#heads up for old poop-y art!!

[asksailorsworldau]

im not gonna delete old posts though! i even recommened u look through the older posts to just kinda get an idea of the story i guess

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By Your Doorstep (Part 1)

Summary: When the reader is looking for her teenage sister’s service dog one day, she runs into Dean Winchester who thankfully saw him run past. When she arrives, her sister is fine aside from a sprained ankle but Dean’s decided to follow along and help get her sister home...

Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,200ish

Warnings: language, minor injury, mention of car accident/death

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Please enjoy this first part! …

_________

“Toast! Toast!” you shouted as you ran down a street. “Toast boy!”

“Uh, you okay?” said a guy walking on the other side of the street. He was raising an eyebrow and you shook your head.

“Toast is a dog,” you said.

“Oh, gotcha. I thought you were nuts for a minute,” he chuckled.

“You haven’t seen a german shepard around have you?” you asked.

“I saw one run down the block a few minutes ago,” he said. You looked the direction he pointed and you started sprinting. “Hey!”

“Sorry! Can’t talk!” you shouted back. You ran down the block and across the street over to the park. You ran over to the basketball court and saw Toast there next to Tessa. She was sat up and holding onto his vest when you jogged over to her. “Tess. Are you okay? Did you have a seizure?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. She was holding her ankle and you saw the swelling. “I think I broke it playing. My phone’s over in my bag. I told Toast to get it but I guess he ran home and got you instead.”

“He barged in through the doggy door, I thought he was just nuts at first,” you said. You heard footsteps behind you and the man from the street was there panting.

“You found your dog,” he said as he caught his breath. 

“Yeah,” you said, the man wincing when he saw Tessa’s ankle. “We’re all set.”

“She needs a doctor,” he said.

“Tessa, you okay here while I run home to get my car?” you asked.

“Yeah I’m fine,” she said. “Toast’ll stay.”

“I can carry her,” said the man. You both stared at him and he shrugged. “Save you a trip.”

“Are you some kind of weirdo?” you asked. 

“Says the woman running through the neighborhood shouting Toast,” he smiled back.

“Alright. Tess if you’re cool with it…” you said, the man nodding.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Dean will carry you back to the house and I’ll drive you to urgent care,” you said. “If you do try anything though Dean, Toast will rip your face and junk off, just to be clear.”

“Got the message,” he said. Tessa climbed on his back and he was careful of her ankle while you grabbed her bag. You walked with Toast by Dean’s side back the few blocks towards home. “I think it’s just a sprain actually. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“You play basketball?” you asked.

“No. I’m a doctor is all. First glance it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Are you single? Y/N’s single,” she said.

“You’re a little shit, Tessa,” you said. Dean chuckled and Toast bumped his leg. “He wants you to get on the sidewalk.”

“Will do,” he said, Toast giving some space once he’d stepped up off the road. “He’s very intelligent.”

“We’ve only had Toast two years but he’s been very good with us,” you said. “He’s Tessa’s. I just feed him and pick up his poop.”

“I have school, loser.”

“I have work, loser,” you said. 

“You guys must be sisters,” he said. “I’m a big brother. I would know.”

“If your younger brother is single and half as good looking-”

“Keep it in your pants, Tess,” you said. 

“I like you two,” he chuckled. “Sorry Tessa but he’s probably a little too old for you.”

“They always are,” she sighed.

“You’re seventeen. You’re fine,” you said. “Besides college has way more attractive guys and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, Elmdale community college. Known for it’s hotties,” she mumbled.

“Elmdale University has some good choices,” you said.

“I thought it was too expensive,” she said.

“Well I was gonna tell you this at dinner but I applied for a different job awhile ago. I heard back this morning. I accepted. It’s double what I was making before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. With your grades you can get a half-ride and I figure between inheritance and my new salary, you can do your four year out of the gate without loans,” you said.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she said quietly. “Really.”

“You still need your part-time job if you want to get stuff for yourself though. I’m sorry. I can’t make it work if-”

“S’okay,” she said. “I can’t believe I can go to the university.”

“I called up the school earlier and talked to your guidance counselor. We gotta work on your application but we can make it work,” you said.

“Can I get a car? I know I can’t afford room and board but maybe I can get something used so you don’t have to drive me all the time?” she asked.

“Tessa…” you sighed. You knew you couldn’t afford insurance on two cars at the moment and everything else and she wouldn’t make enough part time to cover all the car expenses herself. “I-”

“I can pick up more shifts,” she said.

“Tessa, I want you to enjoy college. I sure did. I’ll give you rides whenever you want. I’ll drop you off in the morning and pick you up at night. That would work, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t even care about my ankle. I can get my art degree!” she said.

“Tessa.”

“I’m joking,” she laughed. “Art minor?”

“You can minor in whatever you like but please for my sanity major in something you can get a job in?” you asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. You rounded a corner and started to walk up a driveway, Dean setting Tessa down in the passenger seat of your car. You opened the back and Toast jumped in, Dean smiling when you shut both the doors.

“Thanks,” you said. “For helping us out.”

“Sounds like you two know how to solve problems on your own,” he said. “Happy to help. Here.”

He dug in his back pocket and pulled out a card.

“If you ever need a doctor, I’m two blocks over,” he said. “Or just to talk.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’ll see you around, Dean.”

It was around nine when you were sitting on the front porch with a glass of whiskey in your hand. You drank slowly, eyes catching a man in a baseball cap and reflective shirt jogging by.

“Do you always run at night?” you called, Dean stopping at your front walkway. “Cause I never see you run at night and I sit out here a lot.”

“Whew well let’s stop that charade cause running is so not my thing,” he said. He breathed hard for a moment as he walked up the steps. You nodded to the other chair and poured him a glass, Dean drinking it down. “Your sister okay?”

“Yeah. Just a sprain,” you said. “Still gotta pay the deductible for the x-ray though.”

“How old are you?”

“How old are you?” you asked.

“Thirty one,” he said.

“Twenty eight.”

“Where are your folks?” he asked.

“They and Tessa were in an accident two years ago. It’s just us two now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m slowly getting used to be a guardian,” you said.

“I raised my little brother. My parents are still around but they fought a lot. I get becoming the parent when you’re not ready.”

“Do you ever get to just be a sibling again?” you asked.

“Yes. But they have to grow up first and you got a few more years ahead of you before it happens,” he said.

“I figured.”

“What does she have? Toast is a service dog I saw.”

“She gets seizures sometimes. It’s from the accident. She hasn’t had one in seven months. Fingers crossed we got her on the right mix of meds finally,” you said.

“So who takes care of you?”

“My buddy Jack Daniels. Sometimes I hang out Jim Bean too.”

“I’m partial to Johnny Walker,” smiled Dean.

“Very nice. I don’t drink much. Too tired most of the time,” you said.

“So nobody takes care of you then.”

“Who takes care of you?”

“Good point,” he said. “But I didn’t have it this rough.”

“We’re getting by. We always do.”

“I have no doubt that you can,” he said. “Take care of yourself every once in a while is all.”

“When she’s done with school I will.”

“She’s got five years left. You won’t last that long,” he said.

“Watch me.”

“Who worked on your sister at the urgent care tonight?”

“Dr. Novak. Why?”

“Cas is a good friend. I’ll see about getting that x-ray test off the bill,” he said as he stood up.

“Dean, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, heading down the steps. “You want me to leave you alone from now on?”

“...No.”

“You want to go on a date tomorrow?”

“Okay,” you said.

“I’ll pick you up at noon? I’m buying. Nothing too fancy,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. He smiled and nodded, spinning around and sliding right off the last two steps to his bottom. You rushed down them and he groaned, shaking his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yup,” he said, grunting as he stood. “Oh my ass hurts.”

“That’s what she said,” you said, Dean laughing.

“I definitely like you,” he said as you helped him take a few steps. “I’m alright. I’ll swing by tomorrow then.”

“Bye Dean,” you said.

“Bye Dean!” called Tessa from her bedroom window upstairs.

“Oh my God, go to bed!” you shouted back.

“It’s nine and I’m not twelve,” she said.

“Goodnight ladies,” chuckled Dean, waving as he headed back down the path. You gathered up the bottle and glasses, bringing them inside and locking up for the night. A few minutes later you were upstairs in Tessa’s room, frowning as she giggled while looking through her phone.

“Oh come on,” she said as she rolled her eyes at you. “He’s cute, he’s a doctor, he’s single and he’s a dork that just fell on his butt in front of you cause he’s so nervous and trying to play it cool. Like what is wrong with him?”

“Nothing. We have a date tomorrow,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. 

“We used to talk about guys,” she said. 

“I know,” you said. You picked at the wood, Tessa putting her phone down.

“Y/N. You’re not my mom. I know you gotta act like her sometimes but you’re not. Mom and dad would want you to go on dates and stuff. I haven’t seen you do anything fun in years.”

“I barely knew how to be an adult for just me,” you said. “You’re my priority now.”

“I’m not in a hospital bed anymore. My seizures are under control and I got Toast to watch out for me just in case. Dean had a point. You gotta take care of yourself,” she said. “Including me going to community college.”

“Tessa-”

“It’s both our inheritance and you can’t spend all of it on me. I can do two years at community and transfer to the university after.”

“Tess. You don’t have to do that. I did the math and it’ll work out.”

“When’s the last time you bought something for yourself? Seriously when?”

“I bought a new bedspread two weeks ago.”

“You needed one. That doesn’t count. When-”

“Before mom and dad died, Tess. Is that what you want me to say? They made good money but you had medical bills. Do I want a new winter coat? Sure. Do I want to splurge and by myself a nice pair of leggings? Of course. I want things. But I want us to stay in this house. I don’t want us to get shoved in a tiny apartment. I want you to be able to go to college like I did and not worry about this crap. I’m the grown up, not you. I choose how to spend the money.”

“Fine,” she said. She grabbed the crutch by her bed and got up, going to her dresser. She opened her jewelry box and grabbed a wad of cash, holding it out to you. “It’s three hundred. I want you to have it.”

“Tessa, no.”

“I earned it. I get to choose how to spend it,” she said. “You’ve always told me that. Buy a coat and leggings and whatever else you want.”

“Tessa. It’s yours. You were saving up to buy an iphone.”

“I don’t need a fucking phone. I need my sister to stop looking like she cries herself to sleep every night. Just take it,” she said. You shook your head and she shoved the money in your hand. “Y/N, take it.”

“Alright,” you said. 

“Good.” She waited a beat before pulling you into a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said. “You got plans tomorrow night?”

“I was gonna sleepover Hailey’s house if that’s okay?” she said.

“Yeah. You guys have fun,” you said. “Just be careful on your ankle.”

“Duh,” she said. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“I’m kinda beat. Sunday for sure?” you said. 

“Okay. Night,” she said.

“Night, Tess,” you said. You went next door to your room, opening your desk drawer and opening the envelope inside. You counted the money she’d given you and added it to the front. You definitely had enough for her phone now and her birthday was only a few weeks away. You smiled and put it away, writing out a few bills before you gathered up your pajamas and walked down the hall to the bathroom. You kept going though, down to the shut door. You pushed it open, the room cold and dark. You flipped on a light, a coating of dust on everything again.

“Y/N?” said Tessa from the other end of the hall. You turned off the light and shut the door, Tessa by the bathroom when you walked back. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna shower quick before bed. Shout if you need something.”

“Yeah. Night.”

Dean POV

“Hey, Sammy,” said Dean after he’d gotten out of the shower and was laying in bed. 

“Hey, Dean. What’s up?” asked Sam on the other end of the phone. 

“I think I just went full on weirdo on this girl I met today.”

“Well that’s obvious but what’d you do? You didn’t like stalk her or anything.”

“She lives in the neighborhood. I kinda went jogging past her house tonight and she was sat on the front porch.”

“Okay that’s kinda creepy,” said Sam. Dean ran his hand over his face and sighed. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I gave off creeper vibes but she might have just been polite. I don’t know. We’re going out tomorrow,” said Dean. He was quiet as he shut his eyes. “Which sucks cause I really like her too. I hope she doesn’t think I’m weird.”

“Maybe she’ll have pity on you and let it slide. Where’d you meet her? I thought you swore off women after your last hookup went bad,” he said. Dean didn’t speak and ran his hand over his face again. “De I know something happened that night.”

“Sammy I got tired of hooking up. I’m too old for it. I just want a girl to go home to at the end of the day and laugh with. That’s all there is to it,” said Dean.

“Dean I was still living with you at the time. You were off for days. I know-”

“If you’re gonna bring this shit up again-”

“I’m just saying it’s nice to hear you excited about a girl again...and you can tell me anything. Anything, Dean. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You’re twenty seven. You’re a kid,” said Dean. He rolled over on the bed and lay on his stomach, putting his hands under his chin. “Some things I just don’t tell you about, Sam.”

“Dean, I asked you to stop raising me awhile ago. You’re not my father anymore.”

“I still gotta protect you from stuff,” said Dean with a shrug.

“I get that. But my mind has gone to the worst case scenario on this more than once. Just promise it wasn’t that,” said Sam.

“Sammy, I called to talk about a girl.”

“You want things to work out with her? Then figure out whatever the hell happened in the past so it doesn’t happen again.”

“You don’t understand,” said Dean. 

“Whatever. Just crack a joke next time you see her,” said Sam. He hung up and Dean looked at his phone, sighing before he jammed his face in the bed. He gripped the sheets tight and felt his heart rate pick up, bile rising up in the back of his throat.

“Stop. It,” he said to himself, forcing himself to sit up. He wiped off his eye and dropped his head to his chest. “It’s just a fucking girl. It’s just a girl, it’s just a date. It’s all it is.”

He saw his phone light up and Sam’s name appear. He swiped and put it on speaker before he faced away from it.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam. 

“It’s okay,” said Dean, freezing when he sniffled. He stared at the phone and Sam cleared his throat.

“You alright?” Dean stared at the phone and shook his head. “De, you there?”

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes…” said Sam. “It’s just me.”

“You repeat a word of this to anybody or you laugh or you tease me or-”

“Hey. I’d rather we not have this conversation over the phone. I can be there in an hour.”

“...Fine but you better bring some pie with you.”

“I’ll see you in an hour, Dean.”

______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Story

For Maribat March day 24 theme story

Master List 

“You know I remember the day I first saw him. My baby brother.” Marinette announced as all the Batkids formed a circle around her, like they were all students listening to their teacher read a story. Only this wasn’t an ordinary story she was telling, “Mom and Dad came home from the hospital holding a tiny human. I was 7 at the time, yet even after all these years I still remember.” 

“Was baby Bruce cute?” Steph asked. 

“He was the cutest little thing. His eyes were so innocent and curious, and blue, very blue. And when he grabbed my finger he didn’t let go until it was time for my mom to feed him. But baby Bruce was also boring, he did the traditional baby things like cry, poop his diaper, cry, eat baby food, and cry. But you wanna know what wasn’t boring, toddler Bruce.” All the Batkids subconsciously leaned in closer, eager to hear what embarrassing things Bruce did as a kid. “You know, my parents gave us nicknames when we were both toddlers, they called me butterfly, and him rhino.” 

“Why?” Tim blurted out, he didn’t get enough sleep to stop himself. 

“They said that when I was younger, I would float around like a butterfly, floating with the wind. But when my brother was younger he headbutted into everything, it was like his only solution to his problems. I’m surprised he didn’t get brain damage or something, hence the nickname rhino. I was their little butterfly and he was their little rhino. Those were good times.” 

“Wait, but you said that you went to school in Paris, right? So what happened there?” Babs interjected, curiosity written all over her face. 

“Don’t worry Babs, I’m getting there. Soon Bruce was no longer a toddler but a little kid. Now I know he doesn’t remember this, but when it was his first day of kindergarten, he was 5 I was 12, and I went with our mom to pick him up. He was holding hands with this girl, she was adorable, had her hair in pigtails and everything, ran up to me and said ‘Nettie Nettie! This is Josie and she’s my best friend!’ It was the cutest thing, it was only his first day of school and he had a best friend. We won’t talk about her parents or the fact that she moved the following year, but it was so cute in the moment. He had another friend, Logan, for a few years but he moved away too. I’m glad he moved away, he was such a bad influence on Bruce.” Her eyes landed on Cass who was trying to grab her attention.

“Why was this Logan a bad influence?” Cass signed. 

“Think of Logan as that one kid who always got detention, skipped class, didn’t do the work, talked back to the teacher, and always got his parents called in, but in the body and energy of a 9 to 14 boy. I mean, when they were in the 8th grade he tried to get Bruce to smoke. Pretty sure he was sent to military school or something. Good riddance.” 

Damian scoffed, “You still haven’t answered the question of how you ended up in Paris.”

“Oh I haven’t! Dang it I was rambling again. So when I was 12 our parents decided it would be a good idea to send me to an art school in Paris, since I was and am very into designing and our parents wanted to get me out of Gotham. They were going to do the same with Bruce but…” She trailed off and for the first time since they had met her she seemed to close in on herself as a few tears trickled down her cheek, “They would’ve loved you guys, if they got to meet you. I wasn’t there when it happened so I’m nowhere near as traumatized as Bruce but it still hurt.” She brought her sleeve up and wiped the tears off her face. 

Dick got up from his spot and hugged Marinette, Cass went over and did the same. 

“Thank you guys, man that was such a downer. Here I thought I would be telling you happy, silly stories about Bruce and now I’m crying.” 

Dick and Cass took a step back to give her more room and Cass signed, “You might not have been there, but they were your parents too.”

“Thank you Cass, now who wants to hear about how Bruce tried to impress a girl for the first and last time?” 

“Hell Y-” Jason was interrupted by Bruce’s voice. 

“Marinette?”

She whirled around and at the doorway stood Bruce, he probably just got home from work.

“Baby Bro! You’re finally home!” She ran over and picked him up in a hug. All the kids' jaws were on the ground, this woman who was a head shorter than Bruce was able to pick him up without any problems. 

“Marinette you can put me down, we’re getting too old for this.” Bruce tried to say with the little dignity he had left. 

“I’ll never be too old to carry you!” Marinette stated, grinning from ear to ear.

“Wait so are you gonna tell us about how Bruce tried to impress that one girl?” Duke innocently asked. 

“Oh yeah,” She ran back over to them, “Her name was Finely and-” 

“Don’t tell them about that!” Bruce yelled at her. 

“Why not?” Marinette challenged.

“Marinette-” 

“No, don’t Marinette me! I refuse to let Kate be a cooler aunt than me! I mean I helped train you for goodness sake!” 

“Wait, you helped train him?” Damian questioned. 

“Well yeah-”

“I wanna hear that story!” Tim shouted, seeming to not be as sleep deprived as he once was mere minutes ago. 

“Wait no! I wanna hear about how B embarrassed himself in front of Finley!” Jason shouted back. 

Soon all the batkids had taken sides on which stories they wanted to hear first and then it was war. Marinette and Bruce watched from the sidelines, one amused, one annoyed. 

“Now look at what you’ve done.” Bruce stated, annoyance and tiredness clear in his voice. 

“Hey I was just trying to give them a good story. They’re your kids so you get the joy of reining them in,” She checked the time on her phone, “Yikes that late already huh. Bye kiddos see you tomorrow!” 

Although none of them heard her over their screams and battle cries. It wasn’t until a full hour later when Babs finally pointed out she was gone. 

“Where’d she go?” Steph asked. 

“Miss Marinette left quite a while ago, Miss Steph,” Alfred answered, appearing out of nowhere as always, “Now I believe it is time for dinner.” 

All the batkids made their way to the dining room, frowns on their faces. When Bruce finally sighed, “She’ll be back tomorrow.” Against his better judgement. 

Marinette only brought chaos with her and left a mess behind in her wake. But in the end she was his sister, one of the only things still standing despite how much his life tried to knock her down, it’d be wrong to ask her not to come back. So with a sigh he sent the text he knew she was waiting for. ‘Your welcome back tomorrow.’

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

Look who’s back from the dead! School killed me but I am back. I think what I’m gonna do is post 2 things for Maribat March despite it no longer being March every time I come back. So day 18 was where we had Little Sis Marinette, now we have Big Sis Marinette. I have not given up on Maribat March, life simply got busy. Hope everyone enjoyed this!

@maribatmarch-2k21 

[pynkhues]

hi kween! i KNOW you were struggling with writer’s block, so a big TBD on whether this question will have an answer! but do you know what your update schedule looks like for CYF and pornstar!au looks like? ooh and the other part of C&C? also, so sorry if you get a million of these messages all the time. i can only hope it’s flattering rather than annoying

It’s not annoying at all, anon! It’s actually really, really nice to know that people are keen and excited for them. :-) I got a little bit of writing done this week again, so I think the writer’s block is starting to ease, and both CYF and the pornstar!au are pretty close? I mean, the CYF chapter is done, I just want to re-write a part of a scene which is pointblank refusing to talk to me at the moment, and the pornstar!au needs a bit of editing and I still have I think two scenes left to write in it? 

The PH/C&C fic has actually been talking to me, which is pretty nice, haha. It’s going to be around 20k words I think when it’s done? (it’s at 18k at the moment). 

I’ve got a three-day weekend starting tomorrow, and all I’ve got planned for it is yoga, brunch with a friend, and a talk on the biology of sexuality and gender which is being done entirely by LGBTQI+ scientists and researchers, which should be super interesting! So yes! Hoping I might be able to get some real writing done in the gaps between and at least post one of these things (if not two!) :-) 

In the meantime, you can have another excerpt from the PH fic: 

-

Elizabeth opens her mouth to argue that point – probably go back to her original one, about holdin’ off, like that’s an option, when Rio asks:  

“You organised anythin’ for Danny’s birthday yet?”  

The question blindsides her, gets her eyes wide, blinking a little too much as she tries to catch up. She shakes her head at him.

“Rio - -”  

“I looked into that art class at the Y, but I dunno,” he says, shrugging. “He didn’t like the other classes we signed him up for, and I kinda got the feelin’ they ain’t intendin’ this one for a ten-year-old and his rowdy fuckin’ siblings neither, y’know?”  

The words hang for a minute, enough he can dry the last couple of dishes, only this time, he puts them away himself, finding the brief pause a relief more than anything as he opens up cabinets and tidies away the last evidence of their meal. Above them, he hears the toilet flush and then a door close.  

Kenny, he thinks, judgin’ from where the sound comes from. He’ll need to check he’s actually asleep. It’s school tomorrow after all, and last thing he needs is another call at work because Kenny’s dozin’ in algebra again.  

“The zoo’s doing a frog show at the moment,” Elizabeth says suddenly, breaking up his thoughts, and Rio jerks his head around to look at her, her jaw slightly forward, lips pursed in that way that means she ain’t happy about the pivot in topic, but still. She goes with it.  

“There’s a rainforest conservation talk and like, a handling session and everything,” she adds, and Rio nods, because Danny’s been into rainforests since they studied them in his third grade science class last year, spouting off the difference between temperate and tropical, about how the light don’t hit the ground in the densest parts of them, but nothing more than about frogs – poison dart frogs and glass frogs and red-eyed tree frogs. Rio’s pretty sure he could rattle off enough to get some sort of honorary degree purely by way of listenin’ to the kid.  

“I thought I could make a cake and maybe drop it in early at the restaurant, so Danny doesn’t see. It could be a surprise.”  

Like she doesn’t make a cake for every one of them every year, Rio thinks, amused, but shit, suddenly his mind’s on the zoo. Can already hear the yawnin’ mouths of lion and the bustle of people, can feel Marcus’ weight on his shoulders, see him grin, can see somewhere, in the annals of his memory, his own father’s grin too.  

It’s been a while.  

“Sounds dope,” he says, and Elizabeth must hear something in his voice, because when he turns around, her face has relaxed, her jaw back to where it usually sits, her lips parted curiously, like she’s tryna figure something out – like maybe he’s still tryna distract her or somethin’. “What’s that look for?”  

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d want to do it.” 

