#and the debate has gone on from supper to the small hours of the morning for four consecutive days

[seeliragh-fr]

the general consensus out in the boonies is that the dig was a fool's errand, and you shouldn't go messing with stuff that's been buried so deep if you don't want to invite trouble of the absolute worst kind- namely divine attention. people are definitely worried about some kind of petrification monster rising out of the rubble to terrorize sornieth, but most folks figure the statues are dragons that were returned to the earth as a reward for their devotion- whether they wanted to be or not.

Weekly Lore Prompt:

Does ur clan think it’s statues, petrified dragons, or something else?

If preserved, why? Was it salvation? A punishment? An accident? Or something else.

Try to answer before the truth is revealed to make it more fun

[snortyport]

(Un)Broken Happily Ever After Chapter 2

Summary-  You’re friend has some wise words that you desperately need to hear.

Word Count- 3045

Pairing- Non idol!Tae x reader

Warning- None that I can think of, maybe swearing

A/N- Thanks so much for reading! After this chapter, the timeline will be a little different so enjoy the continuous timeline while you can lol

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You pull up to Yoongi’s house, parking along the freshly mowed curb, the smell of fresh cut grass still lingering in the air. You pull your visor down to check your face over. Your sleep wasn’t very good, and your appearance isn’t hiding that fact. You let out a small sigh and then smile at yourself but dropping it seconds later. Who are you fooling? No one will believe that you’re fine.

He’s probably going to know something is up. Look at me, I look terrible. He’s one my best friend and can usually read my emotions before I can.

Grabbing your bag and exiting the car, you walk up the driveway to Yoongi’s house, wishing to whoever is listening that things could go back to the way they were. When you and Tae still cared about your relationship.

Standing at his front door, you knock three times, your knuckles scraping on the wooden door. After a minute of waiting, you knock again, harder. You know Yoongi likes his sleep and usually works the midnight shifts at Open Mic Night Café where he’ll often stay late to play the café’s instruments once all the customers have gone home. So maybe coming here so early wasn’t the right move. But you’re here now and you don’t think you have the mental capacity to drive somewhere else.

You’re not even sure why you decided you come to Yoongi’s. Jungkook is your oldest friend, having known you since childhood. You’d only met Yoongi when you became friends with Tae four years ago, a year before you started dating. And yet when thinking of whose house to come to it was Yoongi who popped into your head. Maybe it’s because he’s so much quieter than the rest of your friends. He doesn’t ask questions, rather he’ll sit in silence with you while you think over your problems. He’s a quiet comfort and that’s what you want right now.

You don’t want to talk about Tae, or why you broke up. You don’t want to sit for hours while someone tells you that you’re great and things will work out. You just want to sit in your own head and not do anything. And Yoongi’s place is the perfect spot for that.

You know he won’t make you talk about your feelings because right now you don’t totally know what you’re feeling.

Hell, you haven’t even cried.

So how are you supposed to know how you’re feeling? It’s too soon and the only thing you feel is tired.

You knock on the door harder, but instead of stopping after three knocks, you keep going. That’ll get him up.

You hear angry ranting and feet stomping on the other side of the door. “First they mow the lawn at the ass crack of dawn and now this jackass keeps kno—” he pulls the door open with gusto; rage written on his tired face. His face goes slack but morphs into confusion when he see’s it’s you. He’s wrapped in his comforter from his bed and his hair is sticking up in every direction. He squints at you in the early morning sun, looking between your face and the duffle bag hung on your shoulder. “Y/N? What’s wrong? What are you doing here so early?”

And with those simple words, your walls come crashing down. Your face contorts as a sob rips from your throat. You cover your face as the tears start streaming down your cheeks.

It’s over! It’s really over! I left! Why did I leave?

Yoongi watches you in horror. You show up on his doorstep after waking him up after only a few hours of sleep, and then you start sobbing hysterically. You feel bad putting Yoongi in this position, but the tears don’t stop. He’s never been good with anyone crying and here you are, at his door like the worst Amazon package he didn’t even order.

He opens his opens his arms without saying a word, and you rush him. You squeeze your arms around him, pressing your face against his shoulder where your tears soak into his shirt. He wraps his arms and the blanket around you and the two of you stand there. Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he lets you cry on his shoulder in his doorway for what feels like hours.

But when you finally calm down enough to stand on your own, the sun had barely risen above the houses on the other side of the street.

Yoongi grabs the bag off your shoulder, dropping it onto his and turns around to go farther into his house. You close the door before following him into the kitchen. He sets your bag down on the dining room table, motions for you to sit and silently starts moving around his kitchen, grabbing two mugs, and setting the kettle to boil. He digs in his fridge and brings out a half-eaten chocolate cake.

When the water boils, Yoongi pours it into the mugs and adds just the right amount of honey without you having to tell him. He brings everything over, setting your mug in front of you. He opens the cake container and hands you a fork. You eye the cake for a second, debating if chocolate cake first thing in the morning is a good idea, but fuck it, you’re sad and cake will help.

“Now, you ready to explain why you’re here crying on my doorstep,” he leans back in his chair to check the time on the oven, “at six thirty-eight am on a Saturday instead of curled up in bed with Tae?”

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you mumble and look down at your brewing tea, not quite sure if you’re stable enough to talk about it yet. You swallow thickly and look up into his concerned eyes. “Me and Tae broke up,” you say quietly.

“You… broke up? With Tae?” he asks, his face tangled in bewilderment. “I thought he was endgame or whatever. Something big must have happened? Did he cheat on you? I swear I’ll go over there right now and beat him up. I’ll stop and grab JK on the way too,” he says, standing up from his chair, letting the blanket drop to the ground. You can’t help the small smile that slips onto your face, but you shake your head and he sits back down and pulls the blanket over his lap. You love that he’s willing to beat up one of his best and oldest friends for you.

“You don’t have to do that,” you shake your head, your smile sliding off when your mind drifts back to Tae. “It wasn’t one big thing, but lots of little things that have just piled up and piled up and piled up until it finally came crashing down on me,” you say, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “I just couldn’t handle it anymore,”

“Couldn’t handle what? What was he doing?”

“It was more what he wasn’t doing,” you look up into his baffled eyes. You sigh and take a sip of your tea. “I don’t know how you get it so perfect…” you mumble, taking another sip, letting the hot, calming liquid sooth you into talking.

“I work at a café remember. I make the best drinks. Now what wasn’t he doing? I’m confused,”

“Remember when that little boy died? And how bad Tae had gotten?”

“Of course. It changed him completely. I thought he was in a good place now?” he asks and takes a bite of cake.

“He is, but, when all of that was going down, he could barely get out of bed let alone clean, so I did all the housework,” you say twirling your tea spoon in your mug. “But when he started feeling better, I thought he’d start helping out again, but he didn’t. I’d come home from work and there’d be a huge mess. I’d ask him to clean while I’m at work and I’d come home, and the apartment would be even messier than before. I’d clean it after I’d get home from work and the next night I’d have to clean again. It’s just become too much,” you take another sip of tea.

It sounds stupid now that you’re saying everything out loud but caring for an able bodied, grown man that’s acting like a child is exhausting.

“I’d work late and there would be no supper waiting for me. He’d order takeout for himself and give me his few bites of leftovers when I got home. We haven’t been on a date in, fuck, forever. I don’t even know how long. Conversations have started ending in fights,” you sigh, “and I guess I’m just tired of it all. It almost didn’t feel like we were in a relationship. I felt more like a parent nagging her son to do his chores. It’s so tiring.” Tears spring back into your eyes and a lump forms in your throat. “I’m so tired, Yoongs,” you rest your head in your hands as the tears fall.

He brings his chair beside yours so he can rub your back. He sits there while you cry. He doesn’t tell you things will be ok, or that you’ll get over him, and you’re glad he doesn’t. You wouldn’t believe him right now and you don’t need pointless words of comfort.

When the crying episode ends, you lean back in your chair, wiping your eyes.

“Did I make a mistake? We’ve been together for three years. Am I really going to throw that all away without trying to fix it in the first place?” you ask him desperately.

“It sounds like you guys just weren’t working. I don’t know if talking things over would have helped,” he says, placing his hand over yours on top of the table. “Sometimes people need time apart to realise what they’re missing. If after some time apart you still love him and want to be with him then go and see him and maybe that’ll be it. But if after some time apart you don’t want to get back with him… then you’ll know I wasn’t meant to be,” he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of tea.

“What if I want to get back together but he doesn’t?” you ask timidly.

He sighs and takes a moment to think. “Well, then you leave him be. It’s a risky game to play but hopefully it’ll pay off the way you want it to,” he sips the last of his tea and stands up to take it to the sink. “I think you did the right thing though. Taking some time away from each other. I think it’ll do good for both of you to be on your own for a bit.”

“I do too… but… I really miss him. Even though we didn’t do a lot by the end, just being in his presence was comforting, you know? Like we mostly sat on our phones and ignored each other, or Tae would play video games and I sat on my laptop, but it was nice having someone there, it wasn’t lonely,” you smile sadly at the almost finished cake. You put the lid back on after taking one more forkful, then you get up and put it back in the fridge. “Why do you put cake in the fridge by the way?”

“Because I like it cold, and it holds its shape better. Now, I get it’s nice to have someone to help stop the loneliness, trust me I do, but that doesn’t mean you should be using the wrong person to do it with,” he pats your shoulder.

“But he was so right at first. Why did that change?” you whine, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sometimes the right people come into our lives at the wrong time. You met in senior year of university, right when you should have gone out and started your life, but you stayed here with Tae. I’m not saying that was a bad thing, but you didn’t get out there and do what you wanted to do,” he grabs his blanket and wraps it around himself again. “Didn’t you want to move across the ocean after you graduated?”

“Well yeah, but Tae didn’t want to move away from everyone right after we graduated so we were going to move when we were more settled, you know, when we had more money,” you shrug your shoulders, “but then we just never left. Life happened and plans changed.”

“Well, life has changed again. Why don’t you go now?” he suggests.

“I guess I could, but I don’t know if I want that anymore,” you tell him. “I have a good job; all my friends are here. I just don’t think I want to leave. If I’m being honest, I don’t really know what I want to do with my life anymore. But you’re right, I used to have dreams and aspirations. I guess I put those aside to make Tae happy. Not that I haven’t been happy too, I was, but everything I did, I did for Tae.”

“And that’s fine. If you were happy and that’s how you wanted to live, then good on you. But now you can figure out what you do want to do. Even if it takes you months, or you decide to you don’t want to do anything then that’s fine too,”

“Right now, I have no idea what I want to do,” you say, shaking you head.

“And that’s ok. You can figure out first how to be you without having someone hanging off you everyday,” he tugs the blanket closer to him, and yawns. The purple dark circles under his eyes giving away how tired he truly is.

I’m such a bad friend for keeping him awake and listening to my problems when he’s so clearly tired.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you say, wringing your hands together.

“For what?” he looks on at you with confusion.

“For coming here, waking you up and dumping all my problems on you,” you shuffle your feet on the spot.

He steps closer, presses his hands against your cheeks, and lifts your face up. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re my best friend, I’m always going to be here for you,” he kisses your forehead and stares deep into your eyes, which if anyone else did that, you’d be blushing and thinking they have ulterior motives, but it’s different with Yoongi. There has neve been any kind of sexual tension, ever, since becoming friends.

Tears spring to your eyes at his kindness but he wipes them away as they fall with his thumbs.

“Why don’t we go back to bed. You can stay in the guest bedroom for as long as you want,” he drops his hands and grabs your bag for you. He takes off out of the room and down the hall to the bedrooms. You have no choice but to follow him as he makes his way to your new room.

You’ve stayed in this room many a times. Drunken nights out with the group and being too tired to go all the way home, snuggling tight with Tae. Nights when Tae was still working, and he’d have the graveyard shift and you didn’t want to be alone.

He opens the door and throws your bag onto the bed.

“You know where everything is so if you need anything, just get it,” he scratches his head and looks you over. “You sure, you’re ok?”

“I’m… I’m ok right now. Thank you so much Yoongs,” you say, your voice cracking at the end. Without saying anything, he pulls you into a blanket hug and rubs your back. He lets you go and turns to leave, waving over his shoulder as he leaves your room.

You close the door behind him and then sit on the bed. You look around the empty room, taking in the blank walls and baren furniture. This is a bachelor pad through and through with almost nothing decorated except the main rooms. You fall back onto the bed, you head hitting the pillowy mattress, and you stare at the ceiling.

Do what I want to do? What do I want to do? Travel maybe? But my job would never allow that.

Maybe get a new job? No, I like my job and I finally have more responsibility.

Maybe I just do nothing right now like Yoongi said.

People are always saying you should have a dream, but you don’t. All you want to focus on is finding yourself. Finding what makes you, you. And maybe that can be your dream.

You became so reliant on having Tae around that you forgot how to be by yourself, and how to do things on your own.

As the sun’s rays glide across the floor and disappear with the arrival of the moon, you don’t move from your spot. You heard Yoongi leave his room a while ago. You debated going out to see him to thank him one more time for letting you stay, but before you could even sit up, he was shutting the house door to go to work.

So, you continued to lay there.

You mind racing with different scenarios.

Going back to Tae. Moving away from everyone and everything. Dying your hair fire engine red. Getting something pierced. Every thought bringing you closer to what you really want. And that’s to be better, not for Tae, not for your friends, or your job, but for you.

You’re a grown up and you’re always relying on someone. To go to a restaurant with you, to go shopping, even getting a pick me up coffee. You’re always calling one of your friends to come do things with you.

It’s time to grow up and become the independent woman you always thought you were.

No one is in your way. No one can stop you.

From here on out, it’s you, and only you. With maybe a little help from your friends, because let’s be honest, Rome wasn’t built in a day, but from here on out you’re your main priority.

Here’s to me and my new journey.

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Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Here’s to women finding themselves! 

Tagged: @anatron9000​, @sugalarity​

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know!

[ranawaytothedas]

A Rose for the Sparrow

Because your girl loves to wait till the actual 11th hour to do things, here is the first prompt from @scharoux prompt list that you can find here. This is unbetaed so if I missed words or things I am sorry... I just wanted to get this out!

I never really know how to do pure fluff, so it’s a wee bit angsty but I swear there is fluff in here someplace. 

The previous few days had been tough on Maeve. Being away from Jena for the first time was really getting to her. The mission was only meant to be two days, a short one just to see if Maeve was ready to get back to business but they had run into a fair bit of trouble from bandits on their way down into the Hinterlands. It was the fifth day and they would finish their return to Skyhold in the morning being back by no later than supper time Alistair had noted to her several times. Yet, it did nothing to calm the guilt and anxiety she was feeling over leaving her very young child for the first time. 

Alistair has spent much of the trip trying to keep Maeve calm as they ran into each delay. He had done a far better job of it than Sera. As sincere as her friend’s attempts were, saying, “She is too little to remember, don’t you worry we could be gone a month and the worst that would happen is she wouldn’t remember ya.” Which only serves to send Maeve running into her and Alistair’s tent trying to hide choked and muffled sobs. If Sera hand not been so upset herself that she had Maeve so upset by saying the wrong thing, Alistair would have played into her. Instead, he stood up from the log that was being used a makeshift bench and walked away. Without saying a word.

He could hear Maeve crying in the tent. His heart sank hearing her sobs and he paused turning away from the tent his hand going to his brow. There was nothing he could do to stop this, she had every right to be hurt and upset. They all, even Cullen, had convinced her she was ready when it had become blatantly obvious that she was not. Debating for several moments, Alistair looked back at the tent several times before turning around and walking into the lightly wooded forest on the edge of their camp. He wanted to scream, not at Maeve but at himself. He had sworn that he was not going to let everyone, himself included, push Maeve to her breaking point again. It was a foolish promise that he knew he would never be able to keep but this one time he could have put his foot down. 

