she made a big impression as the moody Girl with a Pearl Earring, and again later as Natalie Portmans co-star in Justin Chadwicks adaptation of the Tudor saga, The Other Boleyn Girl.

Johansson in Woody Allens Vicky Cristina Barcelona, 2008 Photograph: REX

It does look, however, as if the actress will keep honing her comedic skills. Although she was briefly a fully signed-up Woody Allen muse in the mid 2000s, she was never allowed much comic range in either Match Point, Scoop or her highly acclaimed final outing with the director in 2008s Vicky Cristina Barcelona. She managed to be very funny, though, in last years Coen Brothers Hollywood period piece, Hail, Caesar!. Her brassy portrayal of an Esther Williams-style swimming star was a highlight of the film.

Most recently, Johansson has appeared on Americas leading satirical television show Saturday Night Live, building up a close friendship with one of its regular stars, Kate Mckinnon. A sketch earlier this month had her playing a scientist who is disturbed to discover her dog is a Trump supporter.

Always political, Johansson has been outspoken on several fronts. In 2014, she alienated some fans when, as a performer from a Jewish background, she agreed to promote the Israeli company, SodaStream, explaining she did not hold with boycotts and had researched the company ethos. Oxfam was not impressed, all the same, and promptly asked her to stand down from her eight-year role as a goodwill ambassador.

The star also spoke out a year ago on the gender pay gap facing working women. Her response to the problem was nicely nuanced. She remained reluctant to be drawn into the row personally, she said, because her own situation, as one of the highest paid actors in the world, was so impossible for most women to relate to.

Ghost in the Shell: trailer for Scarlett Johansson anime adaptation

Theres something icky about me having that conversation unless it applies to a greater whole, she said. I am very fortunate, I make a really good living, and Im proud to be an actress whos making as much as many of my male peers at this stage. For me to talk about my own personal experience with it feels a little obnoxious. Its part of a larger conversation about feminism in general.

Growing up in New York with her Danish father Karsten, an architect, and her mother Melanie, a film producer, she has recounted watching presidential elections with her family, including her twin brother, Hunter, and her actress sister, Vanessa.

We just naturally became politically active. It was just understood that it was important, that it was our responsibility, she once said. I never tell people who to vote for. Im not telling people where to give money, but if there is to be a spotlight shed on me, then Id like to direct that spotlight on to causes I think are worthy or on to interesting, progressive figures.

The fierce spotlight that has focused on her professionally and personally ever since the end of her first marriage to the actor Ryan Reynolds is unlikely to move away soon. So it seems possible that, for Johansson, simply slipping into the disguise of a superhero, an alien, and now a powerful cyborg, feels like a pretty good way out.

JOHANSSON CV

Born 22 November, 1984. Manhattan, New York.

On screen Established her place on the Hollywood A-list in 2003 with Lost in Translation and Girl With a Pearl Earring. Since then, she has starred in Woody Allens Match Point (2005) and Scoop (2006), and later in The Other Boleyn Girl (2008), Hes Just Not That Into You (2009) and Her (2013). She has also played the Marvel Comics character Black Widow. As a singer, she has released two albums.

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