He huffs out an amused breath, wandering over to flick the kettle on to make himself a tea. Russian Caravan, he thinks, or - - hm. Maybe apple and chamomile. If he makes one of them, she might have one too. He grabs the box out, shakes it at her, and she nods.  

“Why’s that?” he says, turning his attention back to the cabinets, grabbing them out a mug each.  

“Because it’s the zoo,” she says dryly, playing a little with the buttons at the belly of her blouse. Rio snorts in reply, grabbing out a pair of tea strainers from the top drawer.    

“Take it that means you ain’t a fan.”  

“God, no,” she tells him easily, laughing. “We have five children between us. Plus Annie. My life is a zoo.”

He can’t quite bite back his grin at that, pouring in the boiling water over the tea leaves, letting the water turn bronze, as he turns back to Elizabeth.  

“And the smell,” she adds, wrinkling her nose. “Like wet dog and animal poop.”

“Damn, ma, your sister don’t smell that bad.”

She gapes at that, reaching close enough to try and hit him, defendin’ her sister’s honour and whatnot, and he grabs her wrist easily, using it to tug her into him, humming, content, when the soft curves of her chest hit the hard line of his. He runs a hand down her back, untucking her blouse from her slacks before slipping his hand back up beneath her shirt, dipping his thumb beneath her bra strap, running it along the indent it’s left in her skin just to feel her shiver.  

“God, how can you - - I mean. Why do you like it,” she stutters when he pulls a little at the clip on her bra, almost undoing it until she brings a hand behind herself to stop him.  

Rio just shrugs. He always has really, ever since his dad used to take him, Carmen and Aida when they were kids. Their dad worked too much to do anythin’ with them often, so it felt like somethin’ when he’d take them to the zoo, when he’d get him sitting on his shoulders so he could see over the crowds, mumbling dumb shit up at him in Spanish, like how many teeth a lion has and how aardvarks trap termites by curling their tongues. Loved the most doin’ it himself with Marcus, like it connected them still somehow, him and his dad, Marcus and the abuelo he’d never get to meet. The memory’s bittersweet, but sweeter these days, the years passing since his death letting him focus on the good instead of those last years where the cancer turned him inside out.

He looks down at Elizabeth then, where she’s looking up at him, almost tells her, only to stop at the look on her face, soft and a little too bright, a little too curious, and he remembers the scattered, brief, miserable notes she’s told him about her own dad, and it halts the words on his tongue. In the end he just shrugs.  

“I dunno,” he says. “Just like it.”

Elizabeth squints a little, like she don’t quite believe him, but she lets it go when he crowds her back against the kitchen island, tryna see if she’ll let him take her shirt off here.  

(She won’t, but she lets him in their bedroom at least, the door closed and her lips wet. Lets him do a lotta things then.)  

[yastaghr]

Our Skeleton 35

Here’s the latest chapter of OS (wow there are a lot, and still so many more to come!). This chapter brought to you by Flowey.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563223/chapters/58647709

Flowey watched the servants from a distance. They looked panicked in their tight gathering around the front door. He knew that those lousy parent-creatures would be back soon. The looks on the servants’ faces told him that. And those same looks told him they were really worried. For one thing, they all had been trained not to show their emotions with their faces or magic, and all of them were radiating worry. Then there was their hands. Some were clenched. Others were wringing. A select few were fighting with the locks. It was those ones which Flowey was watching closest.

Flowey watched them through the lens of one of the telescopes that the smiley trash bag had left in the Underground. The servants didn’t seem to have any clue what to do to break the epoxy. He rolled his eyes. Couldn’t these idiots see enough to call a locksmith? Geez, what idiots.

He didn’t bother to stick around to see how they solved the problem. He had chaos to report on, after all.

=====

T.N. Roman stared with twitching brows at the devastation that was once his garden. It looked like a tornado had spun through a barnyard and dumped it all in a compost heap. There were battered foliage and flowers. There were piles of poop. There were hoofprints in the gravel and mud. It was absolute chaos, and Roman hated chaos.

He abruptly turned his back on the carnage and snapped his fingers. Instantly the gardening staff, who were arrayed behind him and disgustingly radiating apprehension, stood to attention. He glared at them. “YOU WILL CLEAN UP THIS… MESS. YOU WILL DO IT NOW. I EXPECT FOR THIS GARDEN TO BE BACK TO ITS FORMER GLORY IN LESS THAN A WEEK. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

“Yes, sir!”

All of them said it in perfect unison, just like they were trained to do. Roman let an amused little smile come across his face. He had spent hours getting all his staff to the point where, when they responded, it was harmonious. Chaos could not be tolerated. At least here it hadn’t encroached on his sanctuary.

“VERY GOOD. YOU ARE DISMISSED,” He said with a wave. The only reason they didn’t immediately get to work was because they knew they had to take the time to salute. After that they instantly started working.

Roman nodded and headed back into the house to deal with the rest of this mess. It was so much easier when he could solve his problems with murder. He’d gotten it down to an art form, avoiding being caught. Those pesky dogs back in Snowdin had been child’s play for a monster as accomplished as him. He didn’t bother keeping track of how many people he had killed after the war. At LV 15 it had to be a lot, but no one seemed to bother to check or keep track, least of all him. His wife might, but, then again… maybe not. She could be remarkably scatterbrained.

=====

Coursiva stared at the shredded fabric with puzzlement hidden in her soul. She could have sworn that this was her closet and not the scraps room, but maybe she was mistaken. It certainly looked like the scraps room. She spun on her heel to face the nervous maid (a new hire who was still in training) and asked, “maid, is this the scraps room or my closet? i can’t seem to remember these things.”

“I-I-It’s the closet, my lady,” The Whimsum girl stuttered.

Coursiva frowned. That wouldn’t do. She should be merciful, however. The stars knew her husband wouldn’t be. “go downstairs to see the housekeeper and tell her you have been let go. also, tell her to send up another maid.”

The girl swallowed and bowed in mid air. “Y-y-yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady.” Then, in the space of a few seconds, she was gone.

Coursiva let her face relax into its usual diplomatic smile and inwardly fumed. Why was it so hard to find decent help these days? It seemed like no one knew how to school their countenances anymore, like a certain someone she had- No. She had promised her husband that she would never think of either of them again, and Coursiva hated to break a promise. She might be scatterbrained, but she could remember her promises. She made so few of them that it wasn’t hard.

What would be hard would be cleaning up this mess. Coursiva took in the remnants of her clothes with perfectly concealed anguish. She loved her clothes. She loved to design them, she loved to wear them, she loved to make them, she loved them. Now all her prizes of hard work were absolutely irreparable. If she had been a lesser monster she would have cried. As it was she sniffed disdainfully at the carnage.

That was a mistake. A thread from some dress of hers that had been floating in the air was sucked up into her nasal cavity. She sneezed, and, if anyone had been there to see it, they would have said it was the sneeze of a kitten. Not any kitten, though. No, this was the sneeze of a kitten with an URI, because it sprayed snot all over the room.

Coursiva took the sight of the indigo snot that was glueing the shredded fabric together fast. Then she turned her back on her problems like she always did and headed into the bathroom to take a hot bath in the whirlpool tub.

=====

The smell seemed to permeate everything they did, now. That haunting, rotten stench followed them like a curse. They threw out all the food in the house. It remained. They had the servants clean the house. It remained. They replaced the fridges and freezers. It remained. No matter what they did that smell remained.

It was only when, in a fit of private fury that even the servants weren’t witness to, Roman shattered all the furniture in their bedroom, that they figured out what the cause of it was. Coursiva stared in disgust at the thing that had come out of their curtain rods. She had no idea what it once had been. Now it was a moldy, rotten chunk of grossness that she had no intention of touching.

Roman, too, was staring at it. His face and magic gave off no clue as to what he was feeling. Eventually he said, “WE MUST GET THE SERVANTS TO REPLACE ALL THE CURTAIN RODS IN THE HOUSE. OPENING THEM TO CHECK FOR THIS… SUBSTANCE… WOULD ONLY RELEASE THE SMELL MORE.”

Coursiva nodded her agreement. “i’ve been wanting to replace those rods for a while now. the finial really is too old fashioned for the current design of our house. something more modern would be much more agreeable.”

“THAT IS, OF COURSE, UP TO YOU. I WILL INSTRUCT THE CHIEF OF STAFF TO SEE TO IT. PLEASE PICK THE DESIGN YOU DESIRE AND HE WILL SEE TO IT,” Roman said shortly.

The two of them then turned their back on the lump of dead shrimp and headed off in opposite directions; Coursiva headed to the garage to ask her chauffeur to take her to her favorite furniture design store and Roman walked into the bathroom to take a long, hot bath. He wanted to be rid of the feeling of anger and knew that relaxing would do it. Neither of them cared about the carnage they left behind. The servants would see to it. It would hardly be the first time.

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Sarazanmai 3 - 6 | Fruits Basket 2 - 7 | OPM 2 2 - 7 | BSD 3 3 - 6 | Demon Slayer 4 - 7 | Shield Hero 17 - 20

I’ll be rolling out the tags around about the time of this post.

Sarazanmai 3

Kisu = kissu (kiss). Update: Or kisu (on the right side of my equation). You do you, subbers.

Goma-ae.

Gomennassara! (Oh, I get it…!)

It never occurred to me that a “micanga” was a bead or small pierced round object of some sort. I thought it was a race track sort of thing, but for soccer. Update: It’s a bracelet/anklet thing.

Wait, so what brought on this change of heart from Kazuki??? Is it like the 1st episode, where it was a daydream that was cleverly presented as real? Update: Yep.

Oh…have you noticed all the victims of Reo and Mabu’s scheme are men of the NEET/freeter age, or approaching that?

Notably, the signature pose of the Sarazanmai seems to be similar to the one Kazuki and Enta did in the soccer team.

I find it interesting that Enta is now the initiator of the Sarazanmai and thus the one to steal the shirikodama. I mean, he used to be the one with the least stakes in the Dish of Hope scenario…and now look at him!

Ooh, Toi is sharpening his ruler! (Or whatever you do in Touken Ranbu with that lil’ beater of his.)

Oh wait, I forgot Ikuhara always has a last-minute twist! Go back, go back!

It seems like Haruka has some kind of illness…hmm. Update: Oh, it’s not an illness per se…spoke too soon.

Haruka’s talking about the Little Prince…hmm. Last time I really bothered to engage with that story in any form was Star Driver.

Fruits Basket 2

I don’t think I ever really chose a side on the Kyo vs Yuki debate, but I guess I always subtly sided with Yuki (even though the end pairing is Tohru and *bleep*). <- sorry, had to censor myself

“It’s important for me to get to school every day!”

Kabedon! Eeeeee! (LOL, I really am a squealy person at heart, aren’t I?)

The writing says ���she misheard [what Yuki said] as ‘being sick’”, so it was quite lucky that the word “sickened” worked in context.

Yuki has some mad ninja skills…LOL.

Shigure in a suit looks goooooooooood, man (<- gender neutral use of “man”).

“…the days ahead will be fun.” – Oh, Tohru, you don’t know how wrong you are…(says someone who completed the manga)

Fruits Basket 3

I’m hearing the OP for the first time…and it sounds like an ED. (Probably because I read some impressions that said the same thing earlier today.)

“…included in the zodiac?”

Ooh! Momiji! Wait, er…I didn’t expect him to be so high-pitched…

Lookit the tiny cat icon on the side! It’s cute!!!

*yells* It’s Kagura!!!!!!!! She ain’t my favourite, but man, is it great to see another familiar face!

I’ve been wondering what the title meant when it said “what year is she?” It means “year of the zodiac”.

Fruits Basket 4

“Shii-chan”…?

Kyo-kun ran away before Kagura even started making dinner…

Was Kyo’s katsudon a joke…? (Cats-udon, geddit?...No?)

“…marriage is a girl’s greatest dream.” – That used to be so, Tohru…nowadays, it ain’t.

Lookit how Kyo’s eyes lit up when he talks about his teacher!

OPM 2 2

That title’s…even more counterintuitive than “OPM 2 1”…hmm.

It’s…kind of dark right now.

I think there was bourbon on the counter. Someone likes to drink around here…

I guess with the mass animation exodus, OPM seems kinda…monologue-y. And cheap…

…nope, I take back my words. They were merely saving up for this action scene.

BSD 28 (S3 Ep 3)

Seriously, what are those metal things Dazai was wearing? Anyways, I like how it’s absolutely the norm that Chuuya swears now and I was part of forming that. Because I don’t swear a lot, I think Chuuya makes a nice outlet for my own frustrations...that’s what could be said, anyway.

D’aww. Someone acknowledges Chuuya’s identity. Ain’t that grand? (Now you see why I like Chuuya more than Dazai these days, huh?)

Come to think of it…a person hasn’t died in this show for a while, have they? It just goes to show you that despite one of its major stars being a guy obsessed with shinjuu (double suicide), the creators seem to be emphasising the sanctity of life itself.

Oh, I never thought they had an explanation for Dazai’s coat…

What is the age difference between Chuuya and Dazai anyway??? They’re both 15 during the LN that’s called that, but the exact difference…what is it? Update: Dazai’s birthday is June 19th and Chuuya’s is April 29th, so the difference is 1 month and 21 days (using the idea that 7 days = a week and May is 30 days, that’s 51 days in all).

Ooh, we’re getting Fyodor, Ace and the unnamed kid soon, aren’t we? That also means we’re in unknown territory for myself, too…hmm.  

OPM 2 3

When did Saitama last meet Charanko anyway? Charanko is voiced by Toshiki Masuda, so I would’ve kept an eye out for him, but the art shift and the years between seasons mean I don’t remember anymore.

Oof, “justice crashed Mumen Rider’s head” is more like it.

CGI banana…Just saying “CGI banana” is funny.

Kimetsu no Yaiba 4

Headpats, headpats all around!

Hooo…boy. I already knew Sabito and Makomo were dead because Crow and Irina’s collab post was called “The Names of Dead Children”, but how it was delivered…was such a powerful move.

I saw the blonde boy who’s in the OP…hmm. Update: His name is Zenitsu, according to the next-ep preview.

OPM 2 4

When comparing this dissection of monsters against Mob Psycho…the biggest monster Mob has is himself…hmm.

I didn’t expect Saitama to actually enter under Charanko’s name with that wig he got…

“…name as a martial artist.”

Mojo for the dojo, it seems this man wants.

I think the centipede senpai is CGI. Hmm…

It’s been years…I’ve forgotten what Ponytail Head’s name is! (And I call OPM one of my favourite series in anime…!)

Sarazanmai 4

“Writers exist between life and death.” – …is Ikuhara expressing his own thoughts on how anime writers are treated…?

I anticipate a soba pun (soba = noodles and soba = beside [someone]).

“…gives a s***…” – Says you, Toi, with the “Golden Poop” in the background. Then again, that’s just an English pun. Don’t mind me.

Comic Sans…you can’t escape it, even in this day and age…

Yude = to boil, soba…is the noodles. (The “o” on the end of the Monster of the Week’s first name means “man”.) Ikuhara uses Monster of the Week names in service of symbolism, while Takamatsu uses inconsistency for the sake of humour.

Intetestingly, there’s a spiralling blue thing in the background of the dance number and it says “soba” (katakana) and “desire” (yokubou, in kanji).

The headline translates to “Tragedy! It was next to me, but then…” (Kigeki! Sakki made soba ni ita noni…) The subbers had to accommodate the soba pun though, so they went with “so bar away”.

Hmm…now Toi takes centre stage…

2007, huh? How old are Kazuki and co. again?

This is probably the least surprising secret of all, y’know. Also, I think Keppi and Kazuki have cucumbers in their mouths.

They have subs for Stand By Me now!!! Oh mai globbb!

W-Wuh?! I can see why he’d hate Haruka (feelings of “why don’t my parents look at me the way they look at him anymore?”), but…this really turns this entire story on its head!

Kimetsu no Yaiba 5

Interestingly, the “My” in the episode title is Onore (an “I” indicating professionalism).Come to think of it…what is Tanjiro’s pronoun of choice?

Aww…the fact Tanjiro kinda looks like the demon’s (previous body’s…?) bro made the scene kinda cute. Possibly, it could be even enough to drive someone to tears…not that I was driven to tears, of course.

Well, here’s Zenitsu.

This angry kid reminds me of Mike Teevee (from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory). He seems like a rival, but he’ll disappear soon enough. Also, LOL, a sparrow instead of a crow.

“…my whole body hurts.” – Welp, that’s what happens when you lose sleep fighting demons for 7 days straight…

Why the obvious names? (re: Haganezuka – that is, hagane means “steel”…also, Nichirin contains the character for “sun” (at least, I think so…?) and Yoko can be understood to be/homophonous to the word for “sunlight”)

Tanjiro, son of Tanjuro…LOL. That was probably deliberate – it means the first son follows in the father’s footsteps.

For some reason, I wanted Haganezuka to pop out of the comic for the next-ep preview…aww.

Shield Hero 17

How many times did Fitoria say “I’m going to kill the heroes” and Naofumi say variants of “no”? Because of that, I had half a mind to jump ship and head to RobiHachi instead…but keep going.

That cowlick stuff was probably the most fun I’ve had with this show in a while…heh.

Oh great…Naofumi expanded his pseudo-harem to two bird waifus…then again, I had a stupid grin on my face seeing Fitoria’s old master, so maybe it’s not all bad, y’know?

Post-credits scene…keep watching!

Wah-wait…what the heck was that explosion???!!!

BSD 29 (S3 Ep 4)

That’s…Topaz (unofficial name)…ohhhhhhhh dear…

Oooh, Katai! Katai! Yay!!! (As you can tell, I had a very small thing for Katai. He reminds me of En-chan, y’see.)

The CGI in this OP…you can tell there’s quite a bit of it, huh?

It’s Deadmau5 (as the fandom used to joke)!

Fyodor’s eyes of disgust as Topaz dries his hair…hmm.

Older Topaz looks surprisingly like Oda…I don’t remember that exact shot, but it might’ve been in the manga. His background also reminds me of Chuuya’s.

OPM 2 Ep 4 (OPM 18)

“Irksome insect”…says the giant insect.

I think I saw a 7-11 pastiche in the background.

Why does the bird have a human hand in his belly? What??? (LOL)

This tournament arc don’t feel so hype, now that MHA’s is over…

Someone likes Donkey Kong… (referring to Marshal Gorilla and the other Kong guy (Heavy Kong))

Sarazanmai 5

…oh wow. Y’mean Kazuki is adopted???

“Why don’t you say anything, even though you know about me now?” (from Toi) – Probably because Kazuki is as f***ed up as you are, if not worse.

What are those sparkles coming off Sara’s face…? Not sure if they’re a shoujo thing or just…gratuitous sparkles.

LOL, Nioino Fukuro. Basically “pouch of scent” when you insert a space between the second I and the second N and change the first name kanji, plus change the “no” to hiragana.

I know the title of the song is Kawausoiya (translates to “awful otters” or something like that), but “soiya” doesn’t make much sense on its lonesome.

Wait…does that mean Sara is the creature? Or there are two Saras that can look the same, but one looks like the human and one is more kappa-like???

For some reason, I’m getting changeling vibes here…that Kazuki wants to look different to the rest of his family because he knows he’s different.

Hey…there’s this thing called the tourist gaze. It argues that because people create notions of reality differently, people have different ideas of what makes a trip “good” and “authentic”. In the same sense, Haruka’s “false” connection with Kazuki!Sara has become his reality, so it’s not wrong to say this Sara is real for him.

Oh…I just realised some kanji that appar early in the OP are the kanji for “extraction”.

So, uh…in a sense…can I interpret Kazuki’s love for his real mother a Fruedian thing? It seems all men’s love can be interpreted to be Freudian in some way or another…also, Sara kind of looks like his mother in a very “surface” kind of way. That is, they have a very passing resemblance to each other. Update: I’ve been reading some Stephen King lately and if I took anything away from that experience, it would be that everything is Freudian when it comes to men’s experiences. That’s why I say that.

Kimetsu no Yaiba 6

…*remembers something from the collab that was along the lines of “Astral doesn’t like Tanjiro’s green jacket”* Astral’s not gonna like this, then. (For those who don’t know the context, “Astral” is AstralGemini of the Zodiac Room.)

*Tanjiro is told he might not go very far with his demon slaying* *Tanjiro reacts with happiness that he’s on his way to get Nezuko human again* - Uh…I know I’ve watched my share of shonen, but I kind of didn’t expect that and yet also did.

Ugh…it’s the return of CGI Tanjiro…the vegie patch looks good in CGI though, for some reason.

Lemme guess…with a title like that (Swordsman Accompanying a Demon), could it be that Kazumi is a demon???

“I don’t get it at all.” – LOL…that was unintentionally funny (for the second time in this show, the first being Hand Demon).

BSD 30 (S3 Ep 5)

Moby Dick crashing into Yokohama? It was literally years ago for us!

I’m pretty sure these Park guys didn’t exist in the manga. Update: Nope, they did. I’ve read the corresponding chapter, it’s just that that was also 2 years ago…just like the last we saw of the anime.

I love how the “gyaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” ended in blood splatter, literally.

The Park guys apparently come from ch. 44 but Katai comes from ch. forty…what? One? Two? It’s not 40 (Hitori Ayumu), that’s all I know.

Katai is a good boy. You’ll see why in…oh, a few seconds.

Oh, I love the ending of this story. I already know the ending, but seeing it again will be a whole new bag of laughs!

Uh…I forgot how much of an interruption the anime’s humour is. My dream of a “whole new bag of laughs” is at least half dashed…*shoulders slump*

Apparently Atsushi cut his hair himself…not sure if that’ll be a spoiler for later, but it’s still something cool to know.

“So it’s your letter?”

Katai is basically me when it comes to my husbandos. See why I love him???

Come to think of it…I haven’t properly listened to the ED yet! Better do that while I still have the chance.

Fruits Basket 5

Shigure is such a troll…just like I remember him.

Fruits Basket 6

Hatori! Ooh! He’s hottttttt! Sizzling!...Okay, I think you get my point already…

I think someone else (Amelia from A Girl and Her Anime…?) pointed this out…but I don’t understand a speck of German outside 1 – 10 (I remembered the German word for “six” way too well when I was younger). So it would help if they bothered to make the German English as well.

For some reason, the stick figure was both obviously a cost-cutting measure and also elevated the hilarity of that scene…!

I don’t quite know what the Japanese equivalent of the “macaroni and cheese” thing was, but it conveys the same idea in the two languages and makes people laugh along the way, so…*shrugs shoulders* Makes sense, I guess.

Tohru is kandou about meeting an author. Kandou means to be deeply moved (noun form).

LOL, Hanajima reading the book.

…Oh my goodness. I just realised Fruits Basket has a lot of characters with fringes. 90s fringes for everyone!

“…a cartoon about a cat and a rat that are always fighting…” - Come to think of it, Tom and Jerry is popular in Japan.

Shield Hero 18

I think this episode title ends in inbou, which means “intrigue”.

This show is clearly trying to play the same cards over and over again…

Shield Hero 19

Hypocrites! Hypocrites everywhere! *does Buzz Lightyear hand gesture from the meme*

OPM 19 (S2 Ep 6)

The reason the fat guy is called Dave is not just because of B/V confusion, but because debu (without the line in the middle) is a slang word for…wait for it…”fatty”.

Interestingly, Murata previously worked on a oneshot called Gokiburi Buster. I wonder if this Cockroach Boi is from there…?

Did you notice the guys behind the umpire, who had a stretcher at the ready…?

“Mr Saynuthin” seems to be “Nanmoien-san” in Japanese.

“Waganma” seems to be a play on wagamama, or selfish. However, I can’t pin down the pun in the father’s name...

Well, well, well…at least someone acknowledges Speed of Sound Sanic (the ninja, not the CGI abomination or the monkey) is hecka-speedy.

Charanko (the real one)…he has ashi no ura (the back of the foot) written on his bandages…LOL.

Sarazanmai 6

Apparently Kazuki’s (foster) family all wear the same kind of stripes…which is what Kazuki means when he doesn’t want to wear the same kind of clothes as his family.