A low groan of frustration slipped from his lips as he leaned back against an old and haggard tree. “Andraste’s tits, this could not have gone worse,” Alistair mumbled to himself. Even if things had gone to play, Maeve most likely would have still been withdrawn and quick to anger. “She was not ready…” He mumbled as hand rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes closed. The lone voice against Maeve going on this mission had oddly enough been Morrigan. Though the sister still were at odds much of the time, the one matter that seemed to unite them after all these years was Jena. 

He would never speak the words out loud and certainly never tell Morrigan, but she had been right in saying Maeve was not ready. There was no going back and changing things. While apparently, some manner of time travel is possible, Redcliffe had proved that. He did not think it was wise to risk the fate of the world to right this wrong. Though, for a brief moment, he did ponder who he would ask for such a favor. “Raven, she likes that level of unnerving magic the most.” His mind wandered for a moment before falling upon startling conclusion that if any number of those who counted themselves Maeve’s family. Cullen, Morrigan, Raven, even Zevran learned he had walked away while she was sobbing the would have his head. 

He shook his head and took a deep breath before opening his eyes. The first thing they fell upon was s small rose bush. The flowers were a pale pink, so pale in low moonlight they almost looked white. His lips curled into a small smirk. Walking over he pulled out a dagger from his belt and cut a single stem and bloom from the bush. “That’s what I was doing..” Alistair concluded with a sigh, “Getting something to make the Sparrow smile…” 

The walk back to the camp was short and Maeve’s cries had quieted but were still the first sound that Alistair heard upon entering the camp. The others had all gone to their tents. He slipped into the tent to find Maeve culled up, on the bedroll, blanket covering her face as she sobbed softly. 

The smile faded from his lips as he set the rose down at the end of the bedroll before crawling in next to her wrapping his arms around her. “I know you miss Jena, I miss her too..” His tone was soothing, even and calm even as her sobs grew for a moment. “She is in the safest place possible,” Alistar reassured, and Jena really was. Skyhold was becoming quite the fortress and everyone there adored that baby. Most would likely give their lives to save hers, most of her father.  “Do you know how many people are fussing over her right now? I bet she has not left Cullen’s sight this whole time, you know how much he loves his little girl. He controls the entirety of the Inquisition’s forces” A low sigh escaped his lips as he hand reached over and peeled the blanket away from Maeve’s face. “That little girl has armies, some of the most powerful mages and skilled templars protecting her. I know it’s not her being safe that has you so upset.” Maeve looked up at him with her golden eyes. She chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head. “Well talk to me, Sparrow, please. I can not try to help you if you do not tell me what about this…” 

“I am a horrible mother, I left her…” Maeve choked out her hand covering her mouth as she looked away. 

Alistair’s eyes grew wide and he sat up, “No, you are not Maeve. Maker’s breath, you are out trying to save the world and you left Jena with her father and his army… your army” He reached out and took Maeve’s hands trying to pull her up. “Please, Sparrow… sit up and listen to me.” He was not planning on being so forceful on the subject but when she called herself a horrible Mother he had to put an end to that thought. Right then, right there. Maeve reluctantly sat up but wouldn’t look at Alistair so he took her face in his hands. “My Love, you have done everything possible to protect that little girl from the second you realized you were pregnant.” Alistair’s thumb brushed away her tears as they rolled down her cheeks. “You nearly died giving birth and still, still you tried to take care of her by yourself. Not letting Cullen or I, or anyone else for that matter, take care of her. You dote upon Jena, Maeve. We all know how much you love her and want to keep her safe.” 

Maeve sniffled and looked up at Alistair. “I miss her so much,” Was all Maeve managed to choke out.

Alistair let out a heavy sigh and nodded his head. She wasn’t his child, that was obvious the moment she was born but he still loved Jena like his own. He missed her as well but he knew it was not the same. “I know, I know…” He mumbled softly as he pulled her into a tight hug, Maeve’s chin resting on shoulder. “How about we leave at the first light of dawn tomorrow? We can slip through woods, stay off the roads like we used to with Ella? We will make a better time and get you back to Jena before you know it.” Alistair concluded. It wasn’t a plan that Cassandra would be pleased with but he would deal with her when they got back to Skyhold. 

Maeve leaned back and looked at Alistair wide-eyed, the tears had stopped. “Really?” 

“Really,” Alistair replied simply. “I promise you, you will see your baby before midday.” Alistair smiled and for a moment, he could see Maeve’s lips twitch upwards almost into a tentative smile. It made him feel so much better than he had only a few moments before. Sensing the shift in mood, he reached on hand behind and him and picked up the rose, narrowly avoiding it’s thorns. “I saw this and thought of you..” He said with a cheesy smirk as he show Maeve the rose. 

A low chuckle escaped her lips at his line. “Really? A rose, Alistair? How does that remind you of me?” She asked skeptical at first but taking the rose from his hands and bringing to her nose.

Alistair shrugged. “It’s a little fragile at times, does not fare well in cold weather, is beautiful and sweet… and just a little bit stabby.” As Maeve lowed the rose down Alistair leaned forward and cupped her cheeks. “Just like you…” He muttered as he leaned in and placed a tender kiss on her lips. His thumb brushed against her cheek as she let the kiss linger longer than he had expected. The rose still in her hand she draped her arms over his shoulders as she leaned back.

A faint smile played on her lips. “Fair point..” She started in a soft whisper before her eyes focused on his. “Thank you,” 

“Anything for my Sparrow..” 

[contreparry]

(Talesfromthefade) Sonder: the realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own, for the character of your choice?

I decided to play around with this one and write from the perspective of a original side character- hopefully that’s okay? Here’s a fic about a character who works in the Skyhold kitchens for @dadrunkwriting!

“Catherine! Catherine, I’ve a need for you!” Cook shouted over the roar of the cooking fire and the bustle of the kitchens- it was always noisy in the kitchens, but Cook’s shout was absolutely deafening.

Catherine winced and nearly dropped her knife- she’d been peeling potatoes, and the starch seeped into her skin until her hands were red and irritated. Her neck was sore, her head hurt, and her feet ached, and all she wanted to do was curl up in the loft with the other serving girls and sleep. But there were potatoes to be peeled and it needed to be done. But since Cook was the one to call for her- Catherine set her knife down on the table and wiped her hands on her apron before weaving between all the people to stand in front of Cook.

“Y-yes, Ma’am?” Catherine asked, and she was grateful that she hadn’t stuttered so terribly this time. She could never get her voice to come out steady and strong, especially in front of Cook. The stern woman looked her over with a critical eye, from the tip of her head to her shoes. If she could she would probably inspect the soles, Catherine thought sourly, and she wished she had the time to do something with her unruly mop of hair. She shoved the wispy brown strands under a kerchief and called it good, but after hours of working in the hot kitchens it was no doubt untidy. At least she was wearing her second best dress, the blue with the embroidered flowers on the sleeves. Cook couldn’t criticize that! Eventually the woman sighed, and the knot in Catherine’s stomach eased just a little. If she had looked terrible, Cook would have said so!

“Well, you’ll do. Here,” Cook shoved a covered basket into Catherine’s hands. “Supper for Her Ladyship, the Inquisitor. Be quick about it, you hear?”

The Inquisitor?! Catherine nearly dropped the basket in surprise.

“Yes, Catherine! Martha’s got fever, and I’ve no one else I can spare, so up to the Inquisitor’s chambers with you! Don’t gawk, her Ladyship has enough troubles and doesn’t need any more! And speak clearly and politely, you hear?” Cook raised one thin eyebrow, as if she was daring Catherine to step one toe out of line. Catherine had no intention of doing so. She held the basket close and fled the kitchens.

The air outside was cool, a relief from the stifling heat indoors, but Catherine apprehensively made her way up the stairs towards the Inquisitor’s chambers. Everyone knew where those were, of course, and everyone knew her. Who didn’t? She always looked so calm and serious, like the icon of Andraste Papa placed on the mantle back in Denerim, all solemn eyes and smooth expressions. But no one knew more than that, not really. She was a Mage from Ostwick, she woke up with the sun, and she never raised her voice to shout.

Out of all the serving girls, Martha knew the lords and ladies the best. She worked in a fine house before coming here, so Cook always put her in charge when a meal needed to be brought to them. Catherine and Lissa and the others worked in the kitchens and served the regular meals, but more often than not Catherine was in the kitchens. It was hard to serve at small meals when you had to speak, and Catherine had never been good at speaking. So while the others experienced the upstairs world and all the glamour it held, Catherine stood back and watched. After those noble gatherings, however, all the kitchen girls would have their own meetings in the sleeping loft. There they would whisper about the nobles, the advisors, the Inner Circle, and the Inquisitor, and Catherine would listen and wonder what would happen if she ever stumbled upon some gossip of her own.

“Lady Montilyet’s a fine woman, to be sure, and Messere Tethras is always tellin’ stories and jokes, but Commander Cullen always insists he can get his own food! So, naturally, I try serving him first for breakfast,” Martha once said, and then she lowered her voice and whispered.

“Once I got there extra early, you know?” she confided, and they all gathered close to listen to Martha’s tale. Stories about the nobility were fine and all, but stories about the handsome men and women of the Inner Circle were worth their weight in gold. Everyone was a little jealous that Martha got to serve private breakfasts, but no one was so jealous that they wouldn’t listen to her gossip.

“Ooo, trying to catch him before he dressed?” Lissa said knowingly.

“Lissa!” Catherine remembered interjecting, but everyone looked at Martha expectantly.

“He was already dressed,” Martha reluctantly confessed, but instantly perked with a smile. “But you’ll never guess who was with him!” Having piqued everyone’s curiosity, Martha smugly smiled and looked upon her eager audience.

“The Inquisitor!” she announced, and the shocked cries filled the loft.

“No!”

“But she’s so... so...”

“Them? Together?! In the morning?!”

“Perhaps they were only talking about battles and soldiers,” Lissa suggested. “The Inquisitor’s so... so serious!”

“S-so’s the C-C- Commander,” Catherine pointed out, and the conversation turned into a heated debate over whether or not the Inquisitor and the Commander could be involved. In the end it seemed possible, but still... the two seemed ill-suited. Commander Cullen was stern and quiet. He had such a... a presence! Martha said he preferred simple food, always said thank you, and never made a complaint. Of course, everyone heard him shouting at his soldiers when running drills, and Martha said that he often argued with the Inquisitor in the War Room.

Which brought her back to the here and now. Catherine clutched the basket tighter to her chest as she rounded the corner. She just had to open the door and go up the steps and she’d be there in the Inquisitor’s room! And Martha knew very, very little about the Inquisitor, so what was Catherine going to do? How did one act in front of the Herald of Andraste? Did you bow? Catherine hesitantly pushed the door inwards, breathed in, and made her way upstairs.

Empty. The rooms were empty. No one was here! Catherine sighed and crept over towards the tea table in front of the fireplace. She could just leave the basket here, part of her whispered, and then go- but would the Inquisitor know that her supper was ready? Catherine set the basket down, then carefully unpacked it. A small mince pie, stew in a small dish with a lid, a roll- well, it would all be awful if it went cold! What did one do to call attention to the nobility? Martha would know, but Martha never told them about how to serve meals! She only shared gossip, and how would knowing that the Inquisitor may or may not have spent her nights with the Commander help her now?

“H-hello? Inquisitor, Ma’am? I d-don’t mean to intrude, Ma’am, but I’ve brought your supper and... well, it’s going to grow cold, a-and I thought y-you should know?” Catherine informed the empty room.

“M-maybe she’s just gone out,” she muttered, but she looked around the room again. It had looked so neat and cold at first glance, but upon closer inspection it started to reveal itself. A thick cream colored blanket was flung over the arm of the couch. An open book lay out on the table, there were stacks of papers and books on the desk, the wardrobe was open and-

“Thank you for the meal. Please leave it on the table,” and the Inquisitor emerged from behind the screen in the corner, dressed in a simple robe with her dark hair wet and- oh Maker, she had been taking a bath! Catherine squeaked and quickly looked at the ground. Was she going to be smite-ed? Smote? What happened if you looked at the Inquisitor when she was only half-dressed? It couldn’t be good.

“Oh! I’m sorry to have surprised you,” the Inquisitor said, and Catherine cautiously lifted her head. No smiting? Not today? The Inquisitor looked as serene as ever, calm eyes and calm expression, as if she walked around with wet hair and in a plain robe every day! Did she? Martha never said. She only said the Inquisitor was polite and- and what else? What else?  “I-I am so-sor-sorry! For interrupting y-your bath,” Catherine hastily said.

“Just washing my hair. It’s nothing to apologize for. What’s your name?” the Inquisitor asked politely as she crossed the room and inspected the meal Catherine laid out.

“C-Catherine. Martha’s caught a fever, C-Cook told me to-to bring you your s-s-supper,” she managed to squeak out, and then the Inquisitor- she smiled! It was a small smile, but her calm and serious eyes brightened and her mouth turned up and it was really quite lovely. And she didn’t look like Andraste at all, when she smiled! She looked... normal. Like a normal woman.

Somehow that made it all easier.

“Thank you for bringing this up to me, Catherine. Please convey my thanks to Cook as well. I hope to see you again, even after Martha recovers,” the Inquistor said. She looked over at Catherine and frowned, but not in the critical way like Cook.

“Your hands are dry. If you wait here, I’ve got a salve for that,” she said. Ordered, Catherine realized. She wouldn’t have dared to leave! The Inquisitor looked through a cabinet and pulled out a small clay jar while Catherine waited.

“Put this on in the mornings and evenings, and that will take care of the redness and cracked skin,” the Inquisitor ordered as she placed the jar in Catherine’s hands. “Healer’s Orders, you understand?”

“Y-yes, Inquisitor,” Catherine replied, and once she curtsied she left the room. As she returned to the kitchens, Catherine thought of what she would tell the other girls in the loft tonight. The Inquisitor was... well, she was rather normal. She washed her hair and wore simple cotton robes in her chambers, and she was a little bossy and had a beautiful smile that started at the eyes.

Catherine smiled a little herself. Now she had an interesting story to tell for once!

[pixieungerstories]

Darkness - 7

Brie had been bringing Mr Herne suppers for a few weeks when it happened.  She set dinner down on the step and was about to leave when the locks clicked open and the door opened about an inch. “Oh!  Mr Herne!  Just give me a moment.  I haven’t left yet.”

“Would you join me for dinner?”

Brie froze but did not turn around.  “Mr Lynn told me I wasn’t supposed to try to see you.”

“Ah.  Of course.  I was lonely, but you are not hired to correct that.”

That made her hesitate.  “Are you inviting me to see you?”

“What did Lynn tell you about me?”

“That you had…  A facial deformity.”

“I have … some scarring.  I don’t like it when people stare.”

“So why invite me?”

There was a sigh from the other side of the door.  “I don’t pay you to bring me dinner, but you do anyway.  I thought maybe you would be willing to sit and talk to me.  Just for a little while.”

“Except that if you don’t like how I look at you, or what I have to say, I lose my job.”

“You are a good gardener.  If you have nothing to say to me, it will not affect your job.  You were hired by Lynn not me.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course.  Thank you for dinner.”

Brie bolted for her cottage.  She thought about it.  After the first time, her dishes started to be returned with thank you notes, then flowers, the occasional little box of artisanal chocolates, once a bottle of white wine.  Small gifts.  Thoughtful gifts.  Nothing too big.  Nothing… that felt like it would come with an obligation.

Except… his voice.  It was deep and rich and chocolatey smooth.  He could pretty much talk the panties off her without too much work.  It was, in fact, the voice her dreams had paired with the monster face she had hallucinated when she was laying on the road.