Okay…so the first set of kanji that appear in the OP are the one for “desire” and the ones after that are “extraction”…geddit? (LOL)

Oh my glob…how in the name of Iyami does Osomatsu-san get so popular that after I watched the first season of that show, it starts appearing in other places as well????

I saw a translation of the Reo and Mabu tweets and apparently at least one of them can make ningyoyaki (a type of cake you can make in all sorts of shapes – scroll down a bit on that page and you’ll find the description of ningyoyaki there).

Uhh…ghh…Keppi pole dancing was disturbing…*soul floats out of body temporarily*

Reo (I think that’s Reo, at least) has ningyoyaki…Update: Yup, that’s Reo.

“Headdress”, huh?

Why does this episode 6 feel like ending material…?

Wait…you’re saying Reo and Mabu are princes of the otter kingdom??? Wuh???

BSD 31 (S3 Ep 6)

(Lucy blushes) Wow…now there’s an option for a het ship right there…not that anyone will take it.

I saw a GIF of Atsushi floating naked and face down in the water (because Irina), but…I forgot exactly how the scenario before it went, so I LOLled.

Oh yeah…this chapter had a tie-in with Mizuki Tsujimura, because Mizuki knew Kyoka’s mother. Also, it shows you can inherit Abilities…

It’s Truck-kun and the curse of the isekai!...Okay, I’m kidding.

Oh yeah…this is the chapter about the Headmaster…

I haven’t been in a good place mentally for the past few years or so, due to my world basically fragmenting around me, so the words “don’t hate yourself” are strong ones coming from a place both nostalgic and new.

Dazai inherits a particularly interesting space in Atsushi’s life. He’s like a brother and father wrapped up into one (Kunikida is the nagging mother in that analogy, LOL), but also obsessed with suicide to the point he can also be a liability.

“…didn’t tell anyone…”

It’s also interesting to compare Tohru (of Fruits Basket) and Atsushi. They’re both selfless, but Tohru’s selflessness is shown to be a double-edged sword while Atsushi’s gives him a lot of resentment but is overall a positive thing.

Aww…seeing Atsushi slowly tear up almost made me tear up too…

Fitzgerald Rising…that’s the name of the chapter where…oh, sorry. It’s been years, so I’ll let it all play out for you and me again without mentioning any spoilers until they happen in (close to) real time in the show, okay?

Fruits Basket 7

This is the first time there’s been English lyrics on the OP for this show…I think.

Who’s this “he” Tohru’s referring to when examining the woman’s picture? Akito, probably, but I’m not 100% sure…Update: It was Hatori, actually.

“Shii-san”, “Haa-san” etc. is…cute. *cue “O kawaii koto…” from Kaguya-sama*

I get the feeling that Shigure is almost like a prototype Dazai (Bungou Stray Dogs). Or they just have a lot in common.

“Are these my just desserts?”

Demon Slayer 7

Nezuko’s playing whack a mol-er, demon, isn’t she??? (LOL)

Whoa…it must be mighty freaky to be floating in a swamp of dead people’s possessions…

Welp, Tanjiro…that’s one way to say “hands off my sister”. *nods* By cutting the demon’s hands off…

I like the contrast between Tanjiro’s callused hands and Kazumi’s smooth ones.

Hey…why does food always get wasted in movies and other media…? I know I’m applying real-life consumption habits to media, but it always looks quite wasteful, y’know…?

OPM 20 (S2 Ep 7)

I never noticed that shot of Watchdog Man in the OP before…huh.

Pig God’s shirt says DEV. It’s a pun on debu (fatty)…again.

Ooh! I saw him in the OP! Flashy Flash! I’ve never seen him in action outside the OP before, but I know his name and appearance from reading around.

“You all are the strongest swordsmen we have.”

Seriously, Saitama, just get something to stick the wig on and you wouldn’t have gotten into this mess. Maybe superglue…(okay, I’m kidding about the superglue).

OPM got really childish this time… 

[rohobi]

Serendipity 02| (M)

pairing— jeon jungkook x reader, friendwithbenefitsAU  genre/warnings— smut, fluff, slight angst, swearing words—5, 021 ↳ CHAPTERS → CHAPTER 3

chapter 2 summary: ❝You set up camp in the pits of hell using the knowledge you gained from self-help magazines when Jungkook asks you a thought provoking question that might just change your entire relationship. ❞

“Yoongi, listen to this,” you clear your throat, prepared to read out the most ridiculous thing you had ever seen since you saw that dumbass Jungkook mazz off to a drought inducing porno. “Do you know Big John?”

Yoongi looks up from his book. “No, should I?”

“Well, put your belt on then. I’m about to take you on a crazy ride Min Yoongi’” you clear your throat, readjusting yourself against Jungkook’s headboard. “Big John is a 25 year old Pornstar from America and says he got into porn because “it became an outlet for the struggles of my reality and the idea of submerging myself into a world that both pays the bills and liberates me, is pretty fucking awesome.” When he isn’t gallivanting in the art of the clitoris, he dabbles in anal play in the neighbourhood boys series voted for best orgy series in the 2016 AVN awards.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Yoongi stares blankly at you. “I thought you weren’t interested in sex or pornstars?”

“First of all, pornstars have the most interesting lives but let me tell you the rest before I go into it Yoongi. John here, is pretty new to the biz but states that among his favourite scenes, the one he did with Ellen Love called “Eat, suck, fuck.” was the most invigorating experience he has ever had. Lucky live viewers watched Ellen, AVN 2017 Performer of the year, give the 6-foot 2 beast a blow job while eating a banana nutella sandwich. John recalls that his interest in food kink is a direct result of that particular scene. Next on the cards, John says, “I want to work more with kink. I think it’s great I can have a chance to really explore myself and to liberate these chains that try to control me.”

Jungkook opens his door with his foot, carrying both his laptop and a bowl of chips into his room. “What are you saying about blow jobs and food?” he asks, putting his computer on the bed and the bowl of chips on the night stand.

“I was just telling Yoongi about big John. The pornstar from last week…”

“Oh.” Is all Jungkook says before shoving you and Yoongi apart, squeezing into the middle.

“Yah Yoongi. Were you listening?” You look up from your phone and over Jungkook, frowning at his lack of interest. “Listen! In terms of everything else John likes, he identifies that his all time favourite thing about working as a porn star is: “Honestly, being able to eat a lot of pussy. I love eating and fucking. Pussy on my mind. Pussy all the time.”

“So?” he grunts, seemingly uncaring of your recount of the strangest bio you have ever read.

“Yoongi,” you frown, looking up from your phone to the boy beside you. “This is priceless, did you not hear what I just said?”

“What?” Yoongi looks up at you, brow raised. “What are you talking about?”

“I was listening.” Jungkook quips, getting angry at the lack of attention he was receiving tonight. “You can talk to me now instead of him.”

“Shut up Jungkook, I’m talking to stone face,” you muster, shoving his shoulder with yours. “Big John likes it when girls eat and suck his penis! How fucking crazy stupid is that?”

“So stupid,” Jungkook admits to deaf ears. “I don’t like the idea of hurting or putting someone’s wellbeing in jeopardy you know? It’s not hot.”

Yoongi snort laughs. “I don’t usually kink shame but is that even possible? How big is her mouth? Because it must be massive or this porn clip is non-existent. Actually, you know what? I’m sorry but that’s impossible, I refuse to believe that can be done.”

Dipping your hand into the bowl of chips between you, you nod. “I think she just took small bites …according to this site, it’s his kink. Apparently it increases stimulation but I don’t understand how that is even possible either,” throwing your phone at the end of the bed, you sink underneath Jungkook’s blankets as you shove the chips into your mouth. “Ssounds ffucking stupid to me, you’ve got a blood sword crammed down your throat and then you’re eating food, further reducing the patency of your airway. Sounds like a choking hazard.”

“Wait,” Jungkook stares at your profile beside him. “How are you so calm talking about this? Who the hell are you and where is my Y/N?”

“I gave her a sip of my beer and suddenly she flies off on her conservative rocket and into the pearly white stars of oral sex and porn star biography content like a crazed porn addict.”

“Shut the fuck up Yoongi, it’s like watching buzzfeed unsolved on this site. Once you start reading one, you gotta read the rest. Did you know that there are kpop idols on here too? And apparently near death experiences while sucking the D is a common delicacy on this menu among them,” You laugh, looking up at Jungkook. “Imagine if I died doing that to you Jungkook and paramedics had to tell my grandparents that I died from eating and sucking your dick.”

“I can’t imagine that at all.” he gulps, watching you swallow your food. It’s gross but he can’t help but imagine exactly that occurring -not the death of you, the blowjob happening of course.

You continue. “I can imagine what my sister would say-” staring off into the distance you deepen your voice for effect, “-living the dream sis, hope you’re sucking dick and eating in Heaven.” jesus, and then my mother would say. “She wasn’t that much of a multitasker anyway, should’ve just stuck to eating in the shower”

“Hold up,” Jungkook says, pushing his computer between you and laying on his side. “You eat in the shower?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to face him. “Of course I do, optimum time management.”

Yoongi nods his head, appreciating the idea. Maybe he should start doing that to so he can sleep in longer. “What do you eat? Toast?”

You shake your head. “Up and Go, sometimes yoghurt with banana.”

Jungkook stares out into the distance. “That is a genius idea.”

“Thanks, I’m filled with those, especially lately.”

“How did you even come across that article anyway?” he asks, laughing as he turns to face you, propping his head up with his hand. “I thought you strictly avoided sexual content?”

You stare at him in thought. “I guess I was just interested and I’m not embarrassed around you and Yoongi and I think we can talk about anything together …unless what I am saying right now makes you feel uncomfortable… did it?”

Shaking his head, Jungkook flicks your forehead. “Nothing could make me feel uncomfortable around you. We’ve had poop chills, that’s like breaking the seal in a friendship.”

Nodding your head, you smile bashfully. “That make my hearts flutter, you ugly mole rat, ah! I could just squeeze you!” you squeal, launching yourself onto him. Digging your arms under his back, you wrap your arms around him and your feet around his hips.

Yoongi makes a tsking noise before shouting. “You’re going to spill the popcorn you assholes. Stop fucking beside me, oh my god. I want to fucking leave.”

“Then go Yoongi, I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jungkook says, staring up at you awkwardly. “What are you doing Y/N?” Jungkook asks, feeling uncomfortable with the way you were adjusting yourself on top of him.

“You just make me feel all squishy.” Rubbing your face on his collarbone. Jungkook laughs softly before wrapping his arms around your neck.

“You’re so weird Y/N,” he says, swaying your body off of his groin so that your belt buckle didn’t dig into his goods. “But okay.”

“God, you smell heavenly.” you comment, dropping your weight on him. “Why do boys smell so good? Do you smell good too Yoongi?”

“I assure you, I smell like shit. Keep smelling Jungkook,” Yoongi closes his book loudly before swinging his feet off the bed. “I guess I’ll head off now, want to get some work done in the studio before sunrise. See you rats tomorrow.”

You both watch Yoongi leave, still wrapped up in each other. It was nice being like this but now that Yoongi had gone and it was just you two, it was weird.

Carting his fingers through your hair, he lightly massages your scalp. “I’m not even wearing cologne, so whatever you’re smelling is my natural scent.”

Shifting up his body, you nuzzle your nose into his neck before laying there. You could hear the loud beating of heart and the heat radiating off his body comforted you in the cold. “I’m not even going to dignify that cockiness with a response that would validate your ego. You smell reassuring was what I meant.”

Staring at the ceiling above, he holds you close when a weird electric feeling zips suddenly throughout his body. He doesn’t know what to call it but it’s there and you’re on it. “This is nice.”

You hum your response, feeling comfort flood and straighten out the knots of stress around your body. “It is.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, feeling unsure whether to ruin the moment with a question that he knows will make you feel uncomfortable but decides to anyway. “Have you ever thought about having sex with me one day?”

You stiffen ontop of him, before lifting your head to look at him. “What.”

He lets you go as you softly lay beside him.

“I mean, yeah I have since last time but why?”

“I was just wondering if you were normal because I’ve been thinking recently….” Jungkook’s smile falters as he makes eye contact with you.

“About?”

“Letting you learn about sex by having it with me,” he musters with a straight face and the intensity of his glare tightens around your heart. “You won’t have to feel embarrassed about anything either. I know you like Yoongi more but we’re close enough right?”

“Who the hell said I liked Yoongi more?” you say, not entirely sure how one is supposed to respond to something like that.

“I thought it was obvious?” he remarks, feeling his pulse rate go up.

“Hell no, do you see me crawling all over Yoongi?”

He shakes his head. “Oh.”

“Good, get that out of your head. Look about the sex thing, I’m definitely not ready to have sex yet but I’ll let you know when I want to?” you say, grabbing your phone from the end of the bed.

“That’s fine,” he nods. “I can accept that.”

“Lol bitch, you will accept whatever is given to you regardless. Don’t give me that attitude.”

He laughs as you turn back to your phone. “I was just offering my help since it’s something I know you’ll be thinking about when you’re on a bus alone and you’re listening to Beautiful and staring out the window.”

Rolling your eyes, you stammer. “I’ve only seen your penis once Jungkook, the thought of it being inside me actually kind of terrifies me.”

“I mean, we can start off slow… oral sex? If that is something you’re comfortable exploring?”

You blush several shades of pink.

“I can eat you out too, I think it’s fair if there is a mutual thing going on. Who knows, you might even like it.”

You nod your head. You didn’t want to admit that you didn’t know what eating out meant, you’d save that for a quick google on the toilet later. “Thank you Jungkook.”

“What do you think?”

Silence festers between you as you scroll through your social media to avoid his question and Jungkook looks back at his computer in understanding, pulling it back onto his stomach. It was just another late night hang at his house but things hadn’t been the same since your masterbating event last time.

Sure, your conversations were definitely more stimulating, you didn’t have to pretend to be interested in what Jungkook was saying, he just seemed more interesting now. But it was something beneath the skin that made you feel like something had been added to your dynamic.

Or had ruined it.

You weren’t sure anymore.

Who really cares anyway.

If the camera of your life panned out bird’s eye view, the screen would be filled of your lazy ass next to his lazy ass in a platonic bed sharing space with several question marks above your head:

1. Interest in sex had changed you, and you weren’t sure if it was a bad or a good thing. 2. You feel dirty, as though the clean white sheets of your world had stained with the darkest colours of forbidden fruit

3. Would there be romance if Jungkook decided to pursue you? If you let him? And why does that scare you if it does?

But as you watch Jungkook close his computer in frustration and lean in closer to you impatiently wanting for a response, you can’t help but think of a collision of all three:

Sex. With. Jungkook.

“I want to fuck you, if you let me,” He says, dropping his hand on your stomach. “And I want you to fuck me too.”

“Oh, christ…church.”

You stare into Jungkook’s eyes for a terrifying moment. “Like, right now? Because coitus interruptus, you’re touching my no no square.”

“Your no no square?” Jungkook slips his warm hand underneath your shirt, resting it on the skin of your stomach. “Why not? You don’t have class tomorrow, I can teach you something right now?”

“Jungkook,” he stares up at you, “I’m a virgin with a fear of penetration.”

He frowns. “Yeah, I know. That’s okay, we can take it easy, we don’t have to have sex right now. We’ll just keep it dry and you’re my bestfriend and I’m yours, it will be just between us?”

“I’m mean, don’t expect me to do tricks because I have no idea.”

Jungkook laughs softly, before lifting himself off the mattress to hover over you. “What do you mean tricks Y/N?”

You look away as he goes to sit between your legs. “I mean like, don’t expect me to jump on the dick and take you for a spin, you know that saying, going on a ride or something …no what was it …you driving into my garage …or was it the other way round? Me driving at full speed into your garage.”

Jungkook holds his arms up into a cross. “No butt stuff.”

“Butt stuff?”

“My garage is my asshole Y/N, think about it.” He says, and you laugh at your poor effort with sexual innuendos.

“Oh lmao, but can we try it? I think it’s fair if you end up splitting my ass that I get to also split your ass.”

He stares at you with a vacant look on his face. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”  

“I like the idea of having you plugged up while having sex with you,” you lean back into the mattress with a gleeful expression. “You’d be so submissive, and I wouldn’t need to worry about not knowing what to do because you’d be too distracted by the stimulation of your prostate to notice me fumbling.”

“Okay, you have watched and potentially read way too much porn Y/N.”

You shrug, watching him taking off his pants and throwing them across the room. “Eh, probably but I don’t see the harm in it. We’re good friends and we keep things light hearted. It’s a completely different world for us and that’s exciting don’t you think?”

He nods in thought. Straight brown hair hangs in front of his eyes, a small smile etches across his face as he begins to pull down your sweatpants. “It will definitely be a whole new world for you-

“I love that song …it’s a dazzling place I never knew but when I’m way up here,” you interrupt, singing at the top of your lungs as you lift your bum off the mattress as he pulls your pants off. It startles him but Jungkook isn’t sure why he’s surprised. Gripping his chin, you lift his face towards you as you sing. “It’s crystal clear. That now I’m in a whole new world with you.”

Jungkook scrunches his face in disgust, of course you’d ruin a moment with your Disney infatuation.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Was I too off key?” You ask, taking off your hoodie and he nods.

“Your voice went way far off into the whoop whoops.” He admits, watching you settle beneath him in a white singlet and beige panties. You don’t even care that you haven’t shaved, he can kiss your ass.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you grin. “You should sing for me then.” You whisper, watching his eyes drop to your lips.

“Some other time,” he whispers back, watching your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, “Do you have to ask?”

“Consent is important Y/N.”

“Well yes, in that case, go ham.”

Staring at you for a moment, he pushes you into the mattress, plastering his lips onto yours.

It’s not the most flattering kiss you’ve ever had. Jungkook’s lips are like rubber if rubber smelt like sandalwood and regret. It’s awkward at first, you can tell he’s testing the waters …well you hope he’s testing the waters because he’s not moving. Jungkook puts his hands on both sides of your head, you haven’t closed your eyes yet, were you supposed to? You don’t think you will with how this is going but his eyes are clenched closed as though the close proximity permits them too.

He has long eyelashes.

But is he going to move his lips?

How do you kiss again? Is this kissing? Surely not.

Jungkook presses a chaste kiss on your lips before moving away from your mouth. Relief floods your bones. Jungkook is a bad kisser lmao. Planting kisses across your cheek then across your jawline, you stay rigid beneath him. Is it bad to assume that if he can’t kiss, then he can’t…

In that case, then you’ll have to be the kisser between the two. The chocolate on the strawberry in food terms. I could go with some chocolate right now actually, maybe with some banana.

Focus Y/N, you have a man on top of you trying to get you hot.

Should I just kiss him? Rock his world? What do I do again?

Everything that you read in romper.com goes completely over your head. You had prepared yourself for situations like this by reading a million magazine make out tricks and you’ve kissed like a total of two guys, Jungkook being one of them so surely that is enough experience to not ruin the moment. What did that website say about again?

Ah, 1. Hand positions.

Running your fingers slowly up his back, you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling on the strands. It’s a good start. Jungkook must like his hair being  pulled because he moans against your ear before suckling on your ear lobe. You can feel his hardened length twitch against your thigh as he does it too. It’s so thick what the hell, how will that fit inside me. Okay, let’s not think about that right now, lets just kiss. Fuck, what do I do next? You thought. I can’t just sit here, I gotta do something to him so he doesn’t think I am lazy.

Okay, breathe Y/N, what was number 2? Was it change positions? How the heck do I do that? Should I just push him off? The article said to roll him over, how do you do that sexily?

You shove Jungkook roughly off you and he falls to the mattress beside you. It’s not the most sexy transition but it will do. You don’t even give him thinking time before you throw your leg over his waist, and grab one side of his side in a lazy bed kiss.  Leaning forward, you press a chaste kiss to his mouth to test the waters again. “Jungkook, let me just…”

Pulling back to look at him, you grin. “Slow, let’s just take it slow okay? You’re going a million miles per hour past Africa.” Jungkook nods before leaning back in, pressing his soft lips to yours and gently pressing forward.

It’s much nicer this time, a change of positions was a good move. Your eyes fall shut when he slowly moves his lips against yours. You can’t possibly shape this feeling into words, it’s nice and it’s lovely, it’s at a pace you can handle and it’s at a pace you can enjoy.

Moving his hand towards your jaw, he cups your cheek. The heat from his palm melts your brain. Is this what kissing is supposed to feel like? What was number 3? Bite the bottom lip? Ah, who gives a shit. Let’s just do it.

Softly nibbling at his bottom lip, you suckle on it and the little shocked gasp that flutters from Jungkook makes you grin against his mouth. Didn’t see that one coming did ya Jungkook. Scooping you up into his arms, you laugh and Jungkook takes the opportunity to briefly lick into your mouth. You’ve never used tongue before but holy dang, you think you might’ve missed out on something because the electricity from his tongue zips straight down your nerves and straight to your southern regions.

Number 4? Get on top of him. Without disconnecting your lips, you move on top of him to straddle his hips. It’s slightly uncomfortable because you can feel his hard on against your core but holy dang, you were aching for some friction down there.

Do I rub myself against it?

Pushing your hands on his pectorals, you’re acutely aware you both forgot to take off your shirts but that is fine right now. You don’t want to give Jungkook bragging rights when you ask to lick his abs hahaha.

Using your own tongue, you brush against Jungkook’s tongue and lick into his mouth. Naturally gyrating your hips down on his, a strangled moan erupts from his lips before he gasps loudly, detaching his lips from yours.

“What?” You pant, looking at his bulging expression. “Why are you looking at me like I just kicked your dog?”

Narrowing his eyes at you, he falls back to the bed. “You’ve done this before.”

“So it’s good?” You grin, grabbing the sides of his face. “Am I doing okay?”

He nods eagerly when you lean down and begin pressing light kisses across his jaw. “Does it feel good?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you want me?”

“Fuck yes.”

“How much do you want me?”

“More than anything.”

“How do you feel when I do this?” You ask, slowly rolling your hips against his erection. “Because I can’t think of anything more I want then to feel your big dick inside me. Jesus, it feels so fucking good Jungkook. I want you so badly, I’m so fucking wet, I bet if just pull your underwear down your thighs and slip my underwear to the side, you’d just slip right in.”

“How did you… where did you learn to talk like that. Fuck, you’re so sexy,” He holds your hips tightly, moving them against his erection.“It feels so …fucking good. God, you’re so wet, I can’t wait to fuck you.” He whimpers.

Kissing down his neck, you open your mouth against his skin. “Porn is great for learning how to dirty talk babe.”  

Your hot breath lights up a flurry of goosebumps across his skin.

“Y/N,” he moans, pulling you against him tighter and you laugh.

Rolling your tongue over his pulse points and rolling your hips against his, Jungkook’s reaction is explosive. Repetitively thrusting against your core, he moans. “Fuck, I don’t think I’m going to last very long if you keep doing that.”

For a blinding second, you see stars. You know, like in those cartoons when they bumped their heads. Except you haven’t, so you’re confused by this.  

The friction against your clit was amazing. He was dizzying in the best kind of way. Sucking on a spot of skin beneath his ear, you gyrate your hips harder, kissing across his cheek to his lips as you do.

Biting his bottom lip, you push your tongue into his mouth again. Jungkook keeps making these guttural noises and you feel intoxicated by their very sound. You drink them in, each shot making you feel drunk off of him.

Pushing against you, Jungkook rolls you over onto your back. Lying between your thighs, he kisses you hard. Fuck, what was number 6? Are we up to number 6, or was it 7. Who fucking knows.

Humping against your core, you whimper the tiniest form of his name feeling his wet thickness through the fabric slide through your wet slit. Disconnecting his lips from yours, he solely grinds against you, watching you flutter your eyes closed, watching you lick over your swollen red lips.

Bringing a hand to your face, he rubs his thumb over your bottom lip and your reaction baffles him. He gulps when you roll your tongue around his thumb. You open your eyes, staring into his large brown ones before taking it in your mouth and sucking on it.

Number 18 something, suck on his thumb. Check.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, grinding into you even harder if that were possible. And his tone of voice is so deep and so crusty and broken, it’s just an absolute turn on. You feel so sloppy, can you even move your arms?

Closing your eyes, you look up to the ceiling feeling the strangest tightening in your stomach. “Ah fuck Jungkook, it feels so good, keep doing that.” you moan, biting your lip.

“I’m so close baby, so close. I want to be in you so fucking badly,” he whimpers, leaning his forehead on yours. “Next time, I’m going to pound you so hard you’ll be seeing stars.”

“Too late for that Jungkook.” Sweat drips down his face but you couldn’t care less at this point as you lazily grab the sides of his face and bring his lips to yours. Wrapping your feet around his waist, the space allows him to make more frantic movements with his hips.

His lips fall from yours when he cums. It’s the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard when he says your name, so broken but so relieved and you aren’t that far behind him when brings his hand down to your wet underwear and presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing it in circular motions. It was like fireworks lighting up every single nerve in your body and then all you could see was white and Jungkook’s beautiful brown eyes.

You’re panting and sweaty, but you feel so utterly light and brainless. You don’t say anything until he does. It was one of the most amazing feelings you’ve ever had, second to the feeling of eating a really good mince and cheese pie.

“I just came in my underwear, fuck,” he says, unwilling to leave the comfort of your body. “I’ve never came so hard in my life, it’s all over your legs. I’m sorry for the mess…”

You ignore him.“That was…

“…amazing right? Jesus, you can kiss,” he admits, pressing lazy kisses to your neck and collarbone. “My heart won’t stop racing.”

You feel so sticky and you don’t even know what to say about what he just said. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, where did you learn to kiss like that? I thought I was the only guy you’ve ever kissed.”  

You frown at that. “Jungkook, I can’t take you seriously when you’re so sweaty and I can feel your semen seeping through my …underwear….”

The revelation washes over you. “Oh my god, I’m not on the contraceptive pill and you didn’t use a condom….”

He stares at you strangely. “We didn’t have sex why would you need to worry about that…”

You push him off of you as you fall off the bed and stand up. He watches you with a strange look on his face when you wipe his cum off your thighs and begin a set of jumping jacks. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to get pregnant.”

He laughs. “Why …would …you think that?”

“Don’t be dumb Jungkook, they have tails and they swim.”

The laugh that bursts through the silence in the room is deafening. His cackle grates into your nerves as you stand still, watching him roll in his sheets with a stupid fucking toothy grin on his face.

“You fucking idiot Y/N.”

You smile as you watch him laugh, pretending to be an idiot was the only way you could think of that would get you out from underneath him and into the shower. It was quite a successful transition. You just weren’t aware of how much that event would plague you for the rest of the week.

[alovevigilante]

Job interview: by Kari Keillor

Interviewer: Hello, Mrs. Kailior is it?

Kari: No, it’s pronounced Keeler, like the elves but without the b.

Interviewer: yes, I see... ok. Well, I see here that you are interested in working for our fine establishment.

Kari: yes, please as I need the money.

Interviewer: ok then... why do you want to work here?

Kari: I need money.

Interviewer: (jots down notes) ok, yes... yes... hmmm, I see here that you only have your associates degree, is that correct?

Kari: yes. I’m also one class into my junior year of college at a four year college.

Interviewer: oh... I see. Well, I’m sorry, but in order to complete this interview we need our applicants to have a minimum of a four year bachelors degree to be able to do this very important job we need filled.

Kari: I’m not a bachelor.

Interviewer: yes, we see that here on this paper. That means you aren’t qualified to be what it is we’re looking for here.

Kari: you haven’t seen me. Your nose has been down in my resume the whole entire time.

Interviewer: um, yes, see we don’t quite know how you got in here to be seen, seeing that you aren’t up to our qualifying qualifications.

Kari: yes, well seeing that I’m unseen, and as long as I’m here, maybe we can discuss what I HAVE done in my life that can be an asset to your job requirements. Perhaps that will suffice and be of some value to your qualification team.

Interviewer: no.

Kari: ok. Well, it was nice not really meeting you.

Interviewer: yes. Thank you for fulfilling my requirements of having to see a certain amount of people to fill this very important position that we probably won’t fill for quite some time and leave empty, and make others in our company do the job in addition to the jobs we pay them to do, and won’t pay them any extra to do this extra work of this job we have left, unfulfilled. Also, we will all complain about it a lot, and the middle management, that’s me, will shrug and yell at the people below me, and we will tell our higher ups, but they won’t be available because they will be golfing, and eating croissants on a veranda in Paris, while everything below them goes to shit. And when their workers become disgruntled, they will blame me, and I will say that I am following their protocol of the very important and highly overrated way of how things have always been done in business.

Kari: yes. That sounds about right. Well, thank you for saving me all that time and grief.

Interviewer: no problem. Good luck to you, and it was great not giving you a chance.

Kari: yes, and thanks for not investing time or effort in me!

Interviewer: sure thing! Take care now!

Scene.

George Carlin: Kari?

Kari: yeah?

Carlin: feel that clamp on your ass?

Kari: yeah.

Carlin: that’s bitterness.

Kari: right. Well, what do you want from me? I’m going back to school.

Carlin: why?

Kari: to become what I already am now only accredited by society.

Carlin: do you want to do this?

Kari: not this way.

Carlin: then why don’t you just wait til you feel better about it.

Kari: George, I’m 46. By the time I get my masters I’ll be over 50 years old. Wait?! I don’t have time to wait anymore. I’m sick of not having a degree.

Carlin: why?

Kari: cause I can’t do shit without one! I have an associates degree. Do you know what that means when you’re looking for a job, George?

Carlin: yes, cause I’m you. But enlighten me anyway so we can feel worse than we already do now.

Kari: ok, well, it’s basically the equivalent of having a high school diploma. When you look for a job that’s above minimum wage the requirements are usually the minimum of a bachelors degree in whatever and a certain amount of years of “on the job” experience.

Carlin: so?

Kari: ok, well, DON’T have it, George!

Carlin: then don’t do it, Kar...

Kari: George, I’m tired of not doing, ok? It’s time for some success for Kari Keillor, ok? I’m tired of the glass ceiling of social norms.

Carlin: great. Then continue to write and yell and scream and that will create the momentum you need for success in your chosen field.

Kari: a graduate degree in Art therapy and counseling?

Carlin: no asshole! Writing comedy!

Kari: no.

Carlin: fine, ok? We’re all here waiting until you come to your senses.

Kari: George, unfortunately we need to collaborate for that to occur, and I got news, we don’t have that.

Carlin: you don’t have to collaborate to write, Kari.

Kari: George, maybe you have forgotten what it’s like here on planet earth in the 3D, since you are now NOT here in the physical, but in order to lead a decent life, it takes tangible money, accreditation, and collaboration with people. I have none of the above.

George: yeah, I see your point. Ok then, off to school we go.

Belushi, John: oh fuck, I gotta go back to school and do this shit with her?!

Richard Pryor: yes sasshole, because you are belligerent to people online with your shit!

Belushi, John: don’t blame all this on me, Hamis is all up in Murray’s grilled ass...

Richard: ok, look. Kari’s pissed, ok? So now, our ass is being enrolled as a psychology major. This is what you get for being a shit... and a dick!

Kari: guys, look, it’s what we have to do to be seen for what we are. If it costs another 100 grand to do it, then so be it.

Belushi, John: this suuuuuucks, ok?! I’m not into it, so I’m not goin!

Gilda Radner: (pulling John by the ear) oh, you’re goin! Kari will sew your asscheeks together and drag you by the extra thread if need be.

Kari: I decided not to go near his asscheeks fictitious or not.

Gilda: probably a good decision.(1) Ok, let’s put it like this, we’re back to class. And you need to apologize to bill Murray, Steve Martin, John Cleese, Eric idle for being idle-y, Frank oz, and Mandy patinkin!

Belushi, John: I didn’t do shit to those guys! They have a whole bunch of problems all on their own! They’ve all lost their will to laugh! So why are you blaming me?!

(Terri and graham snicker in the background)

Harold ramis (aka hamis): listen John, we all know you like to instigate, and now all of us are going to be forced to listen to lectures on the human psyche, and you are to blame! So just apologize to them, and get this shit over with! I’m not willing to go back and become a junior in college again! Well, actually come to think of it, it may be slightly interesting to see how the human brain relates to how we interact as a collective people. This could benefit our writing immensely! Ok, I’m in. But Kari, just mention meatballs to bill one more time... for old times sake...

Kari: Hamis, how many times can a person mention that ridiculous, old timey movie before people start asking themselves if you’re insane?!

Richard: 34.

Kari: I don’t think it’s that many, Richard...

Belushi, John: nooooooooo! God, no! Ok fine, I’ll apologize... anything’s better than talking theory with ole schezwan head over here...

Kari: oh great! Now I’m gonna be called racist again... and still...

Belushi, John: Ramis isn’t Asian... you’re ok...

Michael stuvic (meathead from “All in the family”): No! Ok?! That’s just WRONG! She is a racist, a bigot, a lunatic, and she needs to be stopped! Gloria and I will not raise our little Joey the way that she’s been raised! We need more people to revolt against her incompressible blather!

George: she was raised in a good parochial upbringing.

Meathead: “I just thank god I’m an atheist...” (2)

Kari: I AM NOT A RACIST OR AN ATHEIST! I believe in all people being equal, and in God!

Meathead: no one said you were an atheist... A racist? Yes, but not an atheist.

Kari: EVERYONE thinks I’m the worst!

Belushi, John: no they don’t! They just think you’re a devil worshiper!

George: Belushi, stop fucking with Kari, she basically has the balls but doesn’t literally like people may or may not think, to write what she thinks we want her to say. So, now she has to apologize for being a shit but not, cause we were kidding and what she said wasn’t that bad or even bad at all... and Mandy, Judas Priest isn’t satanic, nor are they an anti-Semitic heavy metal group. They sing a ridiculously high pitched, screaming bloody murder, very, very, very long song called, “painkiller” about a flying skeleton half robot man that is on fire riding a motorcycle, and killing evil in its path. That’s it.

Richard: yes. It’s the age old story of skeleton half man half robot or machine, that gets pissed, and decides he’s going to take revenge and vengeance, so he flies in the air with metal and smoke and thunder and lightning and steel, and all that heavy metal good shit, and he crushes people’s dicks.

Gilda: sounds innocent enough to me...

Carlin: you like metal now, Richie?

Richard: well, I’m her, so I have to.

Belushi, John: THAT’S what the song is about?!

Kari: look, I don’t freaking know, alright?! All I know is that I only wanted to hear him sing it because he sings ungodly high for a man that hasn’t been kicked in the nut sack.

Hamis: we all want to hear that...

Belushi, John: .... but nooooooooo! She’s a fucking crazy woman! She’s insane! She’s telling me to sing a satanic song and I’m not ok with that!

Judas Priest: how many times do we have to say we’re not satan worshipers before someone believes us?!

Richard: 34.

Karl: ok, that’s it. I’ll apologize for all of you, because I do it all the time anyway. Ready?! Here goes: I’m sorry to everyone! I’m sorry I’m such an asshole and that everyone must be so insulted by me and my mere existence that no one in my life talks to me anymore. Ok?! There! I’m sorry you think I’m crazy because I’m a bored housewife who needs a destiny, and who hates to clean never, and cook sometimes but usually either orders out or ma comes over and cooks dinner for everyone at 6am, and I’m not even qualified to work as a person who talks poops on sesame street ok?! Cause I’ve most likely been banned from there in my head and maybe out, I’m not quite sure yet, because of being me! And I’m sorry, if that embarrasses you, or if I embarrass you by mere genetics or association! And yes, separation, isn’t cool with me, but it’s fine If you aren’t cool with me, cause I’m me, and if it’s a choice between you and me, I have to choose me, cause I’m all I got, ok? I wake up with me in the morning, and go throughout my day with me, and yes, close your ears people who don’t want to hear this part cause it can be construed as dirty like some of you believe me to be, I also bathe and sleep, with myself too! I do that! So, the opinions of you plural, make a marginal difference to me if I let them, which I usually do, because I’m human, and I have feelings and I care, but the scales have tipped now, and me, wins, cause I care about how I feel too now, ok?! And if you have a low opinion of me, and treat me that way, you, are out! Cause I’m not down with people who haven’t invested that much time or effort to get to know me talking smack about me like they’re experts on the subject of me, cause they’re not! So please enroll in the school of Kari keillor directly for the information, that’s ME, or shut your pie holes! It’s as simple as that!

Richard: God I love her....

Carlin: Kari?

Kari: yeah?

Carlin: to the school we go, unless we hear otherwise.

Kari: what otherwise?!

Carlin: exactly.

Scene.

Kari: no scene! Wtf are you talking about?

Carlin: you are now witnessing reality. The reality is, no one collaborates with you, so it’s time you make the executive decision to support you, and we’re down with that.

Karl: you have, no choice.

Carlin: I know, but it’s nice you bounce it off is anyway.

Kari: ok, who wants to end this extremely lengthy scene and/ or monologue?

Belushi, John: I will. I wanna know something...

Kari: oh man....

Belushi, John: no, really, I’ve always wanted to know something and it’s really important.

Kari: ok, what is it?

Belushi, John: when there’s so many amazing pizza places around the Chicagoland area, why would ANYONE eat at a chain pizza place?!

Kari: scene.

Belushi, John: no, fine... I apologize to Frank oz, my old time pal, for calling him an asshole. He’s not one. He’s a really nice, and forgiving person.

Big bird: yeah! Wait a minute... who’s he?

Kari: sigh... scene...

1. “I think that is a good decision.” Is a quote from my husband’s cousin Gary, and I don’t know where the hell he got it from, but it’s most likely from a very obscure movie, as it’s an obscure reference.

2. A direct quote from the show, “All in the family” said by the fictional character Michael Stivic created by Norman Lear.

[luci-is-a-devil-]

CampCounseler!Soonyoung

Noted remember when I said I couldn’t write anything happy? I lied, this is fluff, the best happiness you’ll probably get from me honestly~ •you loved kids! Like wowie their so cute, what the hell??? •you babysat during the school year although you were pretty busy with high school, but it was fun! •but as the year came to an end, you were thrilled •no homework, and you got tho hang out at your favorite place •Summer camp!!!! •you were a counselor, for the teens because apparently they had enough for the younger kids, but it was fine •teens were cool too, less obnoxiously cute than kids •you were in charge of six teens •Jisung, Chenle, Sanha, Samuel, Daehwi, and Chan •a group of fourteen year old boys who were the rowdiest, but not rude or mean! •quite opposite actually! •they were all little balls of sunshine! •when they got homesick they’d come curl up next to you, but deny it if someone asked •but that’s not what this is about •this is about another camp counselor, Soonyoung •also know as Hoshi by his kids, which was a group of eight year olds •so in the beginning of summer camp, before the kids even got there, you bumped into him •causing the two of you to roll down a Hill and land on a pile of sticks and leaves •neither of you were hurt, just surprised, it made both of you laugh though •as the two of you were messed and wow the boy was really cute even with leaves and sticks in his hair •”you look like a forest fairy.” •realizing that you said that out loud, you stood up and quickly wandered off •only realizing when you got back to your cabin that you hadn’t apologized •and so that brings us back to your kids •such wonderful, kind Nosey brats •when they saw you avoiding the other camp counselor, and that he kept trying to talk to you, they hatched a plan •really this plan was to lock you in the arts and crafts room after hoshi’s kids made a huge mess in there •so on a Tuesday after lunch, they told one of the eight year olds their plan, making them nod •”Okay! Hoshi talks about Y/N so much! We thought they were already dating!” •the brunette girl with pigtails exclaimed, but happily going over to the other girls •and so their plan was in motion •you though it was strange that they kept whispering but if you asked they just shrugged, except for chenle who kept on smirking •”you guys aren’t planning to like kill me, right?” •that just made Chan and samuel to roll their eyes at you, while daehwi and chenle cackled •”that wasn’t an answer.” •you muttered walking them back to their cabin, hoping not to run into a certain blonde male •but as fate would had it, you did •”oh y/n! My kids made a huge mess in the art room, could you watch them while I clean it?” •”sur-“ •you were cut off by jisung, who very quickly made his intentions clear •”why doesn’t y/n go with you, that’d make it go faster.” •he winked at Hoshi, making you realize what was going on •”what about the kids?” •you pretty much whined, making jisung glare at you •”we’ll watch them! I wanna be a camp counselor so this is practice!” •sanha answered, grinning as Chan gave him a thumbs up •”fine.” •seeing them work as a team was nice, which is why you gave up •and after telling them to behave, you walked with Hoshi to the craft room •except that the silence was so Awkward! •you didn’t wanna speak to him and make a fool out of yourself •so cleaning up the opposite side of the room of him and making it go quicker •of course you’re clumsy so you trip over a table leg and fall •expecting to hit the floor, instead you end up in someone’s arms, staring up at someone’s eyes •only one person was in the room •so that means... •Hoshi caught you •”fuck.” •you swore, knowing that your cheeks were a pink •Hoshi chuckled at that, his brown orbs being on yours as the two of you stared at each other •”now can we talk?” •gulping at his question, you stood up and shrugged •sheepishly smiling at him you nodded, fearing that he was going to curse at you •”Why are you avoiding me?” •the feared question had been asked!! •shrugging, you moved your eyes to a poster on the wall, not wanting to look at Hoshi •”I pushed you down a hill, called you a name and than ran away without apologizing? Not a good conversation over breakfast.” •the poster on the wall was interesting, it had colors on it, and shapes! •”y/n, look at me.” •begrudgingly you tore your eyes away from the poster to stare at Hoshi •His brown eyes were twinkling with amusement, a gentle smile drawn on his face •”you fell down a hill with me, you told me I looked like a prince, and than ran away. I would’ve liked if you had just come to talk to me.” •looking down at the floor, you fidgeted with your hands •Hoshi’s hand gently touched you chin, making you look up at him •”shit, what am I supposed to do if you’re this cute?” •staring at him, you tilted your head at him •until you understood what he said, making your ears burn •”what!” •you exclaimed, looking at him in confusion •”y/n, would you do me the honors and be my fairy prince/ss?” •amusement was in his tone, with traces of hope in there as well •”okay.” •your fairy tale didn’t have a magical kiss or anything •what happened next was that a group of eight year old girls burst through the door, pajamas on and cotton candy in their hands •”when are you guys gonna get married?” •”were you gonna kiss?” •”I stepped in poop!” •different thing were yelled at the two of you, making you laugh •following the eight year olds was your group of teens •”how...are...they...so....fast?” •jisung huffed, having to pause between words so he could breathe •”they’ve got such tiny legs!” •Chan wasn’t as out of breath, instead he was smirking, as if he knew what had happened •”clear out kids! It’s time for bed.” •Hoshi shushed his kids, corralling them out of the art room •you told your teens to head back to the cabin and get changed •making Samuel wink at you as he walked out behind daehwi who was skipping •”so.” •”so.” •pressing your lips to his cheeks, you then waved a goodbye to Soonyoung •quickly walking passed the group of girls who were now oohing at you •when you got far enough, you started to giggle •”Hoshi! I have poop on my shoe!” •you heard one of the girls yell, even though you were by the boys cabins by now •cackling at the sentence, you walked into the boys cabin •kids will be kids, no matter the situation • •”I STILL DIDN’T APOLOGIZE.”

[ofjvshua-blog]

hi there, lovlies !! the name’s rue and i’m so excited to be apart of this roleplay. i’ll try not to make this intro too long but i tend to be such a ranty person that i can’t control myself most times !! anyways, to find out more about josh, you can head on over to the nav page where i set up an about page as well as a tagging system !! and if you’re wanting to plot afterwards, check out the wanted connections page too. if you want to plot, please like this or come scream at me through the messages. without further ado, under the cut here’s a bit about my precious bean !!

have you seen JOSHUA SHÁO? the CIS-MALE looks a lot like HARRY SHUM JR and lives in 425. their rent is overdue! that TWENTY-FOUR year old always seems to be UNCONVENTIONAL, but you have to admit they are also TRANQUIL. maybe it’s because they are so busy working as a FREELANCE TRAVELING ARTIST AND PHOTOGRAPHER.

okay loves, so this is my cinnamon roll joshua

but he sometimes goes by josh, jay, && jj

but he doesn’t care what people call him as long as it’s kind

he ultimately comes from a pretty well off upper middle class family but he doesn’t particularly get along with them bc they’re pretentious traditional pricks yet despite this he doesn’t let that familial estranged phase him…much even though he feels hurt by all the isolation from his parents from time to time

to put it plan and simple josh is an art ho

he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. no joke.

no srsly his place back home is full of sensual shit && art; it’s getting     out of hand somebody stop him

he strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself (not just through painting/drawing) and that everyone has the     freedom to express themselves however they please

and because of his beliefs he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants bc yolo

his appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of make-up and glitter around the eyes and lipsticks. he’s clothes are v flow-y but don’t let that fool u

cause he doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his wealth within his style so he does dress to impress let me tell u (he’s a fashion ho too)

his hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric

other than being a flower child josh can be a sassy n stubborn lil mcnugget at times. he believes what he believes and doesn’t take people’s crap if he feels threaten by someone

good luck trying to get under his skin cause baby boy has a hard shell but he’s soft in the middle (kind of like the ninja turtles except he wasn’t raised in poop)

in regards to that he has a way of being unconventional and anti-authoritarian at times so if someone’s barking out orders he’ll likely find some other way to get to the top

not only that but he’s kinda freaking intelligent. cause even tho he likes fashion and art he also has a passion for school and enjoys using brains over brawn to intimidate his enemies (like he has any pls)

although i said  he can be sassy he’s generally super friendly and loves to make new friends whenever he can and has a very tranquil personality.

he’s a freelanced  traveling artist/photographer and he loves his job more than anything

he identifies as demisexual panromantic because while he isn’t disinterested in sex (he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions, but rather finding     personality, intellect, and an existing emotional connection considerably more appealing. the thought of intimacy with somebody he’s not close with rather repulses him.

OH I ALMOST FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART!

his ragdoll cat named ginsberg is basically the love of this flower’s life

he found the name inspiration from his fav poet allen ginsberg and from the movie kill your darlings that he’s watched a million times over

[skold]

this post is Marina’s List Of Favorite and/or Iconic Music Videos

this could also be subtitled as: if you truly want to understand me as a person, watch these videos because it’ll answer a lot of questions

it’s gonna be a long one so i’ll pop it under a cut

alright we goin by artist then chronological

AIDEN

knife blood nightmare - this is iconic for me simply bc i rly wanted to look like wil in this video so bad in 6th grade.

die romantic - WHAT A BOP. i used to do my black eyeshadow like wil in this video too lmao

ALL TIME LOW

poppin champagne - because blonde alex and also?? honestly?? what a wild video. this is truly late 00s oversaturated pop punk at its finest

i feel like dancin - i’m not the biggest fan of this record or even this song in general but this is like, quintessential all time low to me video-wise. like. it’s everything i want from an all time low video.

ARCHITECTS

follow the water - or as sam carter says, follow the wah-uh. first of all i love that this is in a church. second of all when will i get to go to an architects show this lit here in the states

heartburn - bc they all look pretty. ok. aesthetically on point as well.

AVENGED SEVENFOLD

beast and the harlot - i don’t always bop this song but when i do, the whole cul de sac does too. no but really this was so influential to middle school me i wanted nothing more than a boyfriend who looked like zacky or jimmy and whatever eyeshadows zacky was wearing in this clip

BLINK 182

i miss you - the video that inspired this post. THE AESTHETIQUE. 20′s inspired romantigoth film noir. i don’t yell about this music video enough.