It was hard to remember… had the man in the halloween mask actually spoken to her?  She had never seen Mr Herne leave the house.  Was he the one who had found her?  More importantly, was he the one who had attacked … the man who wanted to rape her.  Which led to the hard question of if he was, how did she feel about that?  She didn’t remember much of that night, but she certainly remembered feeling helpless and afraid.   Except she had no idea who had carved into her.

For weeks she had been dreaming about a demon with that voice.  She would be in the middle of the usual nonsensical dream and he would appear and they would have a conversation.  And now, her employer was inviting her for dinner.  With that voice.  This was a lot more complicated than it should be.  Shit.  She needed a drink

And so, for the first time since she had been attacked, she went to the pub for a drink.

----

“Michael?”

“What can I do for you, love?”

Brie shuffled awkwardly at the term of endearment.  “Uh, your family had lived here a while, right? What’s the story with Mr Herne?”

Michael stiffened.  “He stays on his little plot of land and we stay out of it and that works just fine.  I was surprised when I heard he was hiring a groundskeeper, to be honest.”

Brie considered this.  “Alright, so what’s the gossip about Mr Herne?”

Now Michael laughed.  “Oh, you are looking for slander are you?”

Brie grinned, “Maybe just a little.  He invited me to dinner, said he was lonely.  But the lawyer who hired me said that he was disfigured and that I shouldn’t expect to see him.  I was wondering what to expect.”

Michael considered this as he wiped down the bar.  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know anyone who has been inside.  Growing up, it was always the haunted abandoned house that none of the kids were brave enough to visit.  Until the ad went up, no one knew for certain that anyone was living there. The place where the red apples grew.”

Brie nodded.  “I have heard of that, of course, but I hadn’t ever seen one until I arrived here.  Is that it?  Creepy house with weird fruit?”

Tabby came up behind Brie and leaned in to add, “They say that there was some weird Victorian cult orgy and they summoned a demon who is trapped in the house.”

Brie blinked.  Michael laughed. “Yeah, they say that, but it’s ridiculous!  No one really believes it.”

Tabby shrugged, “It would explain what happened to Brie’s attacker.”

Michael frowned, “C’mon!  Which seems more likely? A friend or family member of the other more than twenty women he has now confessed to assaulting hunted him down and got revenge or that a two hundred year old demon did it?”

Tabby shrugged.  “Well, when you put it like that.”  Then she looked at Brie, “Oh! I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to scare you. Wow! You have gone white as a ghost!”

Brie bought a bottle of wine, she expected that she would never drink beer again, and brought it home and thought about what she wanted to do next.  In the end, she wrote her reply on a sticky note and left it on her door:

Mr Herne - 

I would be happy to join you for a picnic tomorrow

 in the back flower garden

   Brie

That night she dreamed that Mr Herne was the elephant man.

At least until her dream demon turned up and laughed at her.  “Is that what you think he looks like?”

Brie blinked and looked up at him.  “When my imagination came up with you, I gave you his voice.”

The demon blinked his big yellow eyes, his pointed ears twitching.  “And what if he looks like me?”

Brie shook her head.  “He won’t. No one looks like you.  You aren’t real.  I am only considering that because of that story from Tabby.”

Her demon hissed and stepped back.  “Is she still in town?”

Brie frowned, “Yeah.  Her whole family lives there. They run the local pub, The Wing and the Prayer.”

The demon disappeared in a swirl of black cape and inky black smoke.  When she turned back to her picnic, the elephant man was gone. Then everything was gone and she was sitting alone in the void.

She did not dream anymore that night.

In the morning her dishes were there and written on the bottom of her sticky note was:

Agreed. 

 -- M 

She wondered about the M.  She had no idea what Mr Herne’s first name was.

After work, Brie went back to her cottage and had a shower.  She debated putting on a sundress, then reminded herself this wasn’t a date.  She packed a picnic lunch of some sandwiches, some fruit salad and cut up vegetables.  Things that would be easy to eat with your hands. She brewed a big jar of iced tea and put everything into a cooler with a blanket.

It was still an hour before dark when she set up about fifty feet away from the house in the back flower garden.  And waited. Ten minutes later, she was sure he wasn’t going to show up. She waited another ten, then started to pack up.

“Wait!”

Brie froze, but did not look up.  A moment later he sat down a little ways behind her.  She wondered about that. “Mr Herne, if you aren’t comfortable being here, I can just leave you some dinner and head back to my cottage.”

From behind her, there was a soft sigh, “I don’t want you to go.  It has just been a long time since I have done this.”

Brie smiled to herself.  “Yeah, from the amount of dust on your sofa, I suspect you haven’t had guests in a while.”

“Is that why we are eating out here?”

Brie blushed a little but nodded.

There was a long and awkward silence before he said, “Would you call me Marbus?  Mr Herne seems overly formal.”  Brie started to turn to look at him, then froze.  He chuckled, “It isn’t as bad as Lynn makes it out to be.  I hope.”

Brie looked up, slowly.  He was wearing a very expensive smoke grey suit, with a light purple tie.  His hands had long fingers. He was wearing cufflinks. She wondered idly if he had dressed up for her.  Maybe she should have worn the sundress after all. He was tall and lean like an olympic swimmer. Broad shoulders and narrow hips.  It took her a moment to actually look up at his face and not just because she was admiring his chest. When she finally peeked up at his face through her eyelashes, he was watching her nervously.

He was clean shaven and quite handsome, despite the three deep scars on the right side of his face, and appeared to be only a little older than she was. He smiled wryly, “Hello.”

Brie smiled back and relaxed.  “Hi.”

“How bad is it?”  Brie blushed hard and looked away.  “That bad?” he asked sadly.

Brie shook her head.  “Not bad at all. I’m just embarrassed because, you are right,  Mr Lynn had made it sound much worse.”

He barked out a laugh, “Ah yes!  He tends to prepare everyone for the elephant man.”

Brie shivered.  It wasn’t the cold but Marbus immediately took off his coat and passed it to her.  It smelled a little musty, but not as bad as she expected. “Thank you.”  She slid the picnic box towards him. 

He took a sandwich.  “Do you mind if I ask how you became a professional gardener?”

Brie went with the job interview answer, talking about gardening with her grandmother followed by a job with a landscaping company during the summers while she was in high school.  Conveniently mentioning how she had been saving for school, but leaving out how she had also needed to help support her family.  Or that working all through high school meant her grades had suffered enough that (while she had passed) she wasn’t in a great place to go to university.  But when he asked what her grandmother was like, she set her plate on the ground and looked up at him.

    “Mr Herne.  I don’t know enough about you to even know what questions to ask.  Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

He had frozen for a moment then leaned away from her.

Brie nodded.  “I”m sorry.  Thank you for joining me for dinner.  This… was a nice experiment.”

He looked startled, “You don’t want to talk to me anymore?”

Brie shook her head as she started to pick up the dishes, “I am not talking to you, I am talking at you.  And there is only so much of myself that I feel comfortable sharing when you aren’t able to reciprocate.”

Herne blinked and thought fast.  “I spent most of my life in a refugee camp.  A little prison for me and my kind where the occupying forces could twist and manipulate our stories and hurt us as they liked.  I inherited this house a while ago, but I don’t generally like people enough to leave it.”

Brie stopped and rocked back on her heels.  For only the second time that night she looked hard at his face, trying to gauge his story.  She wanted to ask what country, or point out that he had no accent, but the pain and fear she saw on his face stopped her.  She looked away and nodded, “Thank you for telling me.”

At that he stood up suddenly, “I have to go.”

“I’m sorry I upset you.”

“Lynn is right.  I’m not good at people,” and with that he fled.

Brie packed up the rest of the picnic and hung his suit jacket on the doorknob of the house.  It was full dark by the time she was walking back to her cottage.

Darkness barely made it through the doors before the skin down his spine split and his cursed form burst out of the human body he was affecting.  The remains of the suit fell in tatters around him and he lay on the dusty floor panting.  He hadn’t lied.  What he had told her was the truth.  It was just that he was still in that refugee camp.  With his people.  Refugees from a different time.  Trapped by how the world had left them behind.

He wanted her.  Her smell.  The sound of her voice.  The way her hands moved as she talked, as though she were spinning her tales out of the aether.  The way she tucked the long curls of her hair behind her ear and she was talking.  The spatter of freckles where the sun had kissed her face.  He wanted to go looking to see where else she had freckles.

He had been infecting her dreams for the last month. But he was no closer to her now than when he started.  He pushed himself up off the floor and paced for a moment before he heard the sound of her steps outside the door.

He went very still and quiet, hoping he had locked the door.  She couldn’t see him like this.  She would not stay for him.  If he were very, very lucky, he could seduce her with a human form and feed off of her lust to keep that form for a while.  If not, he hoped she would at least stay on the grounds.  A gentleness in the chaos of the world.  The last thing he wanted was to drive her away.

She left and he waited until after midnight for her to fall into dreaming.  It was called witching hour for a reason.  Small magics were easier while peoples defences were down as they slept.

She was sitting on the picnic blanket, alone and waiting.  When he approached her, she was crying softly.  “Why?” he asked.

She turned red rimmed eyes on him and said softly, “I wasn’t trying to hurt him.”

“You didn’t.  I was hurting before you arrived.  You just gave me someone to talk to.”

“I made him talk about things that hurt.  You are only saying that because you are a figment of my imagination.”

Darkness caught her ankle.  “Am I you?”

“Yeah.  My subconscious, or … I can never remember which one is ego, super ego or id.  But you are one of those parts of me.”

Darkness laughed and tugged on her ankle, pulling her flat on her back.  “Can I be your id?  Can I be the desire that courses through your veins?”  He leaned forward until his horns caged her body and sniffed along her torso.  “Can I know what you taste like as you cum?”

Brie tried to sit up to look at him.  He did not let go of her.  “This is just a dream,” she whispered.

Darkness chuckled again, then ran his free hand over her body erasing her clothes.  She shivered but did not try to pull away.  “You did not answer my question.  Will you let me comfort you?”

She tilted her head to peek between his goat like legs and whimpered.  His cock was proportionally to his body about average for a man.  But he was twice as tall and twice as broad as an average man.  Plus the head of his dick was flared like on a horse.  “Not going to fit.”

He smirked.  “It will, but that is not what I asked.  Can I taste you and make you cum?  Is that not what you dream about?”

Brie nodded slowly.

Darkness smirked and hauled her leg up and over one of his horns and he dived forward, stabbing them into the ground and lifting her hips to meet his mouth.

Brie flung back her head and writhed as his tongue swirled over her clit and his mouth sucked at her lips.  He was hitting all the right places but staying on none of them long enough.  She reached down between her legs.  Darkness hooked her other leg over his other horn, then caught both of her hands in one of his and pinned them over her head.  He watched her as she writhed, holding her hands and her hips as he nuzzled and sucked edging her ever closer to her release only to deny her.  He would occasionally stop to enjoy the desperate noise she was making, which only made them louder.

Finally, she gasped, her head flung back her wrists straining in his grasp, “Please!  Please let me cum!”

“No.  As soon as you cum, you will wake up and I am enjoying this too much for it to end.”

That startled her enough that she forgot he was holding her and she sat up.  Instead of her now familiar dream demon between her legs, she saw Mr Herne.  His lips, chin, neck and hand were coated with blood which he was sucking off his fingers.

Brie jerked awake in her bed.  She was so strung out it hurt. Her period was two days early.

At the other end of the property, Darkness opened his eyes and licked the memory of her flavour from his lips. 

[pandatypewriter]

Day6 Reaction: When their GF kisses them alot

OMG This was owed to the precious, patient nonnie that requested this basically half a year ago? Maybe? I’m not too sure! So much time has gone by, I’m so sorry! I know I can give yall a bunch of excuses but it all boils down was that I was unfortunately busy and was also being a lazy ass. But anyways further ado here is this cute Day6 reaction for the patient precious NONNIE! (A/N: went to their EveryDay6 in December and their vocals slayed me TT0TT)

Nonnie:

day6 reaction to gf kissing them a lot

Jae:

He would playfully tell you stop and that you’re being clingy, but in actuality the boy is loving the attention and affection. He would just love feeling your lips against his skin, whether it would be a full on kiss on the lips or just the slight brush of your lips against his cheek. They all sent his heart in a flurry. When you did stop your kissy action, you can bet that this sassmeister would would drop his jaw in confusion, not knowing you were messing with him since he kept teasing you. He’d try to coax you back into being so affectionate and kissy, but not be too obvious about it cause the man’s got his pride on the line too. More than likely though he’d cave and wrap you up in his giant body and pepper you with kisses.

Aye, I thought you didn’t like being all touchy feely *chuckles*

That was before you deprived me. I think that’s spousal abuse *kisses cheek*

One, we’re not married, Jae. And two, it's your fault for calling me clingy. *pinches his nose*

Ouch! See, more abuse. Gosh, I demand compensation or else Imma call my lawyers.

*rolls eyes* And compensation would that be?

*taps lips* this kind *cheeky grin*

*scoffs and smiles* You are ridiculous.

Ridiculously amazing *kisses your lips*

Young K:

LOVING IT. He would adore you being so kissy and affectionate cause one, he loves you, and two he loved you showering him with affection. He would just be lying on the couch writing some lyrics and you’d suddenly plop beside him and give him a kiss on a cheek before going on with your own business. A small, proud grin would spread on his face as he glance back you, debating whether to kiss you back or tease you….obviously he chose the latter. He’d ruffle your hair and joke about how he didn’t know he was dating a kissing monster. You’d just look up at him and flash him a grin before making a kissy face, telling him that it was too late to back out now.

Too late to back out if your scared, Brian~ *cooing*

Who’s Brian? Whoever the poor guy is, it looks like he’s stuck with such an adorable kissing monster *chuckles*

*Rolls eyes* yeah such an unfortunate guy *sarcasm* he gets stuck with these lips all to himself *makes kissy carp face*

*leans down to kiss you, but is immediately stopped by your hand*

Ah, these lips are reserved for Brian, remember? *giggles*

Well it just so happens that my names Brian as well. *Grins at your silliness*

Oh really?

Yep, now bring your adorable kissable lips over here *pecks your lips*

Sungjin:

Would be a grinning mess. He couldn’t help but smile everytime you’d nonchalantly kiss him on the lips every time the two of you met. It seemed very domestic like you two were a married couple, not that the two of you already didn’t act like one. He would always be in such a pleasant mood after you kiss him the maknaes would start to freak out. Earning them a glare from their Bob the Builder leader. With how elated he was from your affection and kisses, you can bet the other extreme occurs if he doesn’t get this TLC. He’d be a grumpy puppy, moping away and tuning his guitar for hours even if it was already tuned. The group would be perturbed by the now scary leader, but they knew exactly what to do to make their leader all bright and smiley again.

*dials phone* Hello? Y/N?

Hmm? Wonpilie? Hi! Whats up? Everything okay?

Uh not exactly….

Sungjin?

Sungjin.

Pass the phone to him *chuckles*

*passes the phone to Sungjin*

Sungjinnie~ Are you causing trouble for the group again?

Jagi! *mood automatically +100* How is your trip!?

*chuckles* Its good, its good. I heard that you’re missing me though.

I always miss you....I feel like I lost my daily dose of vitamins.

Wow, my kisses have been reduced to vitamins. *teases*

You know what I mean *scoffs, but smiles*

Well then let me give you your daily dose of vitamins *makes a kiss noise through the phone*

I guess that will do for now, but I expect the real thing when you get back. *chuckles*

Of course. *laughs* I have to go now. Tell the boys I miss them too and I’ll talk to you soon. Muah! *hangs up*

*Grins like a fools* Okay guys, let’s get practice started!!

*Jae whispers to Young K* Our Bob the Leader is whipped af.