BRING ME THE HORIZON

chelsea smile - it’s literally just a house part video but the song literally defines the year 2009 for me. emetophobia warning at 1:08

it never ends - this video got mad shit but i love it. pretty heavy gore throughout this video

alligator blood - CREEPY ASS AESTHETIC SHIT!!!! i live for it. 16 y/o me had it so bad for matt nicholls and him getting tied up and violated was like, god tier for me

visions - more creepy aesthetic shit. the videos on there is a hell were underrated

THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA

hey john what’s your name again? - i gotta throw this one in just bc this hurls my ass right back to the year 2008. that bible imagery. those haircuts. it was a better time for music

html rules d00d - THIS SONG STILL SLAPS LMAO DON’T READ ME

ELISSA FRANCESCHI

salt - i’m not crying you’re crying!!! how did anne and christian franceschi manage to spawn two flawless and talented siblings!!!!!!

EVERY TIME I DIE

ebolarama - it’s a performance video in a roller rink what more could you want

wanderlust - you’ve probably caught on to the fact that i love creepy aesthetic shit.

decayin with the boys - THIS VIDEO HAS ME HOWLING. there are too many good moments to list here but the personal highlight is the dude admiring the lesbians making out, then he turns and admires they gays making out at about the 1:30 mark. also the jenga dream sequence. there’s a dick in this video, just a heads up. and a whole bootyass. i love andy williams. mild emetophobia tw at 2:30

FOXY SHAZAM

a dangerous man - eric nally’s screeching was the soundtrack of 2008

i like it - the chorus of this song is literally just “that’s the biggest black ass i’ve ever seen and i like it” and i have nothing more to say

holy touch - it’s a performance video but it’s. different. i really don’t wanna ruin this by saying too much about it. that’s just kinda how foxy shazam were. this song is a fucking banger. yes, they did have a trumpet player in the official lineup.

FRNKIERO ANDTHE CELLABRATION

joyriding - another performance video that’s. different. lmao. aesthetically perfect

GOOD CHARLOTTE 

lifestyles of the rich and famous -  the proletariat banger we weren’t ready for in 2002, but we’re ready now.

girls and boys - old people being punk rock. that’s all.

predictable - i SPECIFICALLY remember watching this on the good charlotte website the day this dropped. THE EARLY 2000S BAD CG IS REAL. i was literally ten years old but i somehow Felt every word of that spoken bridge, man. WHEN THE LITTLE GIRL GIVES JOEL THE ROSE AND IT TURNS BLACK i deadass thought that was so fucking dope y’all

i just wanna live - ignoring the irony of joel whining about being famous, this video had THE MEMES. 

GREEN DAY

longview - iconic simply by virtue of being their first video.

when i come around - ask me about my favorite songs of All Time and i’ll probably mention this one. it’s still great nowadays. i love all the shots of berkeley.

brain stew/jaded - this is such a great piece of art lmao the fucking. sludgy feeling of brain stew going into the chaos of jaded is great on the record, but even better in video form going from being stoned in sepia to tripping acid in an oversaturated cluttered space

walking contradiction - comedy gold

hitchin a ride - creepy weirdness and an iconic bassline. also mike dirnt looks fine as hell in this video

minority - i’m running out of ways to explain that a video is iconic to me purely bc of how important the song was to me at a given time lmao.

american idiot - is there anything i can truly say about this video? it was perfect in 2004, it’s perfect in 2017. uncomfortably relevant. epilepsy warning for strobe lighting effects in the second half

holiday - technically this was released before blvd, but since it chronologically precedes blvd in the story, i’m putting it first. this is like 90% here for the bridge section y’all. fucking iconic. i wore a fedora on the first day of sixth grade bc tre cool wore one in this video. not my proudest fashion moment. emetophobia warning at 1:56 but them playing EVERY character in the bar scene is perfection

boulevard of broken dreams - ah yes, 2005′s most overplayed song. i could not escape this song. every time the intro started everyone would just look at me bc i was The Green Day Chick. this video is aesthetically perfect though. shout out to mike dirnt’s jawline in profile

HOZIER

work song - first of all, this song makes me cry. second of all, the video is dreamy as fuck. it gives me irl chills. i love the choreography so much. the whole vibe is very modern southern gothic. and it’s incredibly intimate feeling without being... sexual or vulgar, i guess. 

IN THIS MOMENT

adrenalize - first of all i’m gay. second of all i’m gay. this video is decidedly nsfw

whore - aesthetically pleasing. chris motionless being subby is the real highlight here

sick like me - again, it’s here for the aesthetic.

big bad wolf - also aesthetic but THIS MAKEUP LOOK. maria’s makeup look in this video is actually literally my aesthetic goal. epilepsy warning for strobe light effects

sex metal barbie - say it with me: aesthetic. i also love this one bc the lyrics are largely lifted from people talking shit about maria on the internet, shaming her for being a woman with sexuality and agency, so fuck yes i support it. mild body horror warning for this one

JOHN 5

making monsters - john’s videos are mostly performance based but this one is so cute lmao. where do i cop a j5 action figure

LADY GAGA

paparazzi - i’m only including the RLY vital gaga videos here and the full version of paparazzi is her best work imo......

bad romance - .......but bad romance is a close second.

telephone - i can’t not include this one though. the collab of the decade.

LINKIN PARK

one step closer - i think this was the first linkin park video i saw Back In The Day......... it was 2 heavy 4 baby me at the time lmao but nowadays it’s one of my fave lp songs. the video is super corny let’s be real but it was 2000

numb - this song is so fucking emo but i love it. the video is like peak emo too. i swear the main girl in this video was like my fashion icon at the time. layered tank tops, ripped loose jeans, oversized hoodies and jackets. i wanted her hair so bad lmao

what i’ve done - this video is really visually solid. i thought this was like the Deepest Shit in middle school lmao

MARILYN MANSON

sweet dreams (are made of this) - THE CINNAMON TOPOGRAPHY!!! god i have no complaints about this video except that twiggy is in it. visual fx?? dope. wardrobe?? dope. location?? dope. manson in the wedding dress?? dope. unsanitary warning for the later half of the video bc manson gets pooped on by birds lmao

tourniquet - one of my fave vocal performances by manson tbh. i prefer this one of the two videos floria did w/ manson. 

long hard road out of hell - femme manson and religious imagery need i elaborate

the dope show - the first manson video i ever saw. i was... so creeped out lmao. LOOKS ON LOOKS ON LOOKS. john 5 lookin like a snack in this one

i don’t like the drugs (but the drugs like me) - this is probably the most heavy-handed manson has ever been with the christ allegory lmao and yet......... i love it. also shout out to manson and rose’s dogs bug and uncle fester for guest starring. body horror tw here

coma white - basically a flawless music video i have nothing to say here that isn’t already said by the video itself

disposable teens - everybody looks great in this one except twiggy fuck twiggy. i actually love the mtv version of this video too, which is all performance, but i can’t seem to find it rn??

the fight song - one of my fave manson looks. those boooooots tho. the gloooovessssss. i’m gross let me live

tainted love - sorry to send y’all to vimeo for this one but i couldn’t find one on youtube that didn’t look like it was filmed with a potato or watermarked. y’all slept on the genius of this video tbh

mobscene - hello it is me gaogfucker666. 

this is the new shit - still me, gaogfucker666. this video feels misinterpreted too honestly

(s)AINT (director’s cut) - specifically the director’s cut bc more tim skold in a dress and boots smoking a cigarette. this video is seriously fucking nsfw. needles, drugs, sexual content, vomit etc watch with caution pls

personal jesus - i love this glam rock look so much. tim looks so good in this he never wore the look again bc he knew he looked so good we could never handle it a second time.

putting holes in happiness - I CAN’T FIND the extended version with tim’s full solo and i wanna scream. but. here’s the official version

say10 (short) - i really fucking wish he’d compounded off this for the official say10 video, beheaded orange man or not. just the verse. it’s so good. moody and creepy and AHHH.

we know where you fucking live - heed the warning at the beginning lmao. i honestly loved this video. i know some people thought it was edgy but i rly rly don’t see that. it’s offensive and obscene yeah but it doesn’t have that edgelord feel, as much as i love to call him an edgelord.

MOTIONLESS IN WHITE

reincarnate - old school horror vibes!!! as a Humble Fetishist of Boots and Gloves, this is a great video. also this is one of those songs where i Feel the lyrics for real

eternally yours - THE COLORS!!! THE FUCKIN IN A COFFIN!!!! i have nothing more to say

MOTLEY CRUE

looks that kill - please watch this corny ass fuckin 1983 ass hair metal ass music video. please. i’m tryna add more shout at the devil era nikki sixx vibes to my wardrobe tbh

wild side - i love a late 80s arena performance video ok also where do i cop nikki’s shirt

dr. feelgood - i will always credit this as one of the songs that made me want to play bass tbh

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

vampires will never hurt you - too emo to view with the naked eye.

i’m not okay (i promise) - the video that spawned a million high school AUs. god i love this one. even watching without the nostalgia goggles it’s great.

helena - perhaps my favorite music video of all time? if not then top 3. this video still remains my ideal aesthetic 12 years later. HOW I’M TRYNA BE. i just wanna look like an extra in this video, okay.

the ghost of you - time to cry!!!!! emetophobia warning at 0:47

welcome to the black parade - it’s hard for me to talk about these videos bc they’re so universally iconic that to explain why i love them so much would be mostly redundant.

famous last words - see above. this song means the world to me

desolation row - if i had to pick a video other than helena to look like an extra in i’d pick this one. has gerard ever looked this good, before or after this video?? peak.

NINE INCH NAILS

down in it - these are getting linked to vimeo since the official nin account has them all uploaded there in better quality. anyway i love so many of the shots in this video and i love the colors and i love bab trent

head like a hole - SO dated y’all but bab trent leveled up and became baby dread trent.

happiness in slavery - this is seriously graphic. but it’s great. also where’s the extended version that shows trent getting eaten by the weird carnivorous robot

gave up - bABY BRIAN!! infants, y’all. INFANTS.

march of the pigs - it’s a one-take performance video but it’s...... so much more than that. this video hurts me in my hand/glove kink.

closer - this is in the top 3 with helena honestly. it is... a piece of art film before all else. a Must Watch. 

burn - another case of a video being important to me because of the song it’s for tbh.

the perfect drug - marc romanek is a GOD. also a piece of art film honestly. just y’all wait till i make my dnd character based on trent in this video lmao

starfuckers, inc - hm, another nin video that trent invited manson to be in. interesting. all memes aside it’s a great video even as much as i hate the use of the “fat = ugly” trope. epilepsy warning for flashing effects in the last part of the video

deep - why. are. y’all. SLEEPING ON THIS!!!!

only - this may have been the first nin video i willingly saw and recognized as nin. this video still holds up, especially with it being 95% cgi and still looking as good as it does.

ROB ZOMBIE

living dead girl - the theme song of my life??? iconic couple costume idea????

meet the creeper - i have to include this video because it’s BAD. it’s terrible and i fucking love it

american witch (live version) - WHEN ROB PICKS UP JOHN AND STARTS SPINNING HIM AROUND!!!! this is here specifically for all the long hair john content

dead city radio and the new gods of supertown - the aesthetic. everybody looks great. matt is in a gorilla suit

well everybody’s fucking in a ufo - highly nsfw. where do i begin with this fucking hot mess...... sheri’s huge fake boobs. john and matt and ginger as astronauts. john jerkin off. the aliens with dicks. the fact that the whole story is about getting gang banged by aliens???? nothing will ever reach this level

SKOLD

self titled promotional clip - epilepsy warning for a lot of flashing and smash cuts. sort of a few partial music videos in one, but there are only two official skold videos, so i gotta include both of them. the quality is garbage. it’s so incredibly 1996. yet i love it. the last song, anything, is pretty nsfw as in there’s actual femdom porn clips but this is why i love it.

better the devil - if there were more skold videos i’d put them here. but as i said there are only two. tim out there lookin like not just a snack but a full course meal in 4k quality. goddamn. the only man i can ever truly call d*ddy. tiffany and eli lookin like delicious side dishes as well.

TAKING BACK SUNDAY

you’re so last summer - flava flave is in it

this photograph is proof - this song makes me so fucking nostalgic............. it transports me right back to eighth grade lmao. tbs were one of my fave bands in middle school.

makedamnsure - the most emo song of all time?? side note regarding tbs: real talk, being fat in middle school, seeing another fat person in a band was so fucking reassuring and great. i love eddie. 

liar (it takes one to know one) - these visual effects are SO cool, even now.

YOU ME AT SIX

jealous minds think alike - ART... no but actually look at these literal fetuses. i fucking love this song. it’s probably my fave track on take off your colours.

kiss and tell - you right it’s another house party video BUT. baby josh with an undercut. he must be 18 or barely 19 here??

liquid confidence - WHEN YOU GOT NOTHING TO LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE

stay with me - jkfljkghdfskljgs okay serious time: this song got me through a seriously rough part of my life and i have the title tattooed on me partially because of the video. 

loverboy - i have never seen a fandom in such utter chaos as the ymas fandom was on the day this video dropped. holy fucking shit. the THIRST was REAL. 

bite my tongue - peak ymas captured in one music video. that’s truly the most important part. that peak sns era ymas was preserved forever in this video.

lived a lie - is it bad if i still kinda want a “we are believers” tattoo lmao. i really....... love this song a lot. is it obvious by now that ymas love a big chorus lmao

give - this song gives me The Feels. it deserved better than a performance video in an empty arena but it’s all we got, so here it is.

[bananashemmo]

Black Butterflies

Pairing: Y/N/Tattoo-Artist!Calum

Rating: All

Request: No

Words: 1.700+

Summary: Trying to entertain a four year old can be hard at times when nothing seems to be right. But when Calum comes home and saves the day by drawing butterflies on his daughter just like real tattoos it seems to save the whole day

“No, mom you’re doing it wrong!” 

Your eyes widened in surprise when the red crayon was ripped away from your hands. Stubbornness was close to a middle name when it came to your little four year old. 

“You’re supposed to make circles, not squares!” For her age, she did in fact have strong opinions already, something you assumed she had gotten from her father. 

“But I’m trying my best. It’s just hard to satisfy your wishes, sweety.” You tried to reason with her but it was no excuse. When she was in this mood it was hard to step through. 

The living room was crowded in different kinds of paintings and drawings. There were various kinds of crayons, paint pencils and also erasers. You were having a nice day as the weather outside was nice but still too cold to experience.

The doors to the terrace were open letting in the fresh air and you were enjoying that small bit of sunlight that was spreading out from the white clouds. 

“I want it to be big! Like the ones flying outside of the garden right now!” She expressed excitedly but still with a bit of frustration in her tone.

She hated when you didn’t understand what she was trying to explain. It came with the new vocabulary she was learning every single day. You had good days and sometimes you had bad days. 

“But I think it looks exactly alike.” You explained and looked down at the paper in front of you. 

The drawing was nice according to you. Trying to draw butterflies was something you had done since you were little but they were never really that artsy. You drew the typical ones that everyone seemed to have ease with drawing. 

“No mom yours looks like a poop!” She disagreed and ran towards the terrace door.

“Look,” She exclaimed and pointed outside, “Just like the ones down by the bushes. I want them to look just exactly like those!”

You sighed softly and looked down at the paper. The effort wasn’t enough and you had barely gotten the chance to finish the butterfly before she had grabbed the pen out of your hand and ruined it completely with weird doodles. 

She was running around and making flying motions with her arms. Butterflies were one of her favorite animals so she couldn’t avoid the frustration when you weren’t doing it right.

“Here, let me try again.” You suggested and leaned over to take a piece of paper.

You knew she was moody today it wasn’t a surprise. She hadn’t been sleeping well because of the sudden change of heat. It was messing with her sleeping schedule that’s for sure.

“And I promise it will look better than the last one.” You added and unlocked your phone.

It if looked that horrible you would just try out and find a picture. It could be easier to sketch out something but she clearly didn’t understand that you weren’t much of an artist. 

“Okay.” She replied and seemed to calm down. She took a seat next to you on the carpet and carefully watched you grab a lilac color, wanting to do something simple.

It was with a shaky hand you tried your best to draw one. You knew that it wouldn’t take much to get her frustrated again and you didn’t want to deal with that right now. 

“No mom you’re doing it wrong again! I don’t like that.” 

You had barely gotten the chance to finish the drawing before the paper was ripped out of your hands. She was just as frustrated as before and teared the drawing apart.

“Honey what is making you upset it’s just a drawing?” You sighed and tried to reason with her but it was no use. 

She was stamping her foot and ran around the living room again frustrated. You normally knew how to handle this well but since you also had lack of sleep your temper was starting to boil as well.

You leaned your back against the couch and closed your eyes just for a second. It was hard coming up with activities when she was being like this, maybe she just needed a nap. 

“Hey honey.” 

It was a huge sigh of relief that came from your mouth once the front door opened. The sound of Calum’s voice was sweet music to your eyes and one ticket out of this stubborn situation. 

“Hey you...” You mumbled and leaned your chin on top of the cushion.

The faint sound of keys landing on the top of the counter was one of your favorite things ever. It meant that no matter how horrible the day had been it could only get better from now. 

You looked over your shoulder to see your daughter race right through the living room, her feet padding against the beige carpet. 

A faint hello came from the kitchen, you assumed they had collided. She had this thing where she would be running almost at the speed of light and right into Calum’s knees.

You sat and considered whether to clean this or not. Just being Calum himself seemed to distract her enough to push away everything else and it did in fact look like a big mess in the living room.

Leaning over to grab the pencils and crayons wanting to collect them into a pile Calum stepped inside with her in his arms. 

“Do we have a drawing factory going on?” He asked with wide eyes, seeing how his living room had turned into something from a camp movie. 

Leaning down to place her down to the floor you watched her run around the couch to get to you and fell down onto her bum.

“We tried out a few drawings. Doesn’t seem to be enough activity for her.” You mumbled and caressed some hair from her face that had fallen out from her ponytails. 

“What did you draw?” Calum asked interested and shrugged off his sweatshirt. 

You looked up when he was hovering right above you on the couch, a quick kiss being placed on your lips as a little hello. 

“Nothing good.” She sighed and looked down at the scattered papers. She didn’t have anything good she thought she could show to him and a frown came to his face.

“What about this one?” Calum glanced down at the paper that had been torn in half and grabbed it from the floor.

“Not acceptable.” You shrugged your shoulder and looked up at him. He could tell by your face expression that it had been a rough day and no matter what you did everything seemed to be wrong.

“Honey, what’s wrong with this? Mommy made it beautiful?” He asked but earned just you had gotten, a small groan followed by a groan.

“I don’t like it.” She shook her head, the ponytails wiggling with her. 

You fell back to the couch again with a defeated face but here again Calum seemed to save the day. At first he was trying to understand what was going on and he was being optimistic.

“You want it to be like this one?” He asked and pointed down at his sleeve. It was hard to see because of the many other tattoos surrounding the small thing but if you looked closely the butterfly was there. 

She didn’t say anything but you could tell that was she was thinking. She wanted it to be just exactly like Calum’s if not even better and that was hard to satisfy on paper.

“Come here.” He encouraged softly and she hurried to stand in front of him on the couch. 

She was having a both curious but unconvinced look on her face. You could tell that she was interested, everything Calum did seemed to inspire her. Hell, they even looked more like each other than you did. 

“Sometimes drawings have to be done differently. Sometimes papers aren’t just good enough and you gotta take it to the next level.”

She took a seat next to him on the couch and watched him slowly. He took a pen out from his pants pocket and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. 

“Calum I don’t think-,”

“Don’t worry.” He gently responded and smiled, “It’s the one I use at the shop, it’s not sensitive to the skin.”

You fell back to the couch again with a small smile. You just had to make sure it wouldn’t be something that would make her skin itchy but so far she seemed to interested she wouldn’t mind.

She watched Calum slowly use his pen on her skin. Sketching out not just one but three different kinds of butterflies. They were also mixed into a few flowers and leaves just to make it look more artistic. 

She had never been this quiet before for such a long time but she was afraid that she would ruin his art work.

It was something you could tell they were both enjoying. Calum did this for living, he loved using his talents on someone’s skin and normally it would be something to have for the rest of their lives. 

You could just imagine already how she most probably didn’t want to go to the showers because she would be afraid that it would wash away.

But that was the good thing. Calum could always redraw it. He could always do something new on her and something different every single day because his talent was endless and never seemed to stop.

He was inspired every single day and especially with the two most amazing girls in his life. 

“Is this somehow satisfying for the princess?” He asked when he was done, watching her brown eyes go wide when she saw the result.

She was completely speechless and it was worth everything. Her face showed all the emotions at once and you folded your hands together happily by the sight of her. 

“Mommy, look! Look!” She excitedly jumped down from the couch and basically attacked you to the floor.

“I’ve got tattoos like daddy!” 

You giggled softly by her reaction and took a look as she requested. She almost knocked her arm into your face but it was alright because the happy smile on her face was worth everything. 

“You sure do. Maybe someday they can turn into something real.” You explained and she looked over at Calum.

“Only if daddy will do it!” She exclaimed and pointed at him with wide eyes.

“I wouldn’t allow anyone else to do it.” Calum winked and leaned back in the couch.

This was his favorite sight coming home to every single day after a long shift at the tattoo salon. 

[moonbelt]

»whiplash (m) | 03

↳ fake dating au | college au

⇢ pairing: park chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: angst + fluff + smut

⇢ word count: 9.630

⇢ description: as an aspiring big-shot photographer in a slump, you’re looking for something that inspires you and unfortunately — or maybe not — it comes in the form of a guy named Chanyeol.

part 1 | part 2  | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

The sky is dark and the rain unrelenting against your skin when you finally get out of your last class for the day. It's also ridiculously colder than you expect, and you curse yourself silently for wearing your favorite sleeveless shirt from a previous season. But you guess there could be worse things happening in the world.

You can't see the rain as it falls, mainly because it's too dark to do so, but you feel it. You feel as it patters on your head before falling to the pavement. It soaks through you and your body shivers because of it. The act seems to be the only thing physically able to drag your thoughts away from Chanyeol. Chanyeol who promised to be here — you check your watch — eight minutes ago. You're not particularly mad at him though, you did arrive late to your first pretend-date... it's only fair, you think.

Sighing to yourself, you wish you'd brought a jacket or at least worn something warmer. Your ass is ten minutes away from freezing to death and your teeth keep making that chattering noise every few seconds. Some of the other fellow unlucky ART students that are stuck in the same boat as you, give you nods of understanding. Sometimes the weather is just absolute shit.

Now, you wish you had listened to Sehun and even Chanyeol when they had (separately) told you it was bound to rain today. But earlier in the day the sun had been out and the breeze had been cool but not daunting, so you'd thought that there was no possible way for the weather to change so drastically. You were wrong, Sehun was right. As per usual.

Chanyeol, as you found out, is rarely — if ever — right. You can't count the number of times his directionally-challenged ass put you in situations you could've easily avoided. Not that you're any good with directions either... but still better than him by a landslide.

You raise an arm above your head as you tap your foot incessantly. The Fine Arts Building is closed and locked up for the evening so you can't go back inside. You think you must look like a wet dog in this weather but so does everybody else. You guess that's fair. And even though you don't really want to think it, you think of your mother. The day your mother left, unfortunately, or maybe not, had been a good day.

A good day to have gone to the beach and watch the waves crash on the shore. A good day to have gone to Karate practice — you'd faked out that day, telling your parents that your stomach wasn't feeling too good — a lie. A good day to have taken your camera — the one your dad had got you the birthday before — to anywhere you wanted to take pictures of anything that interested you. A good day to have done anything but stay at home and watch her pack her bags.

Anyway, the point of the matter is that the day had been a good day and in ways, you truly cannot understand, today feels like that day.

You were glad that in the few days since the party Chanyeol hadn't tried to get you and his friends to hang out. Not that you didn't get along with them, because you did, but you were wary of Mai. She was Yixing's best friend and through the grapevine — Baekhyun — you heard all five of them used to be really close until runaway hormones and lack of common sense threw everything out of the loop.

You highly doubt that if you come in contact with Mai you would be able to keep your fists calmly at your side. Normally, you don't consider yourself a violent person. Passionate but never violent. However, it seems that you're learning new things about yourself the more you stay with Chanyeol.

When he wasn't off writing impromptu lyrics in his black notebook or trying really hard to find a pun to impress you, he was a pretty decent company to have around. Okay, scratch that. He was very nice company to have around.

You'd been getting progressively stressed because your professor hadn't given you positive feedback over some photos and he must have sensed that you were on edge about something and being the type of guy he is, he tried to keep your mind off it. Sadly, schoolwork wasn't the only thing weighing on your shoulders. You couldn't stop thinking about your mother. You hadn't spared her memory the light of day in years but now, you can't stop thinking about her.

Of course, you know why this sudden influx of memories of her are consuming you. Automatically you link cheating with her and because of that night at the party, you've been thrown back to your thirteen-year-old self. And now that he isn't able to drag your attention away to a new TV show or new campus gossip, you are quite literally soaked in your thoughts.

You'd always known how starkly different your personality contrasted with Chanyeol's but it had never crossed your mind that maybe some of his mannerisms were comforting to you. Chanyeol, who was usually the one eager to shoot you a text when something interesting happened, had suddenly become a constant. And these days you find yourself anticipating them more often than not.

You sigh to yourself again as you flip your mobile phone in your free hand, wondering for the nth time that day if he'll reply to the text message you'd sent him earlier. Chanyeol is a sucker for punctuality so it's slightly worrying that he hasn't arrived yet.

The sound of a car approaching where you stand, pulling up on the curb of the building with the driver having a smug smirk dancing across his lips, is enough to break you out of your reverie.

The car comes to a halt and even before the window slides down, you know there's going to be a cocky grin gracing his face. Chanyeol knows he's won this pseudo-battle; you said it wouldn't rain, he said it would. Guess who has to come and pick you up thirty minutes away from his apartment? Yes. Chanyeol. Your fake boyfriend that is slowly becoming more of a friend that just happens to be a boy.

He opens his car doors and you rush inside, thankful that he had offered to come pick you up after your last class.

"You're so wet," he says in faux disgust but with a playful glint in his eyes when you slam the door shut.

"You just had to slip in an innuendo, didn't you?"

"Better than a pun?" You roll your eyes at his question as an answer but the smug smile doesn't slip off his face as he puts the car in drive. "Told you it was going to rain. When would you start listening to me? I can tell these things Y/N. Like the back of my palm."

So, he says but you know it's all balancing on his, recently, crazy good luck. He really can't predict the weather; the universe is just eating out of his palms for the time being. Ignoring him, you focus on trying to dissect your shirt from clinging to your skin and haphazardly peeling your hair away from your face and eyes.

Chanyeol doesn't notice your lack of answers or maybe he just doesn't care. He seems to be in a good mood if you take his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as a sign.

"How was the class?" He asks once he pulls out of the street. "What did your professor say about the pictures?"

Ah, the photos of Chanyeol that you'd taken over the past week or so. Your professor had asked to see a few of them, so you'd taken your camera over to her office and showed them to her. You're not going to lie; the pictures were amazing. More than amazing. They were breathtaking and every time you looked at them, you felt a hearty chunk of your chest cleave away from him.

You told yourself that this was simply you speaking from an artistic point of view and it had nothing to do with anything romantic. You do realize that you're somewhat sexually attracted to him but that has nothing to do with conventional romance. At least, you don't think.

You turn your head to face Chanyeol but his eyes are focused on the road. "She actually gave me pretty good feedback. She thinks you're a great model— very expressive."

"As expected your pictures are the best," he shoots you a wink and a more genuine smile. "Guess our fake dating is producing good results?"

You make an uncommitted sound as your response. Chanyeol has a knack for praising your work more than it actually deserves. You can show him a photo of dog poop and he'll call it magical based solely on the fact that you took it. And it's not like you don't spending time with Chanyeol — because you do. But as the days add up and Easter Sunday comes closer, you wonder if you can really fool his whole family. You've never been good with mothers.

In fact, you're pretty sure your ex's mom banned him from bringing you home after the first meeting. Maybe you shouldn't have been honest about how awful her turkey had tasted? But your dad had always been gung-ho about honesty. And even though you don't carry the same fervor for it, you can't really tell a lie to someone you don't particularly like.

But you guess he is right. The fake dating is producing results. On both ends. You and Chanyeol hopefully convinced his friends that the two of you are a package deal. And your portfolio was coming together really nice —

"What? Did I say something wrong?" He takes your non-reply as a problem.

"No, no!" Your eyes fly open. "You're good. I just don't see why you're always hyping up my work when you haven't even seen it."

Chanyeol seems relieved by the statement but still shoots you a concerned look from the corner of his eye. Even though you take pride in what you do, you get oddly embarrassed when showing him your work. Therefore, you rarely do. Not since that first that day when you thought if you didn't show it to him, he would've walked away.

"One; because I know your work is freaking amazing. Two; because you're my friend and that's what friends do."

A friend, he says and somewhere in your heart, you feel at peace that it's not just you thinking that way. But then there's this pressure in your mind. Like your deluding yourself. You think back to the night of the party; with Chanyeol pressing tightly against your skin and his lips singing sweet-praises into your neck. Friends don't do that. Not the friends you have anyway.

"You're so cheesy," you say rolling your eyes, and in a bid to distract yourself, turn your gaze out the window.

He laughs at that. The kind of laugh that shakes his whole body and makes him slap the steering wheel with both of his hands. You're not exactly sure why he's laughing so hard at your statement but you guess something good must have happened earlier.

You take several not-so-sneaky glances his way before you finally end up asking him if anything particularly good happened today. He shrugged, tapping a set of his fingers on his lap.

"Not really, I was just remembering that one time I called you "friend," and you said that wasn't true. We were 'business partners.'"

There's nothing like a hard dose of cold embarrassment to make your face start growing hot. Christ, a week and a few days ago, you'd never accept that you and Chanyeol had broken that barrier to becoming friends. Now, your heart was practically palpitating at the idea. You need to get a hold of yourself. All this back and forth is giving you whiplash.

"Well, it's not like I was lying—" you attempt to brush it off but Chanyeol stops you.

"What changed?" He halts the car because of the stop light and turns his attention all on you.

To be very honest, you don't know. You don't know how the dynamics of the relationship changed. One day you were viewing him as a model, nothing more nothing less, just someone that inspired you. But as you hung out with him, the conversations kept adding up to so much more. The smallest of things that he remembers about you, the things you feel make you insignificant, he brings them out to life.

Calling or texting Sehun when something had either gone inexplicably wrong or surprisingly right had never been an issue. Sehun was — is — your best friend. But doing the same to Chanyeol? That had been a shocker, but it had also been something you never thought about.

It was just one of those things that happened. Like the kiss that happened all those days at the party but neither of you has bothered to discuss— it's just one of those things that happen. With or without you knowing.

"You know," you mutter lamely. "How we look after each other."

But there's so much more you want to add. Like the way the two of you seem to spend any free time together, even when you don't need to take shots of him. Getting into petty arguments like which ice cream flavor is better. Everyone knows vanilla is the greatest, Chanyeol, however, thinks otherwise.

The way Chanyeol texts you the lyrics he's working on that he thinks you'd appreciate. The way the two of you talk fleetingly about the future and solemnly you wonder if he'd be in your future. If after this three-week fake relationship position goes dry, you and him will revert back to strangers? Frankly, you don't want that.

Replaying his question in your mind, you realized the two of you were something more than fake partners. More than just casual friends too. Good friends? Really close friends? You shouldn't want to kiss your best friend though, in fact, you shouldn't want to do anything romantically inclined with them... your eyes trail over his face and the emotions building in your chest. Definitely not. You should definitely not want to kiss a friend of that caliber.

You shrug your shoulders as you sigh into your chest, deciding your best bet is to allow the conversation to die. You focus your attention on the lights whizzing past your window as Chanyeol puts the car back on drive. The silence isn't awkward but it's heavy. The two of you, you realize need to work this relationship out because the more time you spend in your thoughts and with him, you feel as if you're straying farther away from what a fake relationship should be.

Chanyeol is quiet and you are quieter. You fiddle with your fingers a little, to distract your thoughts, but you still find yourself not being able to say anything. You almost sigh in relief when you finally see the nearing of your apartment complex.

You try, really hard, to keep an air of indifference but end up jumping out of the car once it comes to a complete stop and rush up the steps to your apartment door. For the first time since moving in a year and a half ago, you feel thankful that your room is on the first floor and not the eighth.

Fumbling around in your pocket, you search for the familiar metal of your keys but unceremoniously draw blanks. You could've sworn you had it though. Pulling your backpack off your shoulders, you ransack it. Without looking up, you hear Chanyeol come up behind you.

"Something wrong?"

"I can't find my keys," you say with a tint of desperation in your voice. You scatter the contents of your bag unto the floor but despite that, you can't seem to find the stupid singular key. Sehun had always said you'd lose it soon because you didn't have a keychain, he probably jinxed your, already horrible, luck.

Chanyeol runs a hand through his hair, fluffing it up a bit. "Don't you have a spare? Roommate?"

You sigh deep into your chest. Your spare is probably lying comfortably somewhere in your room, you had no idea where exactly it would be but you were sure it was there. Roommate? You push your books and pens back into your bag solemnly.

"Sehun doesn't come back until later. Around maybe eleven? Twelve? What day is today?"

It takes a moment or two before he responds. "Wednesday."

Shit. You —

"Ah, he's not coming home today."

"Your roommate?"

You nod. "Sehun stays over at his girlfriend's place every Wednesday for ‘movie night,’ he turns off his phone and basically won't be able to come over and open this damned door," a gust of chilling wind breezes past and your teeth clatter.

Chanyeol looks down at you, not condescendingly, he's just really tall and that's one of his perks. He bites his lips, deep in thought, like he's weighing his options. You shuffle on your feet, not exactly sure what you're going to do when he clears his throat. Your head whips up from staring at your shoes to staring at him.

"You could stay at my place. There's only one bedroom but I'll take the couch or something. It doesn't matter, I'll figure it out."

"Really? I don't want to impose on you or anything—"

A small smile perks up on his face. "It's fine, Y/N. Don't worry about it. Plus, I can't exactly leave you to freeze to your death out here."

Another gust of wind sweeps by and not only do your teeth clang together, your body literally spasms. There's no way you could stay out here tonight. You could call your friend WooJin and ask to stay over but he lives in one of the campus dorms and is a stickler for the rules and regulations.

"Okay."

You hike your school bag up your arm and will yourself to stop shaking. You look like you're having a nervous breakdown and you know you're going to wake up tomorrow with a stupid cold because of the stupid weather.

Chanyeol pauses when he sees you grip the backpack straps so hard your knuckles turn a lighter color. "Are you cold? Do you want to borrow my jacket?"

You scoff, mainly to yourself. "I'm not." You have no idea why you're so hellbent on putting up with this farce. You're clearly dying.

Without a word, he pulls his arms out of his ridiculously huge jacket and drapes it across your shoulders, leaving him in a somewhat tight fitting black turtleneck sweater. "Yeah, I must have forgotten that people generally shiver for no reason at all."

You're tempted to kick his shin but refrain because the warmth of his jacket seeps into your skin. Christ, you don't want to sound like you've been deprived or something but he smells amazing. You pull open the passenger door and slide in, all the while wondering if you can find a reason to hold onto his jacket longer.

The drive to his apartment is a whole lot better than the drive to yours. For starters, neither of you talk about anything serious. He tells you about his day, skitters around recounting the most interesting things that happened.

Apparently, Baekhyun has been "requesting" that you hang out with them again sometime. Says he "misses you." You laugh hard at that because you've only known him for a week and you can totally see him saying that. You and Chanyeol banter back and forth like that until he pulls up to the curb of his apartment.

You've only been here once before and that was because you wanted to take a few shots of him in a familiar setting. The photos came out incredible and there was one particular one that you wanted to be framed and hanged somewhere where everyone could see. You'd shown the picture to Sehun and although he'd agreed that it was an amazing angle, he'd also said:

"I look way better, you know. Like I could steal your heart if I didn't already love Yumi."

Yeah, like you would've ever fallen for him anyway. You'll admit, Sehun is strikingly good looking but there wasn't that spark! You know the kind that tethers through your entire body setting everything on fire? But despite that, you can't pull away from the flame. Unconsciously your look over to Chanyeol as he puts the car in park and turns his eyes from the road to you.

"What?" He whispers out like he's terrified of breaking your trance.

You shake your head. "It's nothing. Thanks for allowing me to stay over," you give him a smile to try and clear the confusion brewing in his eyes.

"It's not a problem," he returns your smile as the two of you get out of his car. He waits for you to walk over to his side before he begins leading you the way inside the apartments elevators.

Although the elevator is pretty darn spacious, you find yourself huddled closer to Chanyeol. Fingers almost touching but not quite. You think to yourself that maybe the cold is affecting you in more ways than one. You can't jeopardize whatever this is because of your sexual attraction towards him. You'd promised yourself getting into this relationship you wouldn't stir up unnecessary feelings for him.

You bite your lip and attempt to take deep breaths. But with Chanyeol's jacket wrapped soulfully around you, the more you inhale, the more it becomes harder to focus your mind on the "right" thing. Your eyes flicker to his lips. Damn, maybe you just need to get laid. Yes, all these feelings of neediness are sprouting because you haven't done anything with anyone in months. Yes, blame your libido and not your heart.

The elevator pings as it comes to a stop and you run out of there as if someone is burning your ass. Chanyeol watches you in amusement as you lead the way to his apartment door. He slots his key inside and props open the door with his foot and waits for you to clamber inside. His apartment is roomy and resembles him to the core. With guitars arranged against one corner, walls painted a light shade of brown and lots of windows.

"I'm so sorry,” his eyes widen. “I would have cleaned up better if I knew you'd be coming over," he looks sheepishly at the stray pair of Adidas track pants lying on the floor and rushes to grab it.

You wave his concerns away. "My apartment is worse. Neither me or Sehun clean as much as we should."

"Still," Chanyeol shakes his head at the track pants disappointingly. "Oh, you should take a shower. It must be uncomfortable staying in those wet clothes, right?"

You nod. "Yeah. You have a washing machine, right? Can I borrow it?"

He uses a finger to point at a closet to his right before he places his phone and keys on the counter in his kitchen. Then peers at you with embarrassment painting his eyes. "I don't think they'll wash and dry on time. Plus, it would be really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans... I could lend you some clothes to sleep in."

Watching him nervously tap the back of his neck influences your decision. Better to think that. Even though you know that none of his clothes would ever fit you. Unless he lends you clothes that someone else had left here. Shit, now you can't help your mind drifting to Mai. Mai bent in this apartment, Mai and Chanyeol having a completely different conversation that has nothing to do with clothes but the lack of.

Ah, this is bad. You can't — shouldn't — feel jealous. Whatever happened between Mai and Chanyeol was months ago, in the past and most importantly this was all fake. Yeah, you resign to yourself. This is all fake.

"Thank you," you say when you realize that you've been staring at him. You clear your throat to relieve the lump that has taken place there.

Quietly, Chanyeol leads you through his bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. He leaves you for a minute to go get a purple hoodie that seems too big for you but you don't complain. He also hands you a pair of shorts that, surprisingly, look like they'll fit. True to character, you ask him the question before you can stop yourself.

"This is yours?" You try to keep the incredulity out of your voice but fail, miserably.

A deep blush breaks out on his cheeks. "Baek and Yixing thought it'd be funny to get me booty shorts for my last birthday," he mumbles so low that you wonder how you even heard it.

"Obviously," you laugh way too hard but it feels good as relieving.

Chanyeol all but shuts the bathroom door so fast and you can already visualize the redness of his cheeks spreading to his ears. He doesn't get embarrassed often but you've found out that when he does, he stutters and fumbles. It's cute, you think to yourself.

You don't take too much time with peeling your clothes off your body and slipping into the shower. The warm, leaning more on hot, water does something good to clear your thoughts. You decide to compartmentalize what you think you know.

First off, you like Chanyeol. There's no way around that. Whether it should be acted on... that's different. Second, it's not certain that Chanyeol likes you back in the way you like him. He's nice to everyone, looks out for everyone, would rather get hurt than allow someone else to through that the pain.

So, what if he remembers your favorite coffee order or your favorite pizza? Those are trivial things, you reason with yourself. Anyone can remember those things, you tell yourself even though you barely remember your father's favorite ice cream flavor... Back to the point; it's not easy telling if Chanyeol sees you in any way other than a fake girlfriend.

"Ugh." You place your head gingerly on the shower stalls wall, the water cascading down your back. Nothing is going according to plan.

You really don't want to get your hopes (and heart) broken but for some reason, you’re thinking that you want to explore this feeling or connection with Chanyeol. You'd seen a few people with good relationships. Sehun and Yumi being one. But you also knew firsthand how badly a heart could be broken. And all those years ago, you'd promised yourself that you wouldn't be like your father, crying for months after your mom had left.

You didn't want to bear that type of pain but then again why did you agree to this sham in the first place? It's ridiculous really, how caught up you are in this.

You were the one literally begging him not to fall for you and now look at you. On the verge of wishing that this was real because maybe then you wouldn't feel bad about the butterflies carving home in your stomach. You didn't want to open your heart to that type of pain but it seems like something is forcefully prying your chest open.

You finish your shower as fast as possible, suddenly the water stings. Or maybe it's just the feeling in your pit expanding? You've never been the most excellent liar, and now you're wondering how you're going to prevent Chanyeol from discovering that something is different and it has nothing to do with him. You're liking him all on your own and it should be your problem on how to deal with it.

The shirt sizes too big for you but it feels comfortable and it smells overpoweringly like him. You're supposed to be dealing with your feelings and sorting them out but damn. He smells really good. The shorts are more or less your size but it's practically nonexistent under the hoodie.

After what seems like hours of you contemplating if it's really okay for you to walk out with all your legs on show, you grab your wet clothes and march out of the bathroom. You dump your them at the foot of his bed, not sure what else to do with it. And after a while of contemplating you head out to the kitchen to search for Chanyeol. Only for you to halt in your steps with your eyes wide as fucking saucers and your jaw almost lined with the floor.

Now, you'd seen your fair share of naked, shirtless bodies. You do live with a guy that pranced around without a shirt almost every second he was around. But holy shit, you'd never been this attracted to it. You shut your eyes on impulse but after three seconds you pry them open again.

"Fuck."

Chanyeol perks up at your voice. "Want a sandwich?" Chanyeol's head is deep in the fridge, looking for something, but when you don't answer he peeks his head out. "I make the meanest cheese sandwiches."

"..."

Your mind is gone. Lost within a thousand upon thousand fantasies. You had no idea where these fantasies came from but oh boy, they are tearing your imagination apart.

Chanyeol looks as confused as he is amused. "Okay... You don't want sandwiches." He moves closer; you move away. "What's wrong? Your ears are red. Like, red, red." His expression turns serious as he hurries towards you.

You clear your throat furiously, scraping your mind for words. "I-I'm fine. Can you just, stay over there?"

You push your arms in front of you in an attempt to stop him from coming any closer. He isn't even completely naked; basketball shorts are sitting dangerously low on his hips but still—

Shit, you shouldn't have looked down there.

He stops, his eyes scanning your face that is rapidly heating up. "Are you blushing?"

When you don't answer, Chanyeol squints his eyes as he cocks his head to this side as he inspects your face. "I think you are. Here I was worried you were having a skin reaction or something, and it's just you blushing because... I'm shirtless?"

He moves closer again and you all but slam into the wall behind you. "Okay. So, you do not want a sandwich." He says, his eyes unwavering as they stare at you. "Then what do you want?"

Your lungs falter. Your heart, that you're supposed to be protecting, leaps. Your mind, that's still having a field day in fantasies, gets the memo last.

"You." The word falls from your lips. "I want you."

Shitfucknofuckshit—

"You want what?" All signs of amusement come to a screeching halt on his face and a deep crease etches into his forehead.

Don't say it again, Y/N. You warn yourself. Hold onto your dignity, please.

"Forget it." You say as his chest presses into your hand.

"Forget it?" He shakes his head twice. Well, isn't this the ideal situation. Your arm is literally the only thing keeping him away from you. "I can't do that."

"Chanyeol," you try to duck around him but he braces one arm beside your head. The other he places on the wall on your other side. You move your body lower to try and bend under his arm but he moves it to block your path. Groaning, you stand back to your full height and glare at him only you find something else to fixate on.

His lips. You're staring at it. And now that you are you're thinking about what it would feel like moving with yours again. Your face flushes with heat, a sign giving away your thoughts. "What's wrong? Are you turned on?"

You have no idea where this sense of bravado is coming from but some really minuscule part of you loves it. The other part of you, the one highly embarrassed by these turn of events, hates it.

"What are you talking about? My face is always like this after a shower." Even you don't believe yourself.

"You are so turned on right now," he states it as a fact.

What was it you were thinking in the shower? Oh, yes. How you didn't want to open your heart to him if he wasn't feeling the same way? Well now, you think, you want to open something entirely different and—

Your gaze drops once more to his low-riding shorts.

Damn, fuck, shit.

You could see the bulge in his pants and your mind short circuits. He's hard. And your mind is begging you to forget that stupid promise you'd made to yourself minutes ago and go for it. Your gaze skits back to his face. There's a cocky tint in his eyes and now you wonder where embarrassed Chanyeol has gone. You're not sure if you can handle cocky Chanyeol.

He was — is — big. Bigger than you were expecting.

It must be hard, you think, to hide something like that. Stop thinking the word hard, Y/N! Stop thinking the word hard and big in the same sentence! You reprimand yourself but there it was again. The big bad H word. Since you're clearly incapable of not thinking properly, you take one meek step back, to disrupt your train of thoughts but it does nothing.

"You're one to talk," Your eyes look up from his dick to his face in an obvious manner. "Bet that doesn't feel too good."

He shrugs. "Here's the thing," he starts, ignoring your jab. "The two of us are reasonable adults."

"Yeah," you agree slowly.

"You want me? In the way, I'm thinking you mean?" he says, moving closer to you but keeping a distance so he doesn't get too close. You wonder what even classifies as too close in this situation.

You nod your head, your breath lurching in your throat. God, why did he have to say that in the most sensual voice? You're already getting unbelievably turned on and that is the icing on the cake.

"Probably?"

"For how long?" he asks, his expression giving nothing away. He could either feel the same way about you, or he couldn't. There's no way of telling when his face is that blank.

Shrugging, you turn your head down, embarrassed. "I don't know? A week? We haven't known each other very long." It feels longer though. Like it has been years.

"Why didn't you say anything?" His brown eyes light up with curiosity as he presses you for more.

Your face lifts up meeting his eyes with yours. "Because it's... I didn't even want to tell you tonight. Or ever."

Chanyeol leans in closer. "Why?"

You'd already done the worst, so what did it matter now? "Because we're friends, Chanyeol. You treat me like we're friends and... I really like you as a person. I don't want to fuck this up. We're not even dating for real and I already know I'll fuck something up."

"You're not going to fuck anything up, Y/N. If anything, you are incredibly honest with your feelings and that's not fucking things up. It's communication." He pauses, considering his words. "What's wrong with friends?"

Sighing, you bite your lower lip in apprehension. "Nothing is wrong with that."

"Being friends comes with respect, picking you up whenever you need something. Having your back. What's wrong with that?" Your body language must have told him something because he continued on. "You just don't want me looking at you and only thinking you’re a friend—is that what you're saying? How do you want me to look at you then?"

The answer is simple to give especially since you've been plagued by the topic for days, but you aren't sure on know how to say it without sounding like some weirdo that catches feelings for someone in less than two weeks. "Like I'm ..."

Ah, shit. You can't say it. You can't say that you want this fake relationship to become real, who does that? That's like breaking a hundred laws out there. There is an order to these kinds of things and you can't just jump through them—

"Like you're someone I'm honestly dating?"