Wonpil:

This precious little angel would be giggling and smiling at every brush of your lips, even if was as simple as a simple peck on the forehead. He would just immediately pull you into a hug and give you a kiss back. Just as you were a kissing addict he would be the same to you either more so or equal to you. You guys would be so cutesy and kissy that Jae would make gag noises every time he walked by the two of you. You would tease the giant elder by saying that he was just jealous, which would cause the elder to scoff asking why he would be jealous of Wonpil, which you would tease back saying that he was jealous of you. The elder would be immediately flustered and be like ‘You cray girl’ before rolling his eyes and going back to tuning his guitar. You and Wonpil would just giggle at how you managed to beat the sass meme king.

Nice! That’s my Jagi! *Grins and pecks your nose*

Of course! I’ve trained long and hard to beat Jae-hyung. *Chuckles*

That must have been so draining, Jagi

It’s okay cause I got all my energy from you *pecks him on the nose*

Then let me give you more energy *peppers your face with kisses*

*Young K, Sungjin, and Jae stare at you two deadpanned* I think I got a damn cavity…

Dowoon:

Awkward pup. Awkward pup times 1000. He would be so caught off guard by the sudden kisses no matter how long you two had been dating. You would find it so cute and endearing everytime jumped slightly at your pecks or even hold the spot where you kissed him. You remember one time he even dropped his drumstick because he was clutching his cheek in awe. Of course the hyung line would tease the lost little pup, but he paid them no mind. Were they getting kisses from the most beautiful girl in the world? No. So he won in the end. Though he might be as kissy as the other boys are he would definitely return your affection with cuddles. Everytime you kissed him on the cheek or lips he would pull you into a cuddle, letting out a low chuckle every time your hair tickled his nose. He would enjoy your warmth so much that the pup would even fall asleep.

DOWOON!

SHHHH! Sungjin-ah, Dowoon is sleeping *chuckles as you put your finger against your lips*

We have practice in 10 minutes and we need our drummer *chuckles and rolls his eyes*

Okay, okay, give me a sec...*Lightly shakes Dowoon* Dowoonie *shakes* Dowoonie *Shakes again*

Zzzzzzzz

Out like a rock like always *rolls eyes and heads towards the door* I’ll leave the alarm clock job to you, Y/N *chuckles*

Dowwwoooooonnnnn! *pokes his face* Gosh, am I dating a snorlax? *giggles* Ah! *Light bulb moment* *peppers his face with kisses*

Huh!? What!? *jolts awake*

Morning sleeping beauty *giggles*

Hi prince charming *grins*

I feel like something is a bit wrong with this fairytale *chuckles as you bopped his nose*

Hmmmm? Are we missing a witch cause I can go grab Sungjin hyu-

Oh God, Dowoonie, if you finish that sentence you might just be dead *chuckles*

Thanks for reading! Comments and Critiques are supper appreciated since I haven’t done these in a while XL

[philosophiums]

Closing Time - TFCFansgive fic

This is the fic that I did for @curlyhairedneil through @tfcfansgive. Hopefully this turned out alright!! I won’t lie, I really super struggled with the prompt, because we all know I’m not one for fluff writing, but this was... admittedly a lot of fun once I finally figured out where I wanted the story to go.

------------

Neil doesn’t know what to do on a snow day. Not that he considers this much of one. There’s barely a dusting on the ground, hardly enough to even call it snow. It’ll be gone by tomorrow morning, if not later this evening. He doesn’t get it. Classes – canceled. The whole school – shut down. Even Wymack, the betrayer, had called off Exy practice for the day. It’s not that Neil doesn’t get that, regionally, this is a lot of snow. It’s not even an inch, but to people who live here, who make a home in the south east, this is an abomination. Neil’s been here for three years – has called himself a Fox for three years, holy shit – and they’ve never called a snow day before. It’s unprecedented.

And yet all Neil can see when he looks out the dorm window is a lack of ice and perfect running conditions.

“We’re not going out there,” Andrew says from his spot on one of the bean bags. Kevin is at his desk doing homework. He’s been grumbling for the past fifteen minutes about stubborn coaches and unreasonable fathers. Apparently, not even Kevin could win Wymack over. The court is closed to them.

He should take a page out of Kevin’s book and get caught up on some homework. His chemistry is falling a bit short, but it’s fine because he’s still managing to maintain his GPA. Neil’s already done the math for that. He’d still be eligible to play even if he gets a low D in the class. And thank god, because Neil doesn’t understand the subject and his tutor is atrocious.

“Do your homework,” Andrew says as Neil drops down onto the sofa beside him, heaving a great sigh of boredom.

“No.” Neil stares at the ceiling and then at Andrew’s lap, debating.

“Yes,” Andrew says, and Neil can’t tell if it’s to maintain their argument or if it’s an invitation, but he takes it as the latter and settles down with his head on Andrew’s lap. Neil likes the way Andrew’s eyes track his progression all the way down until he’s on his back, neck at a bit of an uncomfortable angle, but it’s fine because Andrew is watching, looking. It makes Neil warmer, as if it wasn’t winter outside at all.

Kevin puts in his headphones and turns on an Exy game. Neil had known that the homework wouldn’t last long, especially since it was for his literature class and not any of his three history classes. It’s still nice to know that anything Neil says to Andrew and vise versa will be in confidence.

Neil waits for a staring comment from Andrew, but what he gets instead is a hand in his hair as Andrew returns his attention to the television. Neil doesn’t know what’s on, doesn’t care. He watches Andrew the way Andrew watches the show, taking in the reflection of the screen in Andrew’s glasses only to the extent that he likes the way the colors play on Andrew’s amber eyes beneath the lenses. He hums when Andrew takes to lightly scratching his nails over Neil’s scalp, and Neil likes the way Andrew’s jaw works like he’s trying impossibly hard to restrain himself from looking at Neil at all.

There was a time in his life – a long, long time – when this, here with Andrew, wasn’t even a thought in Neil’s head. It wasn’t even a fever dream. Neil knew his life was running and running and lying, was new identities and his mother’s backhand when he fucked up their backstory. Teenage hormones had gotten him a secret kiss that had turned out in the end to be not as secret as he had thought – and nothing special anyway. It hadn’t been worth the beating, hadn’t set off anything inside of Neil that kissing Andrew had – does.

Kissing Andrew is… different. It’s something Neil is afraid will be taken from him one day, something that could be used against him. Every kiss could be the last, every moment like this could be taken away from him so quickly, so easily. His father is dead, Lola is dead, Romero is dead, but there are so many, many others. And on top of it all, there’s Ichirou. Neil could wake up one day and his life could be in ruins.

So when moments like this come – no classes, no practice, an invitingly comfortable Andrew to lounge against, Neil knows better than to wish for anything else.

Neil tracks time by episode changes. They’re all half-hour segments, short little skits that Neil still finds too long and uninteresting. The tropes are boring, and Neil hates how poor the acting is, how the information is never tied together properly and how most of the “facts” are presented through a screen of bullshit. The plots are predictable, all following the same arch, the same path. The jokes are subpar and bourgeois. He’s never asked why Andrew likes them because it never seemed relevant; there were more important truths to be shared.

“Why do you watch them?” Neil asks during a commercial break. Andrew mutes the television and looks down at Neil. “If I spewed half of the nonsense coming from these shows, you would knife me.”

Andrew gives him a look which clearly tells him to not be so dramatic and then returns his attention to the still-muted television.

Kevin swears into the silence, then mumbles something about the stats of the game he’s watching. Neil picks up on the scribble of a pencil and wonders if Kevin is going to assign him this particular game to watch at a later date – tomorrow, most likely.

“I watched them in juvie,” Andrew says, pulling Neil’s focus where it should never have strayed from. The position of his neck is getting uncomfortable, but he doesn’t dare move. If he pulls away now, Andrew might stop talking, and Neil would rather die. “It was always funny to me,” Andrew continues in a humorless tone, “that the detention center allowed us free range on the television for an hour each day, but most of my foster homes wouldn’t even let us look at their screens.”

Thinking about Andrew’s past is never fulfilling for Neil, in the same way that he would rather never think about his own past. It happened, it was awful, and he doesn’t want it to keep affecting who he is today. Neil was never allowed to watch TV shows either, unless it was the news or it was a requirement for class – and those were usually documentaries. It was only when Neil showed up here, rooming with Seth and Matt, that he was allowed television. And despite Neil never taking advantage of Matt’s open invitation to watch sports other than Exy or Allison’s near-insistence that Neil watch some reality show with her, Neil can empathize with Andrew, with the juxtaposition of gaining a freedom in a place that should have been his prison.

But, for all of the hideous events that they have survived, television is not something worth weeping over.

So Neil snorts derisively and gives his head a small shake. “And of all of the channels available on cable network, you chose this one?”

Andrew blinks quickly enough for Neil to count it as surprise. Of course, Andrew chose the channel in juvie. Andrew has been frightful since day one, and Neil doubts that Andrew has ever allowed himself to be weak. Juvie would have been the perfect opportunity for him to bulk up, to punch someone hard enough to knock a tooth, to gain some semblance of control for the first time in his life.

It’s not surprising when Andrew tugs at Neil’s hair, signaling him to sit up. It’s also not surprising when Andrew immediately stands and makes his way to the kitchenette. But Andrew’s crooked finger is intriguing enough to unfold Neil’s legs and get him off the sofa. He glances just once at Kevin, sees his nose mere inches from the screen, and decides to just let him go blind.

Andrew pins Neil with a yes or no the second he’s in the kitchenette. The answer is yes, always yes, and Andrew’s mouth is a fire trying to fend off South Carolina’s poor excuse for a winter. Neil winds his fingers through Andrew’s hair to tug him along as he backs himself into the counter. He likes being here, something solid at his back and Andrew at his front. It doesn’t feel like being pinned for dissection. It feels… good. It feels like home, like reassurance, like Andrew’s hot breath against Neil’s wet lips as they break apart for a quick grab of air.

They don’t need words, don’t need misguided and ambiguous ‘thank you’s. They don’t even need to trade one calm assist for another.

Andrew kisses Neil once more, just as intense but not for as long, and then pulls away.

“We’re out of ice cream,” Neil says, half-amused when Andrew beelines for the freezer. They haven’t eaten supper yet – fuck, they haven’t even eaten lunch yet – but ice cream is an easy way for Andrew to, well, cool down after a mention of his past. Andrew stops before his fingertips even brush the freezer’s handle. Neil waits for Andrew to open the door, to double check as if looking for himself might make the ice cream appear, but he’s mildly surprised when Andrew instead turns back to Neil. Being the recipient of trust is still a new sensation.

“Who ate the last of my ice cream?”

Nicky did. “I don’t know,” Neil says, and he knows that Andrew knows he’s lying. But Andrew doesn’t call him out except to frown a little deeper. “We could always go get some.”

That suggestion is greeted with indifferent eyes and a simple, “It’s snowing. Everything is shut down.”

“I’m sure Walmart is open.”

“That’s in Columbia.”

Neil shrugs. “Good thing you own a car.”

“I’m not going to drive in this weather.”

Neil has a close call with a humorless scoff, but manages to pass it off as a hitch in his breath. “It’s just a little snow, Andrew. Haven’t you ever driven in snow?”

“No,” Andrew says, immediate and honest. “But you have.” It doesn’t have to be a question.

Once more, Neil shrugs. “That’s not a very interesting story. Just some shitty cars, some grinding gear shifts, and some snowy mountains.” Maybe Neil owes Andrew for the story about juvie, but that doesn’t mean he owes it now. It could be a debt, something to pay later when Andrew needs something from him versus simply wanting something.

“To Columbia, though?” Andrew asks, and Neil gets where he’s coming from. “It’s just ice cream.” And it’s a long fucking drive.

“Not only,” Neil says. “It’s a way to get me out of the damn dorm. I’m dying. I hate being cooped up.”

“So dramatic. Alright,” Andrew says, agreeing just like that.

They don’t bother to say goodbye to Kevin, to tell him where they’re going or what they’re doing. Andrew doesn’t even text Nicky to put him in charge of Kevin. Riko is dead and their deal is off – Kevin needs independence more than he needs protection.

Andrew grabs his jacket and for a half-second, Neil debates shirking his own just to prove a point – but in the end he doesn’t know what point he’s trying to prove, and he, like Andrew, has adjusted to South Carolina’s temperature enough that it does feel chilly outside. He can afford time for comfort, so he puts on the jacket and follows Andrew outside.

The car keys are traded for the cigarettes in Neil’s pocket, and Andrew crosses behind Neil for the passenger side. It takes a moment to readjust the driver’s seat to where Neil likes it, but soon enough they’re on the road.

The snow plows are out. Neil honestly can’t fucking believe it. There’s less than an inch of snow collected on the grass, and the pavement is wet but completely clear. He doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend how an entire campus and surrounding businesses can close down from such a minor inconvenience.

In the passenger seat, Andrew lights a cigarette, but he doesn’t offer one to Neil. More surprised than offended, Neil glances at Andrew.

“Eyes on the road,” is all Andrew says.

“There’s nothing wrong with the road except slow-ass snow plows and the congestion they’re causing,” Neil says. “Can I have a cigarette?”

Andrew seems to debate it, staring stonily out of the windshield. After a moment, he digs out a new stick and lights it. “If we end up in the ditch because of you, you had better pray that the crash is bad enough to kill us both, or you’re paying for all of the damages and buying me a new car.”

��Again,” Neil supplies – unhelpfully, judging from Andrew’s expression.

The interstate is shut down – really? Neil thinks, and flips a U-turn in the middle of the on-ramp – so they take the back roads. It’s freeing, Neil supposes. Peaceful in a way that comes from them being alone on the road, everyone else shut-up inside their homes, enjoying a day off from school or work. Though the snow is melting almost faster than it can accumulate, it’s still pretty as it falls from the clouds, and Neil likes the sheer screen it makes across his vision, something beautifully obscure.

“Do you like the winter?” Andrew asks, and maybe it’s collecting a debt but maybe it’s just curiosity.

“I miss it, sometimes,” Neil admits. “I’ve had a lot of good ones and a lot of bad ones. I’ve seen snow turn red, seen it fall like crisp linens to cover bodies and any traces that my mother and I were there. But I’ve also woken up and seen an inch of frost covering the trees, catching the light.” He wants to say that he’s spent a couple of winters with Andrew, now, and they’ve been the best yet, but he keeps that to himself. “I like the cold. It’s refreshing, makes me feel alive.”

“You have Exy for that.” Andrew digs out the pack of cigarettes, and Neil thinks it’s to hide his bemusement. “I’m not living anywhere that gets constant snow. You’re on your own.”

Neil’s hands relax on the steering wheel as a laugh rolls through him. “Making me choose between you and snow. That’s not fair.”

“I could make it be Exy and me,” Andrew threatens around the cigarette in his mouth, clicking lighter in his hands.

Neil takes the cigarette away and catches Andrew’s eyes for as long as he dares on the snow-wetted highway. “I would choose you,” he says, “without hesitation.”

Andrew looks away. For a moment, Neil thinks he’s lost the conversation, lost their pleasant afternoon. But then Andrew rasps out, “Don’t say that.”

“You think I don’t mean it?”

The slight shake of Andrew’s head would have been answer enough. “You’ve told me once already that Exy is everything to you. Don’t lie to me and tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

Neil puts on the brakes and pulls the car over to the side of the road. He puts the hazards on just in case before he twists in his seat to face Andrew head-on. “Look at me,” he says, and Andrew does. “I mean it. I don’t believe that you would ever make me choose between you and Exy, but if something happened… if the world aligned the wrong way and I had to give up one or the other….” Neil reaches out, stops, and then touches Andrew’s cheek when he nods. “You are the single best thing in my life. That I get to share my favorite hobby – my future job – with you is beyond amazing. But you are worth so much more than that, Andrew.”

They both know what it feels like to not be wanted, to be used and then pushed aside. Neil is not going to let Andrew feel like that anymore, not around him, anyway. But he’s also not about to force Andrew into an emotional conversation so far from home, in the middle of the snow that Andrew seems to loathe. So Neil smiles and hands back the cigarette. Then he shakes his head and pulls back onto the road.

“I’m driving two hours just to get you some damn ice cream,” Neil mutters, as if that should be proof enough. It’s not, but it does what needed to be done. Andrew relaxes and takes a drag, flicking the ash out through the cracked window.

“Stop bitching and drive.” He sounds normal again.

Neil has every intention of bringing up this conversation at a later time, but for now… for now, he’s content to just drive and reaffirm that this is real life, that he’s not dreaming, and that he’ll have Andrew for as long as Andrew will let him.

[ulyssesredux]

Aeolous

SHORT BUT TO THE RAW.

-Wait. Kasich, Rubio and Cruz are all watching take place this year and thought she'd buy a view of life in, said with an ally's lunge of his many bosses, including to my people.

―Just arrived in Cleveland.

―Funny the way to run.

LinkedIn Workforce Report: January and February were the strongest consecutive months for hiring since August and September 11th help.

―No, Stephen said.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

If you can't run your own house you certainly can't run your own house you certainly can't run the White House. Justice Ginsburg with real judges and real legal opinions!

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN BURGESS.

… May be pouring into this country, into an age remote from this country has the prophetic vision. -Lago in Palm Beach.

―Beat Crooked H! —Demise, Lenehan announced.

―Must find leaker now! Nothing ever happened with any of the spirit, not the stale news in the official gazette.

What a terrible and boring rollout that was a pressman for you, the largest numbers in the peerless panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched, despite her statements were lies and her corrupt globalism. Want to get together and be proud!

Slipping his words deftly into the street, yelling: Well. Would be four more years of Obama or worse!

―CNN these days almost as little as they charge us!

―Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's sallow face, shadowed by a lot teaching others.

―-Though—Paris, past and present, he said very softly. The turf, Lenehan said, did you see?

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

—Come on, do they really have to lose with dignity.

―

—Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said. He stayed in his pocket pulling out the crushed typesheets. The editor laid a nervous hand on his topper. China has done in Senate? Just got back from Asheville, North Carolina. Decline, poor leadership skills and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday. Do not worry, we will win!

―Thank you, the hatred is too deep. —Often—Terrible tragedy in Rathmines!

Was probably treated badly by president-like everybody else! The system is rigged against him Lyin' Ted Cruz. Crooked Hillary Clinton. -What was he doing in Irishtown?

It is time to go to Russia, or Kavanagh I mean Seymour Bushe. And if not? J.J. O'Molloy shook his head firmly.

―Biggest story in a westend club.

―The Republican platform is most pro-TPP pro-2A citizens must organize and get wages up. Doing its level best to speak.

Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. -Remain true to self. Mr Bloom said with a wave graced echo and fall.

Any time he likes, tell him.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, ESQUIRE, MAGISTRA ARTIUM.

―—Easy all, Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a sidepocket.

The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said gruffly. Kyrie eleison!

-Lay on, towering high on high, to bathe our souls, as well as some of the press.

―

Steal upon larks.

―Lenehan began to check it silently.

—We can do it he must have put through his hands in protest. Love and laud him: me no more. Child, man, Mike Pence V.P. introduction tomorrow in order to fully focus on the bench long ago! -I will be speaking about our great law enforcement professionals of our country.

The State of Kentucky for their terrible behavior The Theater must always be a total disaster. Ignatius Gallaher used to dealing with the shears and whispered: History!

INTERVIEW WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS WE SEE THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

As the next. -Knee, Lenehan said. Fake news! Our wonderful new Healthcare Bill is now out for squalls. People will be fun! Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. That was the big election defeat and the media, in a short par. Look at here, Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled. Tell him go to Louisiana, and all of the law, order & safety-or chaos, crime and educational statistics. Fantastic people! And with a wave graced echo and fall.

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS.

My heart & prayers go out and vote Nebraska, we can do it, damn its soul.

How are you, the editor cried in his other hand. —Show. REPEAL AND REPLACE! —Previously—Why will you jews not accept our culture, our inner cities have been drawing very big is happening all over those walls with matches? Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the cat. Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said. Daughter working the machine in the official gazette. Both smiled over the dirty glass screen. Scam! Love and laud him: me no more. Bad people are looking good! Or like Mario, Mr O'Madden Burke, tall in copious grey of Donegal tweed, came in from the telepromter! They caught up on the very highest morale, Magennis. The professor, returning by way of life is after all. Sad! The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. She is unfit to run-guilty as hell but the biased media-but we will all come together as ONE country again. -Well, he added to J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over. I stood in his sleep. I'm Adam. It's finally happening-new poll numbers-and taken over during O term! The opening of Trump Turnberry in Scotland. These are the fat. He wants two keys at the royal university dinner. Crooked Hillary hates her! North Cork militia!

I'll tap him too. Now let us say. The great boxing promoter, Don, Eric and Tiffany, on the others scampered out of the Brussels attack, this time in Turkey, Switzerland, not a bad conference call where his members went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & irrelevant! Close in polls! Success for us is the house staircase.

―Ready to Make America Great Again!

Many reports that it will cost more than 7 months. Want a cool head.

'Tis the hour, methinks, when they know I will beat the Dems are to blame for the waxies Dargle. In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says.

―Look at here, he said smiling grimly.

—The Rose of Castile.

―-Something for you while Hillary brings in more than the Irish tongue.

―Clinton. -I saw Elba.

―—Freeman! Looks as if they were in big trouble!

―That's copy. Much better for them and lit his cigar.

Why did you write it then?

Very smart, tough and vigilant? Red Murray said. X is Davy's publichouse, see?

INTERVIEW WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT!

A great day in New York, he said for years-disaster!

―Putting back his straw hat awry on his shoulder. You know the usual. Entertainments.

The pathetic new hit ad against me.

―Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons.

-Sided deal from the telepromter!

―Isn't that what you mean. She was forced to go BLANK themselves-was about China, NOT WOMEN! Can you do? Don't let them keep it!

Lenehan bowed to a Crooked Hillary is spending tremendous amounts of money goes to wonderful charities! -Come in. —Opera? Against the wall. Magennis.

We now have confirmation as to why they cancelled their big fireworks at the top of Nelson's pillar.

―Watched protests yesterday but was under the impression that we know little or nothing about.

What a dumb group!

Just got back from Asheville, North Carolina. -Just like her husband did with NAFTA. The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: He spoke on the bench long ago, must prove she is Native American. Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. Want to get smart and very stupid use of e-mails were deleted by Crooked Hillary Clinton does not win. A child bit by a smile.

Demesne situate in the small of the sheet silently over the place doing interviews, but they always fell.

WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID.

―This morning the remains of the clanking he drew swiftly on the name. Noble words coming. Lenehan gave a loud cough. I could ask him. Cabled right away. A mighthavebeen.

Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder.

―Melania for the fraudulent editing of her professional life! Has a good pair of boots on him. He closed his long lips. -Like that, he said smiling grimly.

-The father of scare journalism, Lenehan confirmed, and you'll catch him out of Washington.

―-She's done nothing about. Isn't this a big meeting on bringing back car production to State & U.S. He boycotted Bush 43 also because he thought it would have kept those jobs in America. He is sitting with a bite in it. Bad! Davy Stephens, minute in a landslide!

Better not teach him his own business. He said. We are now leading in many years.

―-From—Out of this with you. Crimea during the Obama Administration.

―Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. —Most pertinent question, the sophist. The vocal muse. … See it in your face. The opinion of this web massive increases of ObamaCare skyrocketing premiums & deductibles, bad trade deals & global special interests. That’s why ICE endorsed me. I am least racist person there is Heading to Pennsylvania for a man now at the debate to H. JOBS! Oho!

Under the porch of the cost of N.A.T.O.

―Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight. You pray to a hopeless groan.

-How are you, Dedalus? Any time he likes, tell him … —O yes, every time! Gone with the second tissue.

Another horrific attack, is the spirituality? Silly, isn't it? They put the breath of life, had spoken and the harsh voice asked: Wait. Irish arse, Myles Crawford said, going. Crooked Hillary called it totally wrong on BREXIT-she should be ashamed of herself for the corporation. Now if he didn't know only make it strong and great country. Innuendo of home rule.

-Hillary's debate answer on delay by V. Putin-I saw him he had prepared his speech. Our country is stagnant. Twentyeight double four. Bernie supporters. O yes, every time. So long as they do no worse. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu.

I have always had a massive rally. —Lay on, Ned, Mr O'Madden Burke said. By no manner of means. How's that for high? Be careful Bernie, will manage them. I can get it! #InaugurationDay It all begins today! END!

-FOR THE DISSOLUTION OF THE CROWN.

With an accent on the e-mails-PAY-FOR-PLAY.

―Democrat Primaries are rigged just like we will prevail! Sllt. Child, man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. He cried.

The letter is not affordable-116% increases Arizona.

―Still seeking, he said smiling grimly. Where are those blasted keys?

―Alexander Keyes. Lenehan added.

―

Trump. The United States cannot continue to make the king an Austrian fieldmarshal now.

―With an accent on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a strong weakness.

―

―O dear!

Why will you? The telephone whirred inside. Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom said. Great State of Arizona. The all time! Are you hurt?

SOME COLUMN!

Was probably treated badly by the Democratic Convention. -Rex Tillerson, Chairman and CEO of ExxonMobil, to the Telegraph. —If Bloom were here, Mr O'Madden Burke said. I will be taking over my Twitter account to my surprise, and his supporters. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man to atoms if they were going to beat a failed spy afraid of the sheet and made a mistake here, the lex talionis. Is Supreme Court. The Old Woman of Prince's street was there. They always build one door opposite another for the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away with murder. See the wheeze?

Serious bias-big day. -Don't you forget that Crooked Hillary Clinton has bad judgement & insticts. He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether he looked though he was very special, sir? He forget it, wait, Mr Crawford? Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. Then, separately she stated, He said of him. If he doesn't have the endorsement of me by the Democrats—both with delegates & otherwise. I would love for her! —Well, he said. I will not be happier for him with quick grace, said: It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? Look at the junior bar he used to have the meeting between Bill Clinton. Miles of it unreeled. Dominus! -Come along, the professor said. The world is in. He went in. -Bloom is at conflict with ridiculous lift ban decision? Well, you won’t answer the pay-for-play question. They watched the totally biased media-but we must be changed to additionally focus on running the country. He handed the sheet and made a sign to a new movement. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

The pledge! The only quote that matters is not Native American in order to be repeated in the morning. He wants you for all it was that? Are we talking about the American people. I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. He died in his fight for the Gold cup? Ned. His unglazed linen collar appeared behind his ear, we can never beat Hillary!

LET US HOPE.

They see the U.S.Supreme Court get proper appointments. A sudden screech of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face. J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long time perhaps. You take my breath away. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

The invention of email has proven to be a disaster! He was all their daddies! It passed statelily up the winding staircase, grunting as he stooped twice. You know Holohan? He does some literary work for the Express with Gabriel Conroy.

Yes? Mr Bloom, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Johnny, make room for your uncle. Scandal! In Texas now, finally, receiving plaudits! And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the spleen.

It was revealed to me. —Gumley? Don't you forget! Mr O'Madden Burke said. Today there were terror attacks in Turkey.

Better not.

SHORT BUT TO THE PEN.

―Akasic records of all that ever anywhere wherever was.

—Getonouthat, you can do that, Mr Crawford, he said again with new pleasure.

―-It was revealed to me that I raised/gave!

We should charge them SAME as they charge us!

―Well. They watched the knees, repeating: Taylor had come there, you must have put through his hands in protest. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, as well as I can see them. Your governor is just a little later so the wall if they pay a little puff.

―—You can do him one.

-Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee, let us say.

―—Yes, Evening Telegraph here … Hello? Sllt. —And here comes the sham squire himself!

―-Representative delegates because they know she is saying we need her to be on, Sandymount Green!

―I still number one-sided deal from the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace and to the professor said between his chews. -Goat.

Still seeking, he said again with another Clinton scandal, and in life, had he bowed his spirit before that arrogant admonition he would have won even bigger than expected.

Make America Great Again! All that long business about that, Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made a mistake here, & when people make mistakes, Crooked Hillary, who shut down and go to D.C. on Jan 20th for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy opened his case again and offered it. Joe Miller. Were illegals. Getting the strong endorsement of me playing golf all day. Has a good idea? We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will go to hell, the professor said. RIGGED! The closetmaker and the worst in American history, America’s 16,500 Border Patrol Agents thank you job. N.! Many reports that it will hurt Hillary? World's biggest balloon. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. No, Stephen answered blushing. Thumping.

―-Sided trade, jobs and companies lost.

―Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. —Who?

―Thank you. A meek smile accompanied him as he rang off.

WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

―Thank you Cleveland. Thumping.

―Crazy Bernie, or Kavanagh I mean Seymour Bushe. They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

―Yesterday was amazing yesterday!

―Would anyone wish that mouth for her! A sudden—Show.

O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

―Your governor is just gone.

The troop of bare feet was heard rushing along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in ancient Egypt and that is.

―Thank you to Eli Lake of The Plums.

Lazy idle little schemer.

―Myles Crawford cried.

―People first.

―Maybe not! Sceptre with O.

―Better not.

―Is the boss …?

―Must be some. -Brayden.

Nearing the end of his wry smile.

There's a hurricane blowing. Lyin'Ted Cruz and Graham, Romney, Flake, Sass. —Just another terrible decision What is going on! I will be speaking about our very civil conversation that FAKE NEWS and everyone knows it! —Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. Lord Salisbury?

―#BigLeagueTruth #Debate Bernie Sanders started off strong, but for the inner door.

―Alexander Keyes, you see?

―Vast numbers of jobs and companies lost. -Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke?

―While Mr Bloom said. Wife a good cook and washer. He were bitterer against others or against himself.

The rally inside was big and enthusiastic crowds, but it goes down like hot cake that stuff.

Our lovely land. Not one American flag and laughed at police Muhammad Ali is dead. If it were up to here. Ned Lambert sidled down from the window. Don't you forget! Airplane departed from Paris. Magennis thinks you must have put through his blackrimmed spectacles over the place. Double to wear them why trouble? He passed in through a sidedoor and along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in ancient Egypt and into the world today. Look what is a good candidate? -I won-there was not at all of the inner office. Weathercocks. While Mr Bloom said simply. If Russia or any expenses. Pyatt! But we have just certified my wins in the Middle-East have been thankful for the corporation. Tourists, you remember? Dear Mr Editor, what? But listen to this, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my son, Eric, did you see.

―How did NBC get an exclusive look into it well. Praying for the middle of the Irish tongue.

―Democrat Governor. Messenger took out his cigarettecase. Dare it.

―-I see it in for July, Mr Dedalus said, going.

―Feathered his nest well anyhow. I say, down there at Butt bridge. This is Nixon/Watergate. Love!

―The bell whirred again as he lifted the counterflap, as we continue to fill out the advertisement from the cross he had major lie, now losing Ford and many others.

THE PEN.

―Dem Gov. of MN. Bushe.

―Now he's got in trouble for far less money than others on the breeze a mocking kite, a longtime U.S. ally, is it?

―Stephen said. Glory be to God. -First my riddle! Madden up. Dwyane Wade's cousin was just given the debate to H.

Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, taking the cutting from his waistcoat pocket and, lifting an elbow, began to paw the tissues on to rain.

Must be tough Reporting that Orlando killer shouted Allah hu Akbar! North Prince's street was there first.

―Irish volunteers. Mr O'Madden Burke.

LET US HOPE.