Against your own will, you nod. "But I know it's stupid, and I know it's going to be all awkward now and ..." You're panicking. "I know we promised to not fall for each other and—" your lips drag shut when you realize Chanyeol is still standing there, arms caged around your body frame, eyes unflinching, you slouch against the wall. "What?"

"It's just you were the one that promised not to fall in love, I never said anything about it."

"What?"

It takes some effort for you to recall that day; your first date. He's right, you remember, he said you knew so little about love and you had laughed in his face. Told him you could never fall in love with someone in two weeks... you're not in love though. You just like being around him, talking to him, holding him, occasionally want to reach up and kiss him—

His mouth twitches. "Never falling in love with someone must be so boring."

"Shut up," you resist the urge to groan.

His chest rose and fell against yours with each breath, sending a fleet of sensations rampant inside your body. And suddenly, you think, screw it all.

You'd like to blame your next actions on a whole lot of things really but honestly, it's all on you. You're pushing closer to him faster than you realize but you don't care. All you can think about is him and you. Him on you. It doesn't matter in what form, you just want him. But before your lips can collide with his, Chanyeol stops you.

His voice comes out in hot breaths. "I need you to say it."

"What?" Your voice shook as his hands moved from the wall to the sides of my neck.

"Say it. What you want."

"I want you," your breathing matches his and you reach up and curl your fingers in his hair. "I really want you."

There's a small smile on Chanyeol's lips as he reaches down to your neck and presses a feather-like kiss on it.

"What are you doing?"

Chanyeol looks releases your skin from his teeth and looks down at you and you know this is it. "Answering your question," he pulls your body towards him and you can't help the eager feeling in your chest when your lips connect in a kiss that feels different to the last one you'd shared.

That one had started with so much coiled up tension and drunken fantasies that it felt like he had been eating you alive. But this time it isn't building tension that sparks your desperation. Instead, it's the falling into the indescribable attraction that's been brewing between the two of you and screwing whatever that has been holding you back.

This is the kind of kiss that makes you feel like you've never really been kissed before. He tangles a hand through your hair and you're not exactly sure if it's to get a better angle or to give himself more advantage. It doesn't matter though, not with his tongue making the pit of your stomach feel deep magical things.

He pulls away from your lips and you have to consciously stop a whine from leaving your mouth. "Did I ever tell you, you're a really good kisser, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. You laugh. Count on him to bring out the big guns now. "Who knows? I can't really think all that straight right now."

He chuckles softly and presses his body deeper into you. Suddenly, the only thing keeping you upright is the wall and Christ, you shouldn't be thinking about this but you wonder why the two of you hadn't done this earlier. But then you remember that minutes ago you were convincing yourself to drop your feelings for him. Abruptly, you reach up and slam your lips back into his.

Fuck it, this has nothing to do with feelings and everything to do with attraction.

As your kiss intensifies, your throat keeps releasing moans and breathy pants and after a while, your fingers press harder into his hair. Chanyeol groans into your mouth. "Y/N, slow down."

To be honest, you didn't want to slow down. At least not now. If everything was going according to your plans, you would have finished what you started right on the wall, no questions asked. But Chanyeol thinks of something else, lifting you up from the wall and giving you time to wrap your legs around his torso before he strides over to his bed lowers you down.

"You look way too good in my hoodie. Better than I ever have." His words come out muffled as he buries his face in your cleavage. One of his hands pulling at your (his) shirt, and then releasing a frustrated growl when the neckline doesn't lower enough to give him access to what he wants.

You roll your eyes, smiling way too wide to be deemed appropriate and reach between your bodies to yank the hoodie off. Almost immediately his mouth latches on to your nipple. The laugh at his eagerness, that you're about to set off, dies in your throat as his palm closes around one bare breast. On impulse, you arch into his deft fingers. As Chanyeol's mouth gets busy sucking on one puckered nipple, his fingers pinch and tease the other one. Wow, he's good at this.

You don't know why you thought he wouldn't be but shit, he knows what he's doing. And he's taking his sweet time with it too, despite the rod in his pants, he acts like he could do this nipple-sucking act for eternity. You push your lower body up over his erection, asking for anything and getting increasingly frustrated with the supposed-to-be booty shorts preventing you from getting any closer to him.

He breaks apart from you and uses a hand to press your body back to the bed, shaking his head lightly as he does so like he can't believe you're the same person. You can't believe he's the same either, you'd always thought he would shy away from sex and its counterparts... guess you both were learning new things about each other.

His voice was lower now, deeper. "So eager," but he made no indication of hating it.

His hands moved down and made quick work of discarding the booty shorts, exposing yourself to him. Chanyeol didn't waste time in nudging your knees open as he placed light gentle kisses on the inside of your thighs. God, that felt good. By the time his lips had made their way to your core, you were a quivering mess. Before anything else, he peers up at you from that angle as if he's asking for your permission. You didn't even realize it, but you let out a moan in response and just like that he dives straight in.

Your body arches off the bed at such a high speed it would have been shocking if you had been in the right state of mind. You'd thought maybe he would've gone slow, taken his time, maybe gently bring you to an orgasm but as he flattens his tongue over your core you think you might have been naive. He slides one finger into you, face still buried between your legs and he's going at like he's been a dead man starving.

Air strains out between your teeth as you inhale sharply. "Chanyeol," your voice shakes as anticipation builds up in your lower stomach.

"Do you like that?" he murmurs.

"It's good," you breathe out but then immediately he withdraws, you tilt your head and watch him in a state of confusion.

He runs his tongue across his lips as uses his now wet fingers to lightly circle your clit. Your entire body locks in on itself, screaming and clenching for more. Your breath comes out in deep pants.

"Just good, huh?" there's an undulating taunt in his tone. Fuck, that's hot.

You close your eyes, shuddering. "It's great. Amazing."

"I know." He responds by easing two fingers inside, his thumb taking place the hood of your clit and your back arches as a wave of excitement crashes over you. He pumps in and out a few times and holy shit, you can feel it — him — everywhere. Even down to your toes.

"Oh God," you stare at him open-mouthed, and he grins back, white teeth against his smooth skin and his dark tousled hair, fully aware that he's blowing your mind.

"You're so tight," Chanyeol groans, dragging the pads of his fingers along your sensitive nerve endings as he pulls them out again before pushing them back in.

The desire in his strained voice makes his words sound sexy as hell, and it throws you over the already so close edge. Your orgasm crashing into you hard, pulling you under wave after wave that seemed to stretch on forever. Chanyeol's fingers don't stop working as he attempts to drag everything out of your body.

After several more moments with you becoming a withering mess to his ministrations, his hand finally rises and the wetness shines on his fingers even in the dark of his room only illuminated by the mediocre lamplight in the corner. You're not prepared at all for the jolt of arousal that hits you when he sucks them off clean.

Crap. You never thought you'd be into this but like you've said, tonight seems to be all about discovering things.

Chanyeol moves up the bed and lies down, beckoning you to come over with his eyes but there's hesitation within you. This isn't what you thought you were signing up for. You thought it'd be a quick fuck, but Chanyeol is hellbent on dragging this out as long as physically possible.

He adjusts himself more comfortably and tries again. "C'mere."

That was all it took for you to crawl forward. It's like he's cast a spell on you and you couldn't help but go through with it, helpless to disobey him. You place your thighs above him and stare as his tongue swipes against his lips again. Christ, you have it bad for his lips. They always look so flushed and full and feel amazingly soft.

"You should probably brace yourself," he suggests, "because I'm going to make you come again."

"I had no idea you were so cocky."

He shrugs, a smile on his lips. "What can I say? You bring out the best in me."

You're sure it's not really you but more of your body but those are technicalities you can't be bothered with right now. His hot breath warms your thighs skin as you lower yourself over his face, effectively cutting his next sentence off. You take a deep breath to calm your nerves but that does nothing. He uses one hand to clamp around your hip while the other he uses to part you with two fingers and holds you open while his tongue stabs hard inside you.

Shit. You have to brace yourself with your hands on the headboard because you're gone way over your head. He licks you in long, sweeping strokes until you're muffling sobs against your shoulder. You can barely breathe with the way he's nipping and biting and sucking on your clit. You swear you see stars brighten the back of your eyelids and you'd be lying if you say your legs didn't spasm a little.

"Fuck," you wheeze out in-between breaths. "I'm gonna come."

There's a low chuckle and it reverberates all around your hypersensitive core and before you know it, you're shuddering into yourself as another orgasm falls over you. God, this feels too good. You push yourself off him and lie on your back.

"You good?" Chanyeol asks, moving up from the bed and hooking his fingers into the waistband of his shorts.

"Mm," you manage, doing your best to calm the racing of your heart.

When he was done discarding his last piece of clothing, your eyes nearly pop out. You didn't think he'd be that thick, Jeez, is he even going to fit? And Holy shit, he was hard with a capital H. You wonder what amount of self-control he has to have gone through all of you without coming undone in his pants. He reaches to his bedside table for a condom and using his fingers, he tears the foil. He sheathes himself in one swift motion and throws the wrapper somewhere behind him before climbing over you, hovering above with his weight on his forearms on either side of you.

"Ready?" he asks, positioning himself at your opening.

You're not sure if you nod or whimper, but whatever sound that comes out of your mouth must sound like a go-ahead because ever so slowly pushes inside until he's seated to the hilt.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he hisses through gritted teeth.

"And you're fucking big," you wheeze, wriggling around under him.

Since you don’t stop squirming, he grabs your hips to hold you still and gradually pumps into you. "Don't move," ah, crap. You thought you'd estimated how big he was but feeling it stretch you as his hips rocked back and forth, easing inside, had you realizing you miscalculated.

You don't listen. The friction feels too good. His fingers and tongue were magic, his dick, you realize, is spiritual. You can feel him everywhere. It's mind-blowing.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, low and feral. “I’m trying to go slow.”

Your hands push into his hair as he thrusts into you deeper and God, you swear you see heaven or at least something akin to it.

His gaze doesn't fall from you and with each thrust, you found yourself resisting the urge to hide inside yourself. Instead, you looked right back at him. And holy, watching the little moans fall from his lips feels so sexy that you revel in it. Chanyeol moves in and out of you, each hip movement making him go in deeper until he seated himself fully. The way he was looking into your eyes made you feel like he could see right through you. It terrified you to feel so vulnerable, but at the same time, it made you realize that no matter how this night ended, the two of you were sharing way more than just your bodies.

His thrusts start to grow faster and then his fingers find your clit, stroking and teasing it until you light off like you're on fire, shaking so hard you have to cling onto his back to stay sane. He drives into you, over and over again, until suddenly he’s the shaky, mindless mess who has a hard time maintaining any control. You watch as his jaw tenses while he gasps closer to his own release. And then he collapses forward unto the bed, taking you along with him.

When he eventually pulls out, he kisses you softly on the forehead before getting up to dispose the condom and grab a towel to clean you up. Once he's done, you find the discarded hoodie on the floor and pull it over your head, Chanyeol wears his basketball shorts, you can't find the booty shorts so you say fuck it, and climb back on the bed.

Returning to bed, he lays on his back, pulling you to his chest and wrapping two arms around you to hold on tight. But your head is ringing because it’s just sex and you shouldn't feel this attached. But you're not so sure anymore. He didn't exactly say that he liked you back. In fact, he didn't say anything, all he'd done was make you admit your inner feelings...

You stay silent for a moment, face pressed into Chanyeol's chest. You don't know why you feel like you have to say it, but you do.

“I want to fall in love. Not just feelings that come and go. I want to prove that I can love, you know.”

Not even a beat passes by. “Of course, you can love. You don’t need to date someone to prove that. You just need to find The One."

“You believe that? That there’s only one perfect person for each of us?”

It's a wonderful idea. One you wish you believed in—but you'd never once witnessed it. Relationships, at least the romantic kind, always seem to balanced more on the negative side. Your mother's leaving, your heart being toyed around by that one irrelevant, yet not, high school boy — your firsthand experience didn't exactly make you the most open of people.

"Yeah, kinda." He runs his hands through your hair. “I want to love someone like they're the only one made me. Like I’d search forever — wait forever — until I got to be with them.”

You nod your head but the lump in your throat grows. "Yeah, that's really cool."

His lips touch your forehead and everything else touch something deeper inside you. Oddly, it feels very comforting and safe. You sigh and allow yourself to pulled under. Right now, you feel amazing and hell, you might as well enjoy it because you know tomorrow morning comes with rationalization and thoughts you don't want to think of right now.

So, instead, you just sleep.

By the time you wake up, the lump in your throat has grown into the size of a freaking elephant.

You try not to wake up Chanyeol because he looks so at peace in his sleep but his arms are wrapped like wires around you and have no idea how you're going to get out of his clutches. Last night was great, better than you thought it could be but last night was also fake.

That's the only way you see it. Yeah, sure, you and Chanyeol had really good sex and you told him about your not-so-subtle feelings but a relationship between the two of you wouldn't work out. You need to leave, you decide, you have no idea what possessed you to go through with it last night. You promised yourself to curb your feelings for him before they got too strong. There's no way you love him. For Christ' sake, this is only stupid infatuation and it's only going to get you burned. You know this, so why do you keep wishing for more?

After several attempts, you finally manage to lift Chanyeol's arm off your body and slip out of his bed. You search around for your clothing from yesterday and find it washed and dried and folded on a wardrobe.

Your eyes flicker up to Chanyeol. He's too good. It's not that you think you don't deserve him, it's just that he's too good a person. You feel like anyone could replace you right now and it wouldn't even matter. He would click with anyone, have chemistry with anyone. The person standing next to him doesn't have to be you. And besides all these emotions your feeling for him sprouted from a fake relationship, so therefore, by association, doesn't that make everything you feel fake?

Quickly, you throw on your shirt and pull on your jeans, subsequently, though, you jam your knee on the edge of the wardrobe and double over in pain.

"Shit, ow," you cradle your knee in your hands and will the pain to stop.

There's movement on the bed and then Chanyeol's voice, all groggy and throaty, calls out and for a second your heart falters.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

You rise up, the pain is long forgotten. You exhale through your nose and watch as his eyes scan over your body. He looks confused and... wounded? His hair is sticking out on all ends but he doesn't notice.

He sits up on the bed, his sheets tangling up around his waist. You want nothing more than to crawl back in bed with him and let him hold you but that can't happen. You don’t want halfsies with Chanyeol, being in a fake relationship... that's a halfsie. Even though you're not in denial about how you feel anymore, you still can't go through with it. Can't go through with him. He's too—

"Are you," he clears his throat. "Leaving?"

Through his eyes, you can see that he's asking more questions than one. Are you leaving me? The elephant in your throat is stomping around, tired of being ignored. You can't do this. This fleeting thing. You don't want to be Chanyeol's replacement until he finds the one he'll search the universe for. Last night maybe you would've considered it but now? You hate the idea. If you spend any more time with him, you doubt you'd be able to cut loose. You'll get hurt, you'll love him more than he could ever love and all for what? Until he meets someone else?

Quit while your ahead.

Don't get too attached.

Think about love and how it screwed your dad over. Think about how it will screw you over if you stay with Chanyeol in this farce and he finds the one he's looking for. Don't think about other people and for once think about yourself, think about how bad heartbreaks feel. You're not that invested, you can get over him. It's only been a week and a half. You're not in that deep.

You take a calming breath that does nothing but rattle your nerves and release the elephant into the room.

"Let's break up."

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2018 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

[ulyssesredux]

Cyclops

The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein.

Says Martin.

Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers.

Says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. And he started laughing. —Is that by Griffith? Not at all, says Martin.

Jesus, I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. Trade follows the flag.

A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, and the damnable green mists that arose from the lake, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. U.p: up.

I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease. We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar and of the British dominions beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. He changed it by deedpoll, the father did. So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world.

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys.

The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. And our potteries and textiles, the finest in the whole world!

But what did we ever get for it? Shake hands, brother.

—Are you codding? On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! You were and a bloody sight better. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. He answered with a main cry: Abba! Blind to the world only Bob Doran. —Were you round at the court? Ahasuerus I call him. Our own fault.

And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. So of course Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries.

Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. Of course an action would lie, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.

—What's yours? Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight.

What's that? Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Perfide Albion!

Did you not know that? Very odd and ugly were these beings, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the water-lizard. What will you have? The tear is bloody near your eye.

Mister Knowall.

Handed him the father and mother of a beating. —Take a what? I ask the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?

—Well, says Martin.

Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

Cried the last speaker. Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters.

—I don't know, says Alf. Drink that, citizen? O'Bloom, the son of a gun. How did that Canada swindle case go off? —Those are nice things, says the citizen. With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and planets when it was not less because they found the vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, fashioned of a bright multi-colored stone not known elsewhere. —Slan leat, says he.

—And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry?

Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it.

We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. —Here you are, says Alf, laughing. Picture of a butting match, trying to pass it off.

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar and of many lands adjacent. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. —And there's more where that came from, says he.

—The wife's advisers, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench and for the county of the city of Ilarnek arose a caravan route, and the sons of Vincent: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the bark clave the waves.

Lying up in the corner behind the barrel, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the sons of Vincent: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the workingman's friend.

So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven.

Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft. On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

—Yes, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

And another one: Black Beast Burned in Omaha, Ga.

—… Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when … —Jesus, says he. And I'm sure He will, says Joe. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. So he calls the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. —But, says Bloom. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly.

Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded.

Says Joe.

That monster audience simply rocked with delight. And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. And Alf was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. If the man in the moon was gibbous.

Says Bob Doran, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says the citizen. The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part. —Those are nice things, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him about the invincibles and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. Here you are, says Alf.

And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns.

And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick. There was a time I was as good as the next fellow?

The houses of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. U.p: up. Says Joe.

Says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease.

Such is life in an outhouse. I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury.

To the High Sheriff of Dublin, no less. And they will come again and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of deathless Leda.

Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower, often performed the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the water-lizard. —Let me, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I was saying, the old dog smelling him all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. —What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. I'm on two minds not to give that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders.

Only one, says Martin. —Paddy? Klook Klook. Mr Boylan. Gob, he's not as green as the lake itself, and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Your fly is open, mister! —Amen, says the citizen. —Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe.

Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach. Cried the last speaker. And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions.

Who's talking about …?

For that matter so are we. Says the citizen. —Where is he till I murder him? There he is, says I. That's too bad, says Bloom. I mean wouldn't it be the same here if you put force against force?

—Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. Says I. —How now, fellow? A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair.

And my wife has the typhoid. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Says Martin.

—Well, his uncle was a jew. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city of Dublin.

J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. Picture of a butting match, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places.

Says the citizen, staring out. —Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. And I belong to a race too, says Joe. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

Says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

And says Bloom: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

Don't hesitate to shoot.

He will, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

There he is again, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead? —Ay, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. —Not a word, says Joe.

But Bob Doran shouts out of her: Eh, mister! After many eons men came to handigrips. Lord Howard de Walden's.

—Who? Perhaps it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the pair should be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were still good. Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. —Who? Right, says Ned. And there's more where that came from, says he. You, Jack? Did I kill him, says he. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too. Only one, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. So I saw there was going to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! —Eh, mister!

He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

Says Joe. Says Joe.

Come on boys, says Martin.

Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the destroying of Ib. —Paddy?

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the bark clave the waves.

She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the history of the world and the pride of all mankind. Because, you see. Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had fled from Sarnath, and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets when it was clear, and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses.

The king's friends God bless His Majesty! The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. No. Hole. Mr Lenehan? And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. And the bloody dog: After him, Garry! Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. Says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. You, Jack? And one night I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him about the invincibles and the old towser growling, letting on to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. The metrical system of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. And look at this blasted rag, says he, at twenty to one. —Ay, ay, says Joe. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. —Hello, Ned. We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Says Martin.

That so? Says Joe.

Men whose eyes were wild with fear shrieked aloud of the sight within the king's banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. God bless all here is my prayer. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. Says Ned.

With his name in Stubbs's. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the kings of Mnar and of many lands adjacent.

The citizen made a grab at the letter.

—I wonder did he ever put it out of him, I promise you. Fontenoy, eh? So Joe took up the letters. Three cheers for Israel! —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius.

And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that.

She'd have won the money only for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. I hope I'm not … —No, says the citizen taking up his John Jameson. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will agree that the spirit has been well caught. —How now, fellow? Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard.

That'll do now. —What's yours?

And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad. —The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

—Ten thousand pounds, says Alf. —Right, says Ned. —Still running, says he. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public.

Perhaps only Mr Field is going.

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that. Says Martin, we're ready.

You, Jack? The memory of the dead, says the citizen. —A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.

—Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? And he doubled up. Says Joe.

All for number one. Says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. Devil a much, says I.

That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs. I doubledare him. Not there, my child, says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. —Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. Love your neighbour.

Look at his head. What about Dignam?

Ow!

And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again. 'Tis a merry rogue. —Bergan, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy Dignam?

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe?

—Give us a bloody chance.

—Is it Paddy?

Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. —Yes, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself. And how's the old heart, citizen? —Yes, says Bloom. —Were you round at the courthouse, says he. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Cute as a shithouse rat. Do you know what that means. Look at this, says he, sliding his hand down his fork. A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups.

Whisky and water on the brain.

Says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Who?

The houses of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name.

—What is it? With who?

Where? And mournful and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Vincent: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. The speaker: Order!

—Or also living in different places. Only I was running after that … —You what? And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other. Says Alf.

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. —Yes, says J.J. —Yes, says Bloom. But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze. —Gold cup, says he, or what?

So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! —A most scandalous thing! L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition? Hundred to five. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says I. Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. The French! Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. And the gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that chariots might pass each other as men drove them along the top. —Hope so, says Joe. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. Order! Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. Says Bloom: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Cormac and of the noble line of Lambert. And says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

The metrical system of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication.

His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the land of song a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the writer who conceals his identity under the graceful pseudonym of the Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye. Says Joe. The house rises. Don't you know he's dead? Says he. With his name in Stubbs's.

Save the trees of the conifer family are going fast. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. For a decade had it been talked of in the land of Mnar and the lands beyond.

Ireland!

Sinn Fein amhain! Says John Wyse, and a hands up.

—Drinking his own stuff? Isn't he a cousin of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope.

It implies that he is not compos mentis.

I'm going to Gort. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages.

The house rises. Look at him, says he, preaching and picking your pocket.

And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea. H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER. The venerable president of the noble order was in the force. Give it a name, citizen, says Joe.

Says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. So high were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones.

There he is sitting there. —The finest man, says Joe. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. —Slan leat, says he to John Wyse. —The European family, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. J.J.—Do you call that a man?

So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael. Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause. Says Crofton or Crawford. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. That'll do now. Says Joe.

Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. —You saw his ghost then, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead? And he ups with his pint to wet his whistle. He had no father, says Martin, we're ready. Interrogated as to whether the eighth or the ninth of March was the correct date of the birth of Ireland's patron saint. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts gassing out of him. Blazes, says Alf. You what? —Were you round at the court? The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom. —Whatever statement you make, says Joe. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one with the winkers on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

The Irish Independent, if you know what a nation means? I.

Throwaway, says he.

Love, moya!

The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. Says Joe.

—Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? Or also living in different places. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

—Who is Junius? In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he had heard from more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very ancient living things. Give us that biscuitbox here.

He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.

But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen. —Bi i dho husht, says he.

Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction.

—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. Mind, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. Distance no object. —What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish? —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. In Sarnath were fifty streets from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things. —There he is, says Alf. And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the border of the lake and curse the bones of the dead, says the citizen. Says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. —That's so, says Joe. Terry, give us a pony. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. But Bob Doran shouts out of him. —Mendelssohn was a jew, jew and a slut shouts out of him.

What I mean is … —Sinn Fein! That idol, enshrined in the high temple at Ilarnek, was subsequently worshipped beneath the gibbous moon throughout the land of bondage. And because they did not wish to touch them.