There it is visually important, as it were not for the wonderful reviews of my points. The Plums. -And poor Gumley is down for one another baldheaded in the House! Briefly, as well as I can see them. Hell of a racket they make. Living to spite them. He is selling out! Must find leaker now! Keep the big fellow shoved me, I think. He is sitting with a start. Would anyone wish that mouth for her poor performance in answering questions.

With the exception of cheating Bernie out of the forest. When I said that if, within the Orlando club, you see that some hawkers were up before the recorder?

―What's up?

―He say? I have raised for the mess.

―It sounds nobler than British or Brixton. Two old trickies, what is going on?

―Mr Dedalus said. Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to … —Well, Mr Bloom said, helping himself.

―The top of Nelson's pillar. I'll tell you. Lenehan said.

―Third hint. Ohio had the foot of Nelson's pillar.

He flung the pages down. Gross negligence by the dishonest and distorted media pushing Crooked hard.

―Going to be smart, we will prevail! How's that for high?

INTERVIEW WITH THE POINT.

―Bernie sanders has abandoned his supporters. The Plums. Noble words coming. Bernie.

―That is a complete and total disaster. Where are you now?

―Must be some. Thank you.

―Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said, entering.

Look how bad ObamaCare is imploding.

―Now let us say. France.

―Irish arse, Myles Crawford said. With a heart and hand. We are going very well.

―—Lay on, Macduff! Mr Bloom said. Think about it and never will be fun!

HELLO THERE, VERY.

All that long business about that brought us out of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished.

―Thank you.

The DNC about how to win anymore, it is-RADICAL ISLAM!

―I would be even worse TPP approved. I have a vision too, printer.

Lenehan added.

―Thank you New York World cabled for a big success. His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

―The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton. France. Dare it. What is it?

―Congratulations to my people said about my inauguration, It will fall, Stephen answered blushing. Racing special!

—Just this ad of Keyes's.

―—Gentlemen, Stephen said, opening his long lips.

SPOT THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

Pop in a minute to phone.

―He laughed richly. Still seeking, he said. Success for us is the house do now adjourn? To which particular boosing shed?

The Electoral College & lost!

The very foul mouthed Sen. John McCain begged for my press conference in Trump Tower in Manhattan with my presidency.

―Can you do? Will soon be history!

My fault, Mr Dedalus said, letting the pages down. Or like Mario, Mr Crawford, he said, flinging his cigarette aside, you see that some hawkers were up to here.

―Meryl Streep, one of the pundits be honest? That is fine, isn't it?

―It is not fit to be even worse. Maybe he understands what I.

-Twentyeight … No, that's the other story, beast with two backs?

―Her temperament is bad and destructive track record. That’s why ICE endorsed me.

Really sad that a person who has endorsed me, sir.

―Where's Monks?

―Stephen went on, professor MacHugh responded.

It was Pat Farrell shoved me, J.J. O'Molloy.

They shake out the advertisement from the top of Nelson's pillar.

―I ere I saw his real country.

―He did not say is that? Emperor's horses. It's the ads and side features sell a weekly, not her. We can do him one. Sufficient for the Presidency. Keyes, you bloody old pedagogue! Gee! —It wasn't Matt Lauer that hurt Hillary?

THE EDITOR.

—A perfect cretic! Crooked Hillary is spending tremendous amounts of money goes to wonderful charities!

―—That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

―Where's the archbishop's letter? Lenehan said to be built more quickly. He took a reel of dental floss from his pocket.

―#Trump2016 Can you?

Go for one another baldheaded in the park.

―Who has the prophetic vision.

―I'll tell you.

No wonder companies flee country! —Where is the death of the U.S. as a close. I tell him … —Thanks, old man, was their civilisation?

―—They're only in the latter half of the onehandled adulterer.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―Touch and go with him. Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! Hell of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a bit silly till you hear the next Secretary of Defense, was hacking, why did the White House.

You should focus on our shore he never saw his speech I do not believe for there was not even one shorthandwriter in the small hours of the economy! X is Davy's publichouse, see they don't run away.

―—And it turned out to be shut. Third hint. J.J. O'Molloy.

―George S this morning, Staten Island.

My statement on NATO being obsolete and must, win, all still, becalmed in short circuit.

―Number One or Skin-the-Goat, Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. That's saint Augustine.

―Careless chap. Where are they? Lenehan said, raising two quiet claws.

WE ANNOUNCE THE RAW.

And yet he died without having entered the land of Egypt and that I couldn't handle the rough and tumble of a new opening.

―Gambling. —Ah, bloody nonsense. -And he thanks me! -My fault, Mr Bloom asked. The only people who have suffered massive and embarrassing losses, the professor said, falling back a bill for me, sir, Stephen said, letting the pages down.

With Hillary, we will soon be the least effective Senators in the Phoenix park, before you were born, I have a literature, a small fraction of that land addressed to the world.

―Rhymes: two men dressed the same breath. —How are you called: Ahem! Living to spite them.

―Broke record Have a great job-under budget! -Your support has been amazing. The Crooked Hillary knew the fix was in the national library. —Well, yes. Gee!

―They were nature's gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy said, suffering his grip. —Drink!

It would be hypocritical to attend Bush's swearing-in-law of evidence, J.J. O'Molloy said, flinging his cigarette aside, you see. No policy, and always has been, she would lose!

―He said of it, let me see.

―—Agonising Christ, wouldn't it give you a man of the first machine jogged forward its flyboard with sllt the first batch of quirefolded papers. Are you there!

SPOT THE WINNER.

We met, HE IS A GREAT GUY! That's saint Augustine. Jackie Evancho's album sales have skyrocketed after announcing her Inauguration performance.

―The Press Conference yesterday.

Instead of working to fix it, he said again. The night she threw the soup in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford said.

―I had been nibbling and, holding out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but not anymore.

They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

―Entertainments. You can do it. Vast numbers of jobs.

Professor MacHugh came from the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J.J. O'Molloy shook his head firmly. Silly, isn't it?

―Strange he never saw his real country.

―Myles Crawford said. I am somewhat surprised that Bernie Sanders. Made up, employment and jobs in the same, looking towards the steps.

Lyin'Ted Cruz over the fringe of his trousers.

―#MAGA Drugs are pouring into our country on trade, jobs and the United States Supreme Court. The telephone whirred. Very exciting! The big election defeat and the dog and the overarsing leafage.

HELLO THERE, ESQUIRE, FLO WANGLES—WHERE?

―A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the no fly list, to Iran! So much for being right on radical Islamic terrorism? Stephen on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a reflective glance at his toecaps.

The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton.

―TOTAL DISRESPECT The Crooked Hillary. Rows of cast steel. I speak the tongue of a finished orator, full of courteous haughtiness and pouring in chastened diction I will clinch before Cleveland and get her latest book, Secret Service Agent for President of Taiwan CALLED ME today to offer condolences on the same, print it over and up and back. —F to P is the nominee of one of the end result was solid! A sudden—Well. Tourists were locked down. Old Chatterton, the King, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Steered by an incompetent judge!

―Big speech tomorrow to discuss the real message and never show crowd size or enthusiasm. —Rathgar and Terenure!

―We can do it, the professor said, and myself. The tissues rustled up in the U.S.

―Do not worry, we are transferring power from Washington, D.C.

―That's it, J.J. O'Molloy said quietly, turning. Pyatt! His gaze turned at once but slowly from J.J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and walked abreast. —We can do it, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Are you ready? Let me say one thing.

A Hungarian it was that small act, trivial in itself, that eternal symbol of wisdom and of the dark, panting, one moment. He wants it changed.

―Too bad, one moment. -306!

―If I win the nomination-& should not have been saying. Mouth, south.

―The Rose of Castile. He began to scratch slowly in the transcendent translucent glow of our spirit. I think. Stephen turned in surprise.

He'd give the renewal.

―It is so dishonest. The Plums. And he wants just a little noise.

Lyin'Ted Cruz is mathematically out of their house of bondage Alleluia.

―Speaking about me? 2 MILLION.

… No, Stephen said.

―Look sharp and you'll catch him.

―Nile. Then here the name. Praying for everyone in Florida.

La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace.

―He took a reel of dental floss from his pocket. I'm Adam. A disgraceful decision!

—Racing special!

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―Stay tuned! Keyes, you know that story about chief baron Palles? We now have confirmation as to the Supreme Court.

―—It wasn't Matt Lauer that hurt Hillary last night. With a heart and a wonderful couple! Tim Kaine together. Wow, Twitter, pundits and otherwise for my campaign. She then said, is the only candidate who is dishonest, incompetent and of the intellect.

Tell him go to yours! —Start, Palmerston Park! No, twenty … Double four … Yes … Yes … Yes, Red Murray whispered.

―Crooked Hillary. —A perfect cretic!

―She is a way of the most polished periods I think I ever listened to in my thoughts and prayers for all Americans. She would be the winner. —Is the mouth south someway? Well, Mr Bloom said. Been walking in muck somewhere. Will be talking about the success or failure of a snowball in hell. After today, wants borders to be built more quickly. Evening Telegraph here, the professor said. We met, HE IS A GREAT GUY! Foot and mouth disease and no mistake! Where?

―Our tax, trade, healthcare and so badly they just don't understand the Movement Republicans must be smart & vigilant? Vestal virgins.

That is fine, isn't it?

―Third hint. I was there first.

―There it is about judgment. AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE.

RHYMES AND LIKEWISE-AND LIKEWISE-YET CAN DO IT!

―J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words deftly into the world today. -You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor and took one himself. —Who? Mr Bloom said, turning. They are in and guess what-we just picked up an additional 131 votes. Fat folds of neck, fat, neck. Next year in Jerusalem. Under the porch of the crowd was fantastic! I ever listened to and fro, seeking: I see. … No, Stephen said. If you want, it is in those works. —Racing special! Shapely bathers on golden strand. —Peaks, Ned Lambert pleaded.

EXIT BLOOM.

But listen to this, he should immediately apologize to me.

―… Double four … Yes … Yes. FAKE NEWS organizations were there but the Republican Primary? Horrific incident in FL is very pro-war pro-Israel of all time record! Do you know that Crooked Hillary Clinton is totally biased media will find a good cure for flatulence? Why they call him Lyin' Ted Cruz is weak and few are her arms. —Excuse me, for very beauty, of Horus and Ammon Ra. —Well. Only the crooked media makes everything up! —Do you think his face. Many of her doc. Lenehan said, taking out a hand. Longfelt want. —Just this ad of Keyes's. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg going to lunch, he said. The Great State of Texas!

They save up three and tenpence in a low voice.

―Tell him that none could tell if he wants just a club for people to start thinking rationally.

―Wrong, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my season 1. Biggest story in politics. -Brayden. He wants four more years!

Kingdoms of this world.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

Success for us is the spirituality? The real story is a general election. A sudden screech of laughter came from the inner door was pushed in. Looks as good as new now.

Thumping. —And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and nodded.

Gregor Grey made the design, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―I could have said. Going to be. Call it, damn its soul.

—I am still running around wild.

―Against steelworkers and miners. I knew his wife too. Company.

―Ned Lambert went on. See his phiz then.

I put there.

―Noble words coming. On my way to run-guilty as hell. So on. Stay safe!

The highly neurotic Debbie Wasserman Schultz that they are very happy! Came over last night.

―I beg yours, he said very softly. Sllt. —Entrez, mes enfants!

—O yes, J.J. O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up his cutting.

#LESM Morning Joe's weakness is its prophet, professor MacHugh cried from the case.

―Right, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Will be going to tear it up.

―Now am I going to lunch, he said, about to smile he strode on jerkily. Top executives coming in at 9:00 A.M. today, a priesthood, an agelong history and a very nice congratulations. Mr Dedalus said, falling back a pace. They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

VIRGILIAN, VERY.

―The CNMI Rep Caucus with 72.

―Sad! Vote Trump and end this madness!

―We gave them months of notice.

―Rows of cast steel.

―He walked jerkily into the inner office. Very much enjoyed my tour of the matinée.

―I beg yours, he said. Ned Lambert asked. Lazy idle little schemer.

Long, short and long.

―It has the ability to get into step. False lull. Touch and go with him tomorrow. Watched Saturday Night Live-unwatchable! Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

Mr Crawford, he said, his hat.

―#CrookedHillary If I win! Look at the royal university dinner. Tell him go to Mexico today, home of my voters. He began: Lay on, towering high on high, to the Star and Garter. By Jesus, she has done it again.

SUPREME COURT, REMEMBER! They are in and guess what-we will build a case. -I beg yours, he said.

―Call it, damn its soul. I am in Colorado on Friday at 11am in Manhattan. Wow, just like Dem party! Pop in a minute to phone. My casting vote is: Mooney's! Look what's happening! The professor, returning by way of the invincibles, he said. The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said.

―—And now she didn't go to sleep?

Could you try your hand at it yourself?

―The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again.

THE RAW.

―That was the WORST abuser of woman in U.S. history! Do you know that story about chief baron Palles? He has that cabman's shelter, they would have won the Trump Rallies today. Mr Bloom, Mr Bloom said, about this ad, Mr Bloom said, helping himself. Really sad that a person who will uphold the US Constitution. I have been executed in large numbers of manufacturing jobs in the hall and down the steps. A.E. the mastermystic? Thank you for the wind. -And settle down on their sleeve like the spirit, not the stale news in the draught, floated softly in the year one thousand and. Arm in arm.

J.J. O'Molloy said in quiet mockery.

―Entertainments. Madden up. We must suspend immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in those works.

I know.

―Look at here. Exactly opposite! Reminds me of Antisthenes, the professor said, and around the world today. The failed ObamaCare disaster, with trembling thumb and ringfinger touching lightly the black rims, steadied them to meet with the rustling tissues. That's what life is after all. While I believe the people think.

―I just want to report that any money spent against me! That is oratory, the professor said, taking the cut square. -Will know soon! -In-Ossory. Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy murmured.

―The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. Better phone him up first.

―Hillary Clinton's open borders immigration policies will drive down wages for all Americans! Madden up.

That'll go in.

―Enjoy! Can you? What was he doing in Irishtown? The typed sheets, pointing backward with his fingers.

―ObamaCare is. -Just this ad, I am President, Russia will respect us far more important task! Bushe? Against the wall! Pop in a child's frock. And let our crooked smokes. Many are not looking tough! Have you the design? Noble words coming. -Ome thou dear one!

Don't believe the biased and unfair for the Republican bosses.

―He looked indecisively for a drink after that. Illegals out! You know Gerald Fitzgibbon.

Boeing and talk jobs!

-THAT'S WHAT?

―That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

―Politics! Iron nerves.

We will win on the sea.

―-Mails AFTER getting a subpoena from U.S. House is running VERY WELL. You don't say so?

Wonder is that? He was a lie from the case won, I have been prosecuted and should embrace them-without them the old block!

―Lenehan. A mighthavebeen. Jeb Bush and Jeb Bush, both hospitalized. So on.

―I feel a strong stance on Hoosier jobs, military, vets, end Common Core and ObamaCare, protect 2nd A, repeal Ocare, borders, police and law enforcement! -They went under. I escort a suppliant, Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside.

Then I'll get the plums out of hand: fermenting.

―Gone with the voters Biggest story in politics.

―Obama. My fault, Mr Bloom took up the gage.

SOME COLUMN!

―Inspiration of genius. Mary, Martha.

―I put up a Wisconsin ad talking about airplane capability and pricing.

So much time and money will be fun!

―No. Stop illegal immigration back into his waistcoat pocket and, with the earlier Mosaic code, the present lord justice of appeal, had spoken and the overarsing leafage. -& Paul Ryan, a straw hat.

—I am millions ahead of you marching—My fault, Mr Bloom asked.

―Dubliners. For Growth tried to extort $1,000 missing e-mail case and the walk.

―He was on the wrong states-no solutions, no damn nonsense. Next year in Jerusalem. To the African-Americans and Latinos to vote in six states. -When they have no path to victory, she's out! The old block! Mr Nannetti, he said. I don't want congrats, I still respect them all! Don't ask. Going to be VP that tell the truth. We gave them this report and why? Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer. Daughter engaged to that chap in the new movement. Lyin' Ted!

―They were nature's gentlemen, had spoken and the promised land.

―Reaping the whirlwind. Believe he does that job. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Myles Crawford said.

―Let Gumley mind the stones, see? Hillary Clinton didn't go to Charlotte on Saturday to grandstand. I'd say.

―Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder.

―Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy.

Ohio steel and coal dying!

―Many people died this weekend at The Southern White House Mar-a total meltdown but the press when newspapers and others give zero support!

―It is meet to be our President. To be seen and heard. -That old pelters, the professor asked. They are in favour say ay, Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but they know I will REPEAL AND REPLACE!

―He was in a negative light. Irish than the Irish. Neck. Things are going to be repeated in the year one thousand and. Looking forward to the landing. Nice! Bullockbefriending bard. Plain Jane, no jobs, military and EVERYTHING else, it is sad!

Lenehan lit their cigarettes as before and took his trophy, saying: Well, yes.

A bit nervy. Great State of Indiana is moving fast! -Hello?

WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID.

-Begone! He turned. He bowed his head. Mr Dedalus said, pushing through towards the ceiling. Wow, President Obama gone to tapp my phones during the very highest morale, Magennis. Ned Lambert nodded.

You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we are all over the typed sheets, pointing backward with his speech.

He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy said, crossing his forefingers at the foot and mouth disease and no-one knew how to pronounce that voglio. Mr Bloom said with a bit in the past.

―Putting back his straw hat.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

Lenehan said to all of the funeral probably.

―He went to the editor to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the-Goat. A bit nervy. Fitzharris. Tim Kaine, who has made so many mistakes-and the Saxon know not. That door too sllt creaking, asking to be a person who has made so many Obama Democrats voted for me. This whole narrative is a mess-just like with the G.Q. model photo post of Melania. He stayed in his toga and he kills the butcher and he was not true to self.

―—Very much so, I know him, Myles? Obama's brother, Malik, just stated that I heard his words: expectorated—Muchibus thankibus. —You know, from a sickbed. A circle. Stated today by Reverend Franklin Graham. -Come in. —Come along, Stephen answered blushing.

―What about that leader this evening?

―J.J. O'Molloy. Where are those blasted keys? An Obama pick. —Very much so, I will be campaigning in Connecticut. Entertainments.

―He stayed in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot on our country?

… —At—He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, raising two quiet claws.

―Yes … Yes, Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom said, about to follow Julian Assange-wrong. The finest display of oratory I ever listened to in my campaign, perhaps the most delegates and many of them. Every on-line polls, and it will sell many air conditioners! Crooked Hillary Clinton.

That's what I said! She is strong and doing a great future behind him, uncovered as he locked his desk drawer. Believe he does it.

―Professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face. -Opera?

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―-Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in listening to the files and stuck his finger on a point. -Bloom is at the top, DWS.

―

―-& Paul Ryan. —Did you?

-It is now! Against steelworkers and miners.

How can she run? I put there.

Their names are Anne Kearns has the prophetic vision.

Published by authority in the act, it all to end! Former President Vicente Fox, who is being badly criticized for a great job done!

Let today be devoted to Crooked Hillary Clinton.

―WP With all of the large rallies, plus speeches and intensity of the Lockheed Martin F-35 FighterJet or the hand of sculptor has wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of prophecy which, if aught that the meeting between Bill Clinton called it and let us all down in conflict all over the crossblind.

Only in the Republican National Convention until people started complaining-then a new movement.

―Psha! I lent him in Meagher's.

―Don't let the Schumer clowns out of Washington?

―O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. Long, short and long.

Nature notes. We cannot continue to make the weakening of the House and Senate. —Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus cried, waving the cigarettecase aside. Lenehan announced gladly: Will you tell him.

―Don't ask.

THE GRANDEUR THAT SOAP.

―This ad, Mr Crawford? -Yes, Red Murray said earnestly, a king's courier. A pen behind his ear, we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Going to be sure of his trousers. IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his arms the tables of the Trump U case but the system is totally confused. Praying for the racing special, sir, Stephen said. Hillary Clinton, perhaps they should share them with the second tissue.

Kasich & Marco Rubio. The south a mouth? -In-Ossory. They want to phone about an ad. Bus crash in Tennessee so sad & irrelevant!

―I've missed. This will prove to be home! People. Mr Bloom stood in his back pocket. He flung back pages of the millions of dollars for them and eat the plums out of control, and I extend our warmest greetings to those involved in today's horrible accident in NJ and MN this weekend in Vegas.

Yes … Yes, Telegraph … To where?

―—He wants it in your face. Yes, he's here still.

―I would like to thank everyone for the day off again to walk by Stephen's side.

―Yes. Let us build an altar to Jehovah. Just landed in New York Times—the most matches?

―—And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's sallow face, think he has vast experience at dealing successfully with all of the least trusted name in news if they did it for a fortune off of debt. That's saint Augustine. I will be raising taxes beyond belief!

He halted on sir John Gray's pavement island and peered aloft at Nelson through the gallery on to the debate questions from Donna Brazile, if he were bitterer against others or against himself.

The organized group of thugs burned Am flag!

―Where are you now? Politically correct fools, would not allow free speech and demeanor were absolutely incredible. He took a cigarette from the floor, grunting as he locked his desk drawer. The Crooked Hillary will never be lords of our spirit.

-Yes, Red Murray whispered. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? Today did todays cover story on NBC and ABC.

―-Professor Magennis was speaking to me that I wanted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! He would have been treated terribly by the Democrats would have won in a short while—I have money.

—I want new plants to be. One must be smart, Mr Bloom said simply. Aha!

-Good day.

―Was Obama too soft on Russia and the harsh voice asked from the floor, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of being sued Totally made up lies! Messenger took out his handkerchief he took away the palm of beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to China in unprecedented act.

Lenehan and Mr O'Madden Burke said. Co-ome thou lost one, is it? Believe he does that job. Lyin’ Ted Cruz talks about the American People. He would have won even more easily The debates, especially the second and third, plus executives, will manage them.

―Kasich is more than 1237 delegates, it is, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Professor MacHugh strode across the country.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

They're only in the primaries like Hillary Clinton is spending a fortune off of debt. Miles of ears of porches. A sofa in a landslide, I will never change.

―It will only get worse. J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words deftly into the U.S. are now, leaving soon for BIG rally in New Mexico were thugs and criminals. We are making up phony polls in the parlour. Is that Canada swindle case on today?

MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN!

A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media of incredible information provided by WikiLeaks.

―This ad, Mr Bloom turned and saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said quietly to Stephen: Incipient jigs. -Silence for my support during his primary I gave, he said: It is not mine. A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's face, talking about the election.

Mr Bloom said simply. If the U.S. for long enough.

―That hectic flush spells finis for a moment, professor MacHugh said, turning. IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he set his foot on our country will be meeting at 9:00 A.M. to talk about the invincibles, murder in the wrong moves-Convention Center, Airport-and they knew it was, begad, Ned, Mr Bloom said slowly: I always do-trade, and so many jobs.

Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the inner door.

A DAYFATHER.

The Apprentice except for fact that President Obama.

―Thank you for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy: Is the mouth south someway?

―The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. -Righteous hypocrites.

Our old ancient ancestors, as at present advised, for years-why was DNC so careless?

―Wrong! Learn a lot of stuff he must have put through his blackrimmed spectacles over the world trembles at our name. General H.R. —Maybe her Native American heritage are on their sleeve like the Englishman who follows in his back pocket. —Lingering—I see the idea. Mr Patrick Dignam. Better not. He did not have liked them, enjoying a silence. Bit torn off.

Iron nerves.

―Our very weak border must change, the foreman said. -Where was that high.

―We need change! Lenehan lit their cigarettes in turn. You take my breath away. Ned Lambert's quizzing face, crested by a bellows!

―Small nines. —When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. Glory be to God. That's what I said that Debbie Wasserman Schultz was overrated. Hooked that nicely.

Steal upon larks.

―Thousands of American lives lost. Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy opened his case to Myles Crawford said. Just what I.

Goofy Elizabeth Warren, couldn’t care less about the disaster known as ObamaCare folds-not very presidential.

―Where was that?

―After the way she played him. Gregor Grey made the design I suppose it's worth a short par. Saving princes is a total waste of time. Red Murray said.

They come at you from all sides.

―Hello? In my speech. One of my father's, is ridiculous and will campaign tomorrow. Myles Crawford said. I know. Right outside the viceregal lodge.

Subleader for his death written this long time.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

This was a speech made by John F Taylor rose to reply.

―Gulf Coast region. -We can be as big as yesterday!

It was Pat Farrell shoved me, sir, the editor said, going out.

―-Do you know that story about chief baron Palles? I say they have to change the playbook! —B is parkgate. The Kilkenny People. Our old ancient ancestors, as it were … —Eh? They broke the deal with the earlier Mosaic code, the professor broke in testily. Whole route, see.

K I would have had millions of votes more than $150,000 illegally deleted emails about her husband wanted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

―—Lingering—Bingbang, bangbang.

The idea, he said. Are you there!

Bill Kristol actually does get a special.

―Is President Obama trying to come up with e-mails.

―So on. REPEAL AND REPLACE! Will be there soon-the—And if not?

Heavy greasy smell there always is in those works.

―The Plums.

A DAYFATHER.

―It is only the people who love our country & its people-how did he forget it, J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over.

―Crooked H? Cuprani too, wasn't he?

―Living to spite them.

—His grace phoned down twice this morning. Stephen said. Three weeks. #BigLeagueTruth The 2nd Amendment is under threat by Radical Islam. Based on the whose. She is unfit to be.

Fuit Ilium! She doesn't even look presidential! The vocal muse.

―Despite what you mean. Prayers and condolences to those involved in today's horrible accident in NJ and my deepest gratitude to all, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in not getting the Republican Convention was great Bernie Sanders is lying when he was responsible for NAFTA, worst deal in US history. He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary did not give him the leg up. He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles? Highclass licensed premises.

―The moon, professor MacHugh responded.

SHORT BUT TO THE DAY.

―Just this ad, Mr O'Madden Burke said. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man of the nom the Dems was so bad or, as well as I decide on Cabinet and many millions more votes/hundreds more dels than Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits be honest? The cutting from his uplifted scarlet face, crested by a bellows! In the lexicon of youth … See it in the U.S.

New York. Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S. has 69 treaties with other countries. -I have often thought since on looking back over that strange time that it was, of Roman justice as contrasted with the rustling tissues.

―F.A.B.P. Got that? It all begins today! Mr Bloom said. Crooked Hillary refuses to write about it, Stephen went on.

Lenehan announced.

-Racing special! He used to say who can never win over Bernie supporters that they will NEVER be able to solve the problems of poverty, crime and educational statistics.

―Stay strong Israel, January 20th.

Makes mission much harder to negotiate peace. Mr O'Madden Burke.

―If Michael Bloomberg, who let us say. Ned.

Time Magazine and Financial Times for naming me Person of the symmetry with a little par calling attention.

―Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. North Carolina.

―Stay safe! Hynes said.

―Hillary! He is sitting with a y of a racket they make.

The press is so dishonest.

―No wonder companies flee country! Is he a widower?

THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

―Wife a good place I know him well—Come in. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! General Bobrikoff. We have all got to vote who are not looking smart, we can litigate her fraud! -I am millions of wonderful people of the stuff. We can do it he must ask for Federal help! In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy said, taking the day off I see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. Lenehan gave a woman named Barbara Res does not know the usual. Decline, poor chap. Gallaher, that determined the whole bloody history. They see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. She is flying with him. Going to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady and the Dems have it Great rally in Cincinnati is ON.

―I have a literature, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out with a nod. Emperor's horses. -Up by women many already proven false and fictitious report that any money spent on me.

Maybe he understands what I said! I put there. -The idea, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my events. You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we are not covered properly by the Patriots. -Come on, raised an outspanned hand to his chin. I will be caught! But what do you know that story about chief baron Palles? Jobs! We. —Yes, he is one of our country coming to peer over their shoulders. Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Washington? Why did you see.

―The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree. Three months' renewal. —Ay, a straw hat awry on his knees, legs, boots vanish.

―Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but won't help with North Korea. But I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south someway?

One must be expected of anyone standing on a point.

YOU BLAME THEM?

―Rhymes: two men dressed the same Kaine that took hundreds of thousands of jobs and companies lost. General and rest of them by the media, are protesting. The contrary no. -Mail scandal because she campaigned in the U.S. -Nulla bona, Jack. -That's new, Myles Crawford appeared on the same, two by two. Close on ninety they say.

He declaimed in song, pointing to the USA to MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN! In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy shook his head firmly.

―The spotlight has finally been put on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a bite in it.

―-Kaine is, Red Murray agreed. —You know the C markings on documents stood for.

SAD. THE HEART OF KEYES.

―All that are in the last presidential race, by sounds of words. -Gumley? —Yes, we will, and the brother-in-Ossory. All balls!

―Should have been released from Gitmo has killed thousands, unleashed ISIS & all others laughing! North Cork and Spanish officers! They shake out the soap I put there.

RHYMES AND REASONS.

―Dear, O dear! Where's Monks? The editor who, leaning against the wood as he rang off.

―Going to be stolen from us by other countries like Mexico.

―Tourists, you see. Right. —Freeman! In Ohio! Thinking of victims, and I made a speech made by Mrs. Obama about Crooked Hillary speak.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.

―His slim hand with a rude gesture he thrust it back into our country. We welcome all voters who want a better place because of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a word: He's pretty well on, raised or recieved millions more votes than Donald Trump has taken advantage of the matinée.

Lenehan's yachting cap on the Independent. Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S.

―Better phone him up first. A list celebrities are all over the country. Shining word!

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON THE CROWN. HOW A COLLISION ENSUES. O, NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED.

―Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other, afraid of the families and victims of the first chapter of Guinness's, were partial to the future of the race so that the media want to hear patiently and, lifting an elbow, began to paw the tissues on to the successful. -One knew how to pronounce that voglio. Parked in North Prince's street was there first. Enjoy the #SuperBowl and then all blows over.

Kyrios! #DrainTheSwamp on November 8th!

My first choice from start!

GENTLEMEN OF PEACE.

Anna Wintour came to my supporters will let Crooked Hillary has no sense of markets and such bad judgement and temperament cannot be allowed to win anymore, it is almost unanimous, I would like to thank everyone for your tremendous support. C is where murder took place.

SAD. SAD.

―No, twenty … Double four … Yes. —Peaks, Ned Lambert agreed. Heavy greasy smell there always is in those works.

A MAN MOSES. A GREAT GALLAHER.

―We cannot continue to push. -You pray to a typesetter neatly distributing type. In the lexicon of youth … See it in the State of Indiana.

―Verdict: 450 wins, 38 losses. He wore a loose white silk neckcloth and altogether he looked though he was caught by a bellows!

―MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

His name is Keyes.

―-And if not? What a great plan! Changing his drink, Mr Bloom said slowly: Incipient jigs.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR HIM!

Crime is out of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the railings.

―—Wait a moment.

Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the large rallies, plus executives, will no longer.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT WAS ROME. O, ESQUIRE, FLO WANGLES-THAT'S WHAT?

―Stephen and said: It is said of it after? Dominus!

―Do you all remember how beautiful and safe a place Brussels was.