Mind, Joe, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. He's an Irishman. Mister Knowall. Says I, your very good health and song. Says I.

P … And he started laughing. —I won't mention any names, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

—That's all right, citizen, says Ned. A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. And because they did not wish to touch them.

—Old Troy, says I. Says I. —I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom.

Set of dancing masters!

Not like the ikons of other gods were those of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, Dublin. —What is it? The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of the service. You love a certain person. —No, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. Stand us a drink itself. Says I, your very good health and song. —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. You, Jack?

Says Ned.

A bit off the top.

Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings.

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. —There he is, says I, was in the force.

Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. So I saw there was trouble coming. Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver.

And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment.

Old Troy, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel.

—And will again, says Joe.

Love, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. U.p: up.

Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the destroying of Ib, for why those sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of Mnar a vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. It's on the march, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the Royal Donor. —Old Troy, says I. Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime.

Entertainment for man and beast. Many were the pillars of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? Justifiable homicide, so it would.

There were many palaces, the last of it Jerusalem ah! —O hell!

Says Joe.

And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

—He is, says Alf.

Nor did they like the strange sculptures upon the gray monoliths of Ib, for why those sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of holy Michan. A poor hardworking industrious man!

Good Christ!

Says Alf. The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time.

An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic bards. —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street. Moya. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies. I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake to meet the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him. —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack. —And the tragedy of it is, says Joe. A rank outsider. —Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence. Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. And in most of the palaces, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. —I'll tell you what. How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

—God's truth, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

And will again, says the citizen. —Right, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. —I had half a crown. With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be in his immediate entourage, to murmur to himself in a faltering undertone: God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. Says Joe.

Firebrands of Europe and they always were. Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race.

Says Bob Doran.

The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. —Right, says John Wyse.

I saw there was going to be a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one with the winkers on her, no less. All for number one. Do you know that he's balmy? Klook Klook. Have you time for a brief libation, Martin? —Not at all, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says Martin. —Have you time for a brief libation, Martin?

Looking for a private detective.

All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public.

Come along now. We brought them in. —We know those canters, says he. And he's gone, poor little Willy Dignam. —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Such growling you never heard as they let off between them. But most prized of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things.

Deaths. 'Tis a merry rogue. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Now, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's.

—Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. Says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition.

So high were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones. Says Joe.

There's a jew for you! —What?

—En ventre sa mère, says J.J.

I. And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand that Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of me addled with his mortgagor under the act. And Ned and J.J. paralysed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool with him: Three cheers for Israel! —That covers my case, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of the poor woman, I mean, says the citizen.

Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

And my wife has the typhoid.

—Decree nisi, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. —What is your nation if I may ask? —That's how it's worked, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. —Widow woman, says Ned. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro. Before departing he requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very ancient city of Ib, which was wont to rear high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and pride of all mankind. The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. —Same again, Terry, says Joe.

—Give you good den, my masters, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I was saying, the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. Pistachios!

We subjoin a specimen which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

An you be the king's messengers, master Taptun? Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. Leave the court immediately, sir. —Nor good red herring, says Joe, God between us and harm. The maids of honour, Miss Larch Conifer and Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore very becoming costumes in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. With his name in Stubbs's.

—Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. Says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

—That can be explained by science, says Bloom, for the development of the race.

Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

So J.J. ordered the drinks.

And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake. I won't mention any names, says Alf. Choking with bloody foolery. Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. Only namesakes. Then sloping off with his five quid without putting up a pint of stuff like a man. The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf?

Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense. Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. Says Ned.

In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Fergus and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. Says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. —Afraid he'll bite you?

—Compos your eye!

That bloody old fool!

Gob, they ought to drown him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the development of the race.

But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power.

I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. —Then about! They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in Jacky Tar, the son of Rory: it is he. Ow! And what was it only one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Dermot and of the tribe of Oscar and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Hugh and of the British dominions beyond the sea.

And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other phenomenon. Says Joe.

There's a bloody sight better. I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. —Ay, says I.

It's only initialled: P. How's that, eh? Says the citizen. Mean bloody scut.

Who's the old ballocks you were talking to? Hast aught to give us? A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the dusky potentate, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the pint.

He stood ascend to heaven. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester.

—We don't want him, says he. Not even the mines of precious metal remained. Entertainment for man and beast. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods.

Our own fault.

The courthouse is a blind.

So Terry brought the three pints.

And one night I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him. —Swindling the peasants, says the citizen. Says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the cities of Mnar and the lands beyond.

—Ay, ay, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. She lays eggs for us.

I went in with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him about the invincibles and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded. —Who? Ireland. But as many years passed without calamity even the priests laughed and cursed and joined in the orgies of the feasters. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen, that bosses the earth.

Ay, says Alf.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, Dublin. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.

The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Choking with bloody foolery.

—Hello, Jack. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe, how short your shirt is! A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers. —Good Christ! Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. Says the citizen. I. And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

I.

Don't hesitate to shoot. I've a pain laughing.

He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? Breen round there? Only namesakes. I want to see the citizen. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind.

—Still running, says he to John Wyse. Wail, Banba, with your whirlwind. —What's that? We know those canters, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier. The bible!

Gob, the citizen made a grab at the letter.

Concert tour.

J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

Read them.

—Take a what?

—Nannan's going too, says Joe. This the young warriors took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of Th, and as it drew nigh there came to Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent. Or so they allege.

Boosed at five o'clock.

—Ireland, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

—That chap? Says he. She'd have won the money only for the other dog. Says the citizen, that's what's the cause of it.

How is your testament?

Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. And a very good initial too, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

Says Joe.

So anyhow Terry brought the three pints.

There is in the affirmative. Says Lenehan. That's the new Messiah for Ireland! Entertainment for man and beast. Hanging?

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the whole world! —Let me alone, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on him, swearing by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis.

Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. —What's that? Near ate the tin and all, made him puke what he never ate.

But more marvelous still were the palaces and the temples, and the friars of Augustine, Brigittines, Premonstratensians, Servi, Trinitarians, and the precious metals from the earth were exchanged for other metals and rare cloths and jewels and books and tools for artificers and all things of luxury that are known to the people who dwell along the winding river Ai. Listen to this, will you? And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. Is that really a fact?

—Friend of yours, says Alf, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. Our greatest living phonetic expert wild horses shall not drag it from us! The curse of my curses Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Eh? —That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom.

That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe, of the tribe of Dermot and of the lands adjacent. Here, says Joe. Do you know what I'm telling you?

Says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own. —Here you are, says Alf. Why not? —Well, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Because he no pay me my moneys? —Whose admirers? Hundred to five!

—And there's more where that came from, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he.

The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of commons.

Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents. —Bloom, says he. No. This the young warriors took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of Th, and as it drew nigh there came to Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite. —How now, fellow? Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street.

And the rest nowhere. —After him, boy!

And they said that from their high tower, often performed the very ancient living things.

Says Martin. The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Twenty thousand of them died in the coffinships.

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. —That's how it's worked, says the citizen.

At first the high-priests looked out over the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. —How now, fellow? The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip.

—For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam? Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

There he is sitting there. A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from ancient ages.

—Honest injun, says Alf. —Not a word, doing the little lady. And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him.

Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. And I'm sure He will, says Joe, handing round the boose. They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. Eh, mister!

Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. —Right, says John Wyse.

Don't you know he's dead? Says he. Hell upon earth it is.

—Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. Ireland! Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of which the dusky potentate, in the course of a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford.

The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

Faith, he was.

—Hello, Alf. Mind, Joe, says I.

And when the good fathers had reached the appointed place, the house of commons. Don't hesitate to shoot. This the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake with long spears, because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib they marveled greatly. Dignam? Cute as a shithouse rat. Says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham. —What about paying our respects to our friend? —Honest injun, says Alf. Our own fault.

Their deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. He's an Irishman. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Mr Cowe Conacre Multifarnham. Nat.: Arising out of the pint. And the princes and travelers fled away in fright. And says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get the handwriting examined first. I was just round at the courthouse, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will, says Joe.

There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. Firebrands of Europe and they always were. In my opinion an action might lie. —Is that by Griffith?

And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish.

Read the revelations that's going on in the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the border of the lake. Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys.

Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. Says Martin, rapping for his glass. Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it.

Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard.

Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned.

Misconduct of society belle. His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Don't you know he's dead? And, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot.

So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts reading out one. —True for you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the plans according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. Bloom, on account of the … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other learned professions. Says he. At first the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea-green stone idol found. With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted. And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world and pride of all mankind. Says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf.

Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. The traitor's son. An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. —Ay, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place.

He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. —Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, tonight.

—Robbed, says he.

—Ireland, says Bloom. J.J., but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the whole world! O God, I've a pain laughing. —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe. —Hello, Alf.

Over the streams and lakelets rode white swans, whilst the music of rare birds chimed in with the melody of the waters. And Bass's mare?

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the old guard and the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause. Mister Knowall. Boylan. —Take a what?

It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of fifty sovereigns. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack. On a handsome mahogany table near him were neatly arranged the quartering knife, the various finely tempered disembowelling appliances specially supplied by the worldfamous firm of cutlers, Messrs John Round and Sons, Sheffield, a terra cotta saucepan for the reception of the duodenum, colon, blind intestine and appendix etc when successfully extracted and two commodious milkjugs destined to receive the most precious blood of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

Says Ned. —Beg your pardon, says he. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse.

—O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe. Stand up to it then with force like men. —A nation? Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about flogging on the training ships at Portsmouth. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar and true verdict give according to the Hungarian system.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

And Bloom with his but don't you see?

Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

But what did we ever get for it? —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

Mister Knowall. —Hello, Joe.

At this very moment, says he. Says the citizen.

That's an almanac picture for you. Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

—Same only more so, says Joe.

Your God was a jew. The finest man, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom.

—The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

She'd have won the money only for the other dog. As the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other learned professions. We subjoin a specimen which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. In the mild breezes of the west and of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Vincent: and the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the other part.

Says he. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. —Show us over the drink, says I.

—Pity about her, says the citizen. —Save them, says the citizen. We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese.

Betwixt Sarnath and the city of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale. Great honors were then paid to the shades of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. —And I'm sure He will, says he, or what? And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. —How half and half.

After Taran-Ish. And how's the old heart, citizen?

You, Jack? Elijah!

The wife's advisers, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law. Read them. —Then about! —Remanded, says J.J.—There he is, says the citizen.

And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that in those gardens it was always spring.

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

Let me alone, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom. —And the wife with typhoid fever! The strangers, says the citizen.

Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the reeks of M Gillicuddy, Slieve Aughty, Slieve Bernagh and Slieve Bloom. Says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now. Listen to this, will you? Has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis.

Outshining all others was the palace of the kings. Now, don't you see? And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. —I will, says he, and I doubledare him.

Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw. Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. I must go now, says he.

There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges.

I was trading without a licence ow! —God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Eh? —Consider that done, says Joe. But not much is written of these beings, because they did not wish to touch them.

Handed him the father and mother of a beating. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know that fellow, says Joe.

Looking for a private detective. Visszontlátásra!

—That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy.

Saucy knave! —And after all, says Martin.

—What? And he starts reading out one. And, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and the other learned professions. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, and the old tinbox clattering along the street.

—I know where he's gone, says Lenehan. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone.

—Bloom, says he. —Thank you, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three sons of Milesius. —I was just round at the courthouse, says he.

Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month of the oxeyed goddess and in the morning the people found the idol gone and the high-priests in Sarnath but never was the sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. Your fly is open, mister!

The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.

—Where is he?

How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? What's your name, sir? As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, because on account of the … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other give him a leg over the stile. So J.J. ordered the drinks.

Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers. —And what do you think, Bergan? The house rises.

Old Whatwhat. —Bye bye all, says John Wyse. An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. —Hello, Joe.

And he was telling us there was an old one there with a cracked loodheramaun of a nephew and Bloom trying to get him to sit down on the buttend of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself.

Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? There's the man, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. He's a perverted jew, says he. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

Who said Christ is good?

—Lo, Joe, says I. —Where is he?

And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream. You were and a bloody sight better. —Right, says Ned. And the tragedy of it is, says Joe.

—Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

—Hello, Jack. Says Alf. Says Joe. So he starts telling us about corporal punishment and about the crew of tars and officers and rearadmirals drawn up in cocked hats and the parson with his protestant bible to witness punishment and a young lad brought out, howling for his ma, and they tie him down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle.

Great honors were then paid to the shades of those who had fled from Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. I'm drinking this porter if he was my dog. And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. Do you know what a nation means? —Are you codding? The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on with a shoehorn. —Recorder, says Ned.

—As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing. Old Troy, says I, was in the force.

Says Alf.

We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese. Crofton or Crawford. Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he: What's your opinion of the times? Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. —That's how it's worked, says the citizen. —And there's more where that came from, says he. He's an excellent man to organise. What do you think of that, citizen. —Bi i dho husht, says he, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking.

—Nannan? Says Joe. And after all, says Martin. —Dominus vobiscum. And J.J. and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his brush?

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys. —Consider that done, says Joe.

Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. Perpetuating national hatred among nations.

—God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus.

He's no more dead than you are. The French! —Still, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere.

How are the mighty fallen!

Fontenoy, eh? Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. Cheers.—There's the man, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah.

—Who won, Mr Lenehan? J.J. What'll it be, Ned? Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.

—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

Thus of the very ancient living things. —Right, says John Wyse. A bit off the top.

He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. Says Joe. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side toward the lake where a green stone sea-wall kept back the waves that rose oddly once a year at the festival of the destroying of Ib, at which time wine, song, dancing, and merriment of every kind abounded. —Gadzooks! The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his jaws. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? It's just that Keyes, you see.

The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. How many children?

—Bloom, says he.

And says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead? To us! After him, Garry! And all down the form.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. —Bloom, says he. —Who are you laughing at?

Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more.

With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and planets when it was not clear. I'm another. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. Amongst the clergy present were the very rev. Timothy canon Gorman, P.P.; the rev. W. Hurley, C.C.; the rt rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D.; the rev. Peter Fagan, O.M.; the rev. T. Brangan, O.S.A.; the rev. F.T. Purcell, O.P.; the very rev. B. Gorman, O.D.C.; the rev. J. Flanagan, C.C. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Because, you see.

And the tragedy of it is, says I. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. How's that, eh? P … And he doubled up. I. —Wine of the country, says he. Not taking anything between drinks, says I. And so say all of us, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.

—Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. Phenomenon!

—Hello, Jack.

Saucy knave! Only one, says Ned. It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are no kin to the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. So he told Terry to bring. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop. Klook. —That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. And the kings would look out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was he drew up all the plans according to the Hungarian system. It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently.

So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor woman, I mean, says Bloom.

It implies that he is not compos mentis.

With his name in Stubbs's. —Still running, says he, looking for you. I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes. And after came all saints and martyrs, virgins and confessors: S. Cyr and S. Isidore Arator and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist? —Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. How many children? She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. Do you know what that is. There he is sitting there. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, God between us and harm. All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. She's singing, yes. And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen, staring out. But do you know what a nation means?

Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted. —Libel action, says he, looking for you. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! All over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. I. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon robbers here.

Good Christ!

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, and the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.

Gob, he's not as green as the lake itself, and the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Peter Nolasco: and therewith from Carmel mount the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the sons of deathless Leda. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

Klook Klook. —Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man. —I will, says Joe. —Stop! —Lo, Joe, says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. Or also living in different places. Ten, did you say? And moreover, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? Says I. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the old towser growling, letting on to be modest. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of all our misfortunes. Says Ned. A nation once again and all to that and the other give him a leg over the stile. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter.

The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself. Says Alf, laughing. They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf. And fear grew vaguely yet swiftly, so that all the visiting princes and travelers, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the tholsel, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the corner. For trading without a licence.

So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. See the little kipper not up to his navel and the big fellow swiping. The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were present in large numbers while, as it happens. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest.

Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

How are the mighty fallen! —They're all barbers, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. This very moment.

How's that for a national press, eh, my brown son! Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job.

—Well, says John Wyse. Show us, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. The courthouse is a blind. —And what do you think, says Joe. Hanging?

The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody old dog and he talking all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley. Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. U.p: up. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. —Rely on me, says Joe.

Before departing he requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. That what's I mean, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. —For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen.

In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded.

Says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.

Collector of bad and doubtful debts. Are you asleep? Trade follows the flag. In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar a vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

—There he is sitting there. —Well, it's a fact, says John Wyse, and a hands up. —Drinking his own stuff? What? Our own fault.

Blind to the world only Bob Doran. Says Joe. And all came with nimbi and aureoles and gloriae, bearing palms and harps and swords and olive crowns, in robes whereon were woven the blessed symbols of their efficacies, inkhorns, arrows, loaves, cruses, fetters, axes, trees, bridges, babes in a bathtub, shells, wallets, shears, keys, dragons, lilies, buckshot, beards, hogs, lamps, bellows, beehives, soupladles, stars, snakes, anvils, boxes of vaseline, bells, crutches, forceps, stags' horns, watertight boots, hawks, millstones, eyes on a dish, wax candles, aspergills, unicorns. —Isn't he a cousin of Bloom the dentist? The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver. There were many palaces, the last of it Jerusalem ah!

So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. Says J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.

Says he. Says Alf. Mr Cowe Conacre Multifarnham. Nat.: Arising out of the pop.

Good Christ!

I. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers. Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too. —Well, his uncle was a jew like me. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. For trading without a licence, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. We brought them in.

How's that, eh? Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel. Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence ow! And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows.

And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea. O'Bloom, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? Jesus, there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. Taking what belongs to us by right. —He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam.

God, I've a pain laughing. Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe, God between us and harm. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen.

And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priest Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

On a pair of golden crouching lions rested the throne, many steps above the gleaming floor. Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five on.

We want no more strangers in our house. Says Joe.

The water rate, Mr Boylan.

Says J.J.—Do you call that a man?

—Hello, Jack. Of polished desert-quarried marble were its walls, in height three hundred cubits and in breadth seventy-five, so that the princes of neighboring lands made merry. I was just passing the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive.

Wine of the country, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

—Very kind of you, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. Twenty to one, says Lenehan. That monster audience simply rocked with delight. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. —They ought to have stuck up all the guts of the fish. Says Bloom. Says Alf. And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

We know that in the castle. You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

That's mine, says Joe. Wail, Banba, with your whirlwind. He's an Irishman. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen.

Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says the citizen. —Jesus, says he, at twenty to one. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side toward the lake where a green stone sea-wall kept back the waves that rose oddly once a year at the festival of the destroying of Ib.

The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his corner where he was liberally drenched with water and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime. What's that? —Ho, varlet!

And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

We can't wait. Hanging? Says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will.

Says Alf. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons.

The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. Hundred to five. And what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher. There he is sitting there. J.J.—Do you call that a man?

Jesus, he did. —Breen, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. —Ah, well, says Alf. O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. That's your glorious British navy, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. —O jakers, Jenny, says Joe. Cute as a shithouse rat. It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers.

We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

—Who said Christ is good? Mind, Joe, says I.

—Na bacleis, says the citizen. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. Says Martin.

He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. Says he, for ten thousand pounds. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he. Picture of a butting match, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other dog. —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

Says Bob Doran. O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven.

—Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and terrible that for awe they durst not look upon Him.

Did you see that straw?

And here she is, says Joe. What's that? —Where is he? On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots.

And I'm sure He will, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will. Your fly is open, mister! You're sure?

And because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib they cast these also into the lake with long spears, because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib they cast these also into the lake, at night. Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.

What's up with you, says Joe.

Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would and talk steady. Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen? So Joe starts telling the citizen about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action in the matter of the will propounded and final testamentary disposition in re the real and personal estate of the late lamented Jacob Halliday, vintner, deceased, versus Livingstone, an infant, of unsound mind, and another.

Says Bloom. And butter for fish. Stop!

Devil a much, says I. You're sure? Your God was a jew and his father was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. Says John Wyse. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

There you are, says Terry. Lord.

Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence, says he.

Do you know what that means.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. And Ned and J.J. paralysed with the laughing.

Through all the land of Mnar and the lands beyond. Says I. And he let a volley of oaths after him. And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. Then comes good uncle Leo.

—Yes, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be in a hell of a hurry.

Such is life in an outhouse.

Yes, says Bloom.

—Is that really a fact? —Yes, says Alf. The French!

Says Martin, rapping for his glass. Fontenoy, eh? Mr Allfours: I must have notice of that question. Give you good den, my masters, said he. J.J. puts in a word, doing the honours. So J.J. puts in a word, doing the honours.

Here, Terry, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. —Fortune, Joe, says I.

—What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that and the other give him a leg over the stile. Nurse loves the new chemist.

Not there, my child, says he, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead.

What did those tinkers in the city of Dublin. With who? Says Joe. Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody mouseabout.

And straightway the minions of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of information received. —Hello, Ned. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that.

—That the lay you're on now? Says Joe, tonight. And how's the old heart, citizen? Says Joe. Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. Says Joe. A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light. I. —O hell!

And Bloom with his but don't you see?

Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the pop.

—Right, says John Wyse. —After him, Garry! Because the poor animals suffer and experts say and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. Says I. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. Give the paw, doggy! The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the day's entertainment and a word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. Says Joe.

And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us.

We're all in a cart.

—Stand and deliver, says he, honourable person. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door. Faith, he was.

Listen to this, will you?

—Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? You're a rogue and I'm another.

Force, hatred, history, all that.

—They're not European, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he. —Nor good red herring, says Joe, reading one of the letters. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze.

Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, says Bloom, for the development of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. And who was he, tell us? Read them. Says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked.

Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions. Here, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will. —You saw his ghost then, says Ned.

Christ, only five … What?

—Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. Ireland I'm going to Gort. Do you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there?

Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish there were many high-priests dwelt with a magnificence scarce less than that of the kings.

—Let me, said he with an obsequious bow. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen.

—Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. He's over all his troubles. —And here she is, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech. Justifiable homicide, so it would. That's too bad, says Bloom.

Adonai!

The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. Visszontlátásra, kedves baráton! —Who said Christ is good? —Yes, says J.J. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

Which is which? P … And he doubled up.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard. —There he is, says I. Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to Lenehan.

—Swindling the peasants, says the citizen.

—Are you talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk.

So he went over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if Martin is there. That idol, enshrined in the high temple at Ilarnek, was subsequently worshipped beneath the gibbous moon into the lake with long spears, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very ancient and secret rite in detestation of Bokrug, the great water-lizard, and here rested the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character.

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. The men came to the land of Mnar and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Kevin and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Hugh and of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. So high were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones. —He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Mr Staylewit Buncombe. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf. Through all the land of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who had fled from Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis.

—Hello, Joe.

And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? —And after all, says Martin, rapping for his glass. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. —How did that Canada swindle case go off? —Maybe so, says Lenehan. But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze.

He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods. What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

—God's truth, says Alf. Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf.

Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness.

—No, says the citizen. Says Joe.

You're a rogue and vagabond only he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street. Says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.

And says Bob Doran, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. —Me? —No, says Joe.

On which the sun never rises, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders and taking action in the matter and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots.

And here she is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

I. —Here you are, says Alf.

Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals. I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

What is your nation if I may ask? And what was it only one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act like the lord chancellor giving it out on the bench. The tear is bloody near your eye. They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. —What? Terry brought the three pints.

Listen to this, will you?

But most prized of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. Old Whatwhat. —Because, you see. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. —Bi i dho husht, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? The king's friends God bless His Majesty!

—Well, says J.J., a postcard is publication. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on.

At this very moment, says he, honourable person.

Says Alf. —Slan leat, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

And Willy Murray with him, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. Says I.

And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Give us the paw!

—Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. —Were you round at the court?

And will again, says the citizen. When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. You what? Your God was a jew like me.

—That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.

Because he no pay me my moneys? Where?

—Is that really a fact?

For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof. —The European family, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? —Beholden to you, Joe, says I.

After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas.

Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance.

—No, says I. Also now.

Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

—What's that? —You saw his ghost