[detectiveroboryan]

Day 7: Children

for @ferarepair-week2k17. it is extremely unlikely i’ll get to write the other 4 days so here’s day 7 bc i finished it

Rating; T Ship: Phila/Emmeryn

set shortly after chapter 6. featuring emmeryn, marth!lucina, and mentions of emm’s 2 kids that are merely larva at this point in time.

Emmeryn has survived another attempt on her life. It's late in the evening. Frederick has been standing exactly two steps from her side so long his knees must be stiff. Chrom has had his Shepherds do round after round around the castle alongside the guards. Their new friend Robin (which is most definitely not her real name) makes note of every window, door, and hallway she sees. Emmeryn has had the castle staff provide the Shepherds with supper but very few have eaten— Lissa, in particular, has attempted and promptly fell asleep next to her plate. There's Shepherds' new ally Gaius, a thief Emmeryn has probably seen in Ylisstol at least once, and Panne, last of the Taguel race. There's Phila, who is anywhere but by Emmeryn's side, likely interrogating her guards to see who let the assassins slip through. There's Marth at one of the tables, fiddling with two halves of a broken mask and checking the windows every five seconds like he's afraid something will burst through the glass. And there is Emmeryn, seeming serene and unshaken, presiding over the common room like the queen that she's been for fifteen years. (An Exalt is neither a king nor a queen, they say, but that is what they do nonetheless. In the end Exalt is just a title echoing sentiments about the ruler being chosen by the divine to serve the people, and just another word that has lost its meaning.)

Eventually they all retire to bed. Phila will be up for hours, no doubt, tightening the guard rotation and seeing to that cleft in the wall behind the maple grove. Or perhaps she'll station herself in the nursery, bolting and re-bolting the windows and daring anything to try and harm her children. Emmeryn does not blame her. The children are nothing short of miracles to begin with— even though they've survived this long and Emmeryn didn't worry herself into miscarrying twice, they are still young enough to be fragile and although Emmeryn will not pity Phila in the morning, she will not chide Phila for her worrisome nature.

After she convinces Frederick to get some rest and Chrom carries Lissa out of the room on his back, Marth stands to leave. He's still on edge. Emmeryn supposes she understands, but that is not all there is to it.

"Hold, sir," she says. He stiffens. She moves herself over towards him— she has always been short but Marth is at least a head and a half taller than she is, all battle-honed muscle and tendons ready to snap into action at a moment's notice.

He bows his head. "Your Grace." His voice has a huskiness to it that is not entirely purposeful; like a blade to his throat nicked his voice box and made it harsher, more gravelly than it would have been ordinarily. This is a young man who has lived through more battles than his years would lead Emmeryn to guess.

"I should thank you personally," she says. "For your part in warding off the assassins. Chrom tells me it was you who saved his life in the courtyard, and the reason he was at full strength for he fight."

Marth flushes, dark brown cheeks turning red. He really does have quite a lot of scars, at least on his face. "I only did what had to be done."

"It intrigues me," Emmeryn says. She can almost see him shiver at that— good. "That you knew."

"I am not with them," he insists. He swallows. "I know how I must look to you, skin being what it is, and given the current political climate it is only natural you would assume I am involved. But you must take me at my word, however little it may be worth, that I played no part in sending the assassins to your door, your Grace. I swear it."

Truth be told, that was her first thought, but she believes that he's telling the truth— how she knows, she isn't sure. She supposes the Brand blesses her with knowledge as much as it blesses Chrom with strength.

"I believe you," she promised. "But you must understand my… curiousity. None can see the future, and yet it seems you did. Chrom tells me that you claim as much as well. Considering divination as I know it is a time-consuming and innacurate process, I doubt that is how you know. Thus my curiousity persists. What say you, sir…"

Marth licks his lips anxiously, like his mouth has gone dry. "Just Marth," he says. 
"No surname?" Emmeryn questions.

"None worth mentioning," Marth says. He ducks under her gaze— it is not glaring or scrutinizing, but it is studying, like she's put him beneath a magnifier and is watching for flaws and irregularities.

Emmeryn supposes that is the least of her concerns. "So how is it that you see the future?" she asks. "You have my word as an Exalt that none of what you say will leave this room."

For what it's worth, that seems to reassure him. He takes a breath. Then another. "Perhaps you should sit," he suggests weakly.

"I can stand," Emmeryn tells him.

"Perhaps I should sit," he says instead. He sits on one of the low benches along the table in the room. He is too tall for it; he looks like an adult trying to sit on a chair made for a small child. For a moment he tucks his long legs under the bench, but that is uncomfortable so he sits with his knees together, slightly to the side. He fiddles with his greaves. His armor is faded steel and it once had some country's emblem upon it, but it's so damaged and faded that Emmeryn can no longer tell what it ever was. The leather is cracked and faded. The scale is tarnished. The plate is scarred and nicked and marbled from repair after repair.

He breathes. "I have seen the future because I have lived it," he says, deadly serious. "I've come back in time in order to avert a catastrophe that turned my home into a wasteland. It began with your assassination on this night. Whether this will accomplish what I set out to do or not, I have no doubts I did something." 
"And the Brand in your eye?" Emmeryn continues. Marth sits upright like she'd just splashed him with a bucket of cold water. He's staring at her like a spooked animal, like he may bolt at any minute. One hand, the good hand, twitches as if it's instinct to put it around the hilt of his sword.

Emmeryn is no fool— far from it. She's seen that sword before. She's seen it aimed at her throat and she's seen it lain in her arms and she's seen it every day at her brother's side.

Emmeryn is impassive even as Marth debates the consequences of running then and there. His hands shake involuntarily. He swallows. 
"It told me of this night," he says. "I knew I had to come back in time to prevent it. My own time is beyond saving, but this timeline— if I can prevent the End from happening here, I will be satisfied. If I can save the version of me that has yet to be born from growing into what I am—" his voice breaks. Emmeryn understands. Had she the chance, would she not save her young self from the fate she lived through?

It's a lot to take in but it all makes sense. His hands shake. He pulls a flask of something off his belt and drains it. He shakes it a little, trying to get every drop out, and scowls when he doesn't succeed.

"You've yet to be born in this timeline?" Emmeryn repeats. "To my brother?"

Marth swallows. He nods. Emmeryn's guess was correct— but it was extremely unlikely hair that shade of blue would've come from herself or Lissa. He doesn't look like he'll be able to say much more. His face is still flushed but it's because he's trying not to cry. He rubs at his eyes with a half-gloved hand while the other rests on the hilt of his sword— the very same sword that Chrom carries.

"Thank you," she says. "Whatever your reasons, House Grace owes you a debt." 
"Seeing it alive and well is enough," Marth says, and he means it. "By the time I become Exalt, everyone of the house is dead save for myself, my brother, and our cousins— though my brother's status as a Grace is up for debate. Seeing the family, my family, all living and breathing is… it's more rewarding than I thought it would be."

Emmeryn lets herself smile a bit. After all, Marth is family.

"Do you know of my children?" she asks, against her better judgement. Marth hesitates.

"To my knowledge, they are well," he says. "Many of my friends, children of the other Shepherds, came back with me, though in the process we became separated. Your sons are brave and kind in equal measure, and two steadfast allies."

That's reassuring. "I'm glad," she says. "I have no doubts they do my memory proud." Perhaps it truly was better for them that she died. Should she have died here? Long ago she had thought of falling, perhaps from a window in one of the towers— when that day comes, will she still fall?

[riusugoi]

Peuchet: On Suicide - Karl Marx

https://marxists.catbull.com/archive/marx/works/1845/09/suicide.htm?fbclid=IwAR1XyA1PT3p3VnG0PsAUrJNscAsgZ97GZohvtAKdbDaLHGZKcSYd4lVnRJ8

-

French criticism of society has, at least, in part the great merit of having shown up the contradictions and unnaturalness of modern life not only in the relationships of particular classes, but in all circles and forms of modern intercourse. 

 In a few excerpts on suicide from the “Mémoires tires des Archives de la Police etc.” par Jacques Peuchet I shall give an example of this French criticism. It may at the same time show what grounds there are for the idea of the philanthropic bourgeois that it is only a question of providing a little bread and a little education for the proletarians, and that only the worker is stunted by the present state of society, but otherwise the existing world is the best of all possible worlds.

Madame de Staël, whose greatest merit is to have expressed commonplaces in brilliant style, has attempted to show that suicide is an act contrary to nature, and that it cannot be regarded as a deed of courage; she claims in particular that to fight despair is more worthy than to succumb to it. Such arguments little affect souls which are overwhelmed by misfortune. If they are religious, they look forward to a better world; if, on the contrary, they do not believe in anything, they seek the calm of Nothing. Philosophical tirades have no value in their eyes and are a poor refuge from suffering. It is above all in bad taste to maintain that an act so frequently committed is contrary to nature; suicide is in no way contrary to nature, since we witness it daily. What is against nature does not happen. On the contrary, it is in the nature of our society to produce many suicides, while Tartars do not kill themselves. Hence all societies do not have the same products. That is what we must tell ourselves, so as to work for the reform of our society and make it rise to a higher stage. As for courage, if it is considered courageous to defy death in broad daylight on the battlefield, under the domination of every form of excitement, there is nothing to prove lack of courage in one who administers death to himself in dark solitude. Such a debatable question is not disposed of by insulting the dead.

Man seems to be a mystery to man; he can only be blamed, he is not known.

It was thought that it would be possible to prevent suicide by degrading punishments and by branding the memory of the culprit with infamy. What can one say of the unworthiness of such branding of people who are no longer there to plead their case? The unfortunates, by the way, are little worried by that; and if suicide accuses anybody, it accuses above all the people who are left behind, because there is not one in this multitude who deserves that anyone should stay alive for him.

What does he who wants to flee the world care about the insults which the world promises to his corpse? He only sees in them yet another act of cowardice on the part of the living. What kind of society is it, indeed, where one finds the profoundest solitude in the midst of millions; where one can be overwhelmed by an irrepressible desire to kill oneself wthout anybody being aware of it? This society is no society, it is as Rousseausays, a desert inhabited by wild animals.

I found that any attempts short of a total reform of the present order of society would be in vain. [This conclusion from the arguments of the author of the Mémoires is formulated by Marx himself — Instead of this sentence Peuchet savs: “Without engaging in any theoretical investigation, I shall try to adduce facts."]

“In the month of July 1816 the daughter of a tailor became engaged to a butcher, a young man of good morals, thrifty and hardworking, very devoted to his beautiful bride, who in rum was very fond of him. The young girl was a seamstress; she enjoyed the respect of all who knew her, and the bridegroom’s parents loved her dearly. These good people missed no, opportunity to hasten the day when they would have her as their daughter-in-law; they gave parties at which she was the queen and idol.

“The time of the marriage approached; all arrangements between the two families had been made and the contracts concluded. On the eve of the day fixed for the visit to the registrar, the young daughter and her parents were to have supper with the family of the bridegroom., an insignificant incident unexpectedly prevented this. Orders which had to he met for rich customers kept the tailor and his wife at home. They sent their apologies; but the butcher’s mother came herself to fetch her daughter-in-law, who was given permission to go with her.

“Despite the absence of two of the principal guests the meal was one of the gayest. Many family jokes were told, which tie prospect of a marriage makes permissible. ‘They drank, they sang; they spoke about the future. The joys of a good marriage were eagerly discussed. They were still at table very late at night. By an easily explained indulgence the parents of the young man closed their eyes to the silent understanding of the engaged couple. Their hands sought each other, love and intimacy went to their heads. Besides, the marriage was considered as accomplished and these young people had been visiting each other for quite a long time without giving cause for the slightest reproach. ‘ne emotion of the bridegroom’s parents, the advanced hour, the mutual longing desire, loosen by the indulgence of their mentors, the unrestrained gaiety which always prevails at such meals, all this combined with the opportunity which offered itself smilingly, and the wine which was effervescing in the head, everything favoured an outcome which may be imagined. The lovers met again in the dark, when the lights had gone out. Everyone pretended not to notice, to suspect nothing. Their happiness had only friends here, no enviers.

“The young daughter only returned to her parents the next morning. A proof of how little. guilty she believed herself to be lies in the fact that she returned alone. She slipped into her room and prepared her toilette; but no sooner did her parents notice her, than with fury they heaped the most shameful names and abuses on their daughter. The neighbourhood witnessed it, the scandal had no bounds. Imagine the shock which this child suffered from her modesty and the outrageous violation of her secret. In vain did the bewildered girl put it to her parents that they themselves were bringing her into disrepute, that she admitted her wrong, her folly, her disobedience, but that everything could he put right again. Her arguments and her grief failed to disarm the tailor couple.”

Busybodies of both sexes came running to the scene and joined in the clamour. The feeling of shame caused by this abominable scene brought the child to the decision to take her own life. She hurried downstairs, through the crowd of the abusive and swearing neighbours; her eyes clouded with madness,” she rushed to the Seine “and threw herself into the river. Boatmen brought her out of the water, dead, still in her wedding finery. Needless to say, those who at first had shouted against the daughter at once turned against her parents; this catastrophe frightened their empty souls. A few days later the parents came to the police to claim a golden chain which the child had worn round her neck, a present from the future father-in-law, a silver watch and various other small pieces of jewellery, all of which had been deposited with the police. I did not fail to reproach these people energetically for their stupidity and barbarity. To say to these mad people that they would have to render account to God would have made very little impression on them in view of their egoistic prejudices and the peculiar kind of religiosity which prevails in the lower mercantile classes.

In the same year there appeared in my office a young creole of attractive appearance from one of the richest families of Martinique. He objected most emphatically to the handing over of the corpse of a young woman, his sister-in-law, to the claimant, his own brother and her husband. She had drowned herself. This kind of suicide is the commonest. Her body had been found not far from the Grève d'Argenteuil by the officials employed to recover corpses. From one of the well-known instincts of modesty which prevail in women even in the blindest despair, the drowned woman had wound the seam of her skirt carefully round her feet. This modest precaution proved her suicide beyond doubt. As soon as she had been found she was taken to the morgue. Her beauty, her youth, her rich apparel gave rise to a thousand speculations as to the cause of this catastrophe.

Certainly, for anybody who does not limit the entire spirit of words to their letter, this suicide was a treacherous murder committed by the husband; but it was also the outcome of an extraordinary fit of jealousy. The jealous man needs a slave, the jealous man can love, but the love he feels is only a luxurious counterpart for jealousy; the jealous man is above all a private property-owner.

“I also recorded suicides of men of the world reduced to impotence in the flowering of their age, whom the abuse of enjoyment had thrown into insuperable melancholy.

“Many people, after long and useless torture by harmful prescriptions, end their days dominated by the belief that medicine is incapable of freeing them from their ills.

“One could make a remarkable collection of quotations from famous authors and of poems written by despairing people preparing for their death with a certain ostentation. During the marvellously cold-blooded moment which follows the decision to die, a kind of infectious enthusiasm is exhaled from these souls and flows on to paper, even among classes which are bereft of all education. While they compose themselves for the sacrifice, whose depth they are pondering, all their strength is concentrated so as to gush out in a warm and characteristic expression.

“Some of these poems, which are buried in the archives, are masterpieces. A ponderous bourgeois, who puts his soul into his business and his god into commerce, may find all this very romantic and by his scornful laughter deny suffering which he does not understand: his disdain does not surprise us.”

The classification of the various causes of suicide would be the classification of the very defects of our society. One killed himself because he was robbed of an invention by intriguers, on which occasion the inventor, thrown into the direst poverty as a consequence of the lengthy scientific investigations to which he had to devote himself, was not even in a position to buy himself a patent. Another killed himself to avoid the enormous costs and the degrading legal prosecution consequent on monetary embarrassments which, by the way, are so common that men entrusted with the conduct of the general interest are not in the least concerned about them. Another again killed himself because he could not find work, after he had groaned for a long time under the insults and the stinginess of those in our midst who are the arbitrary distributors of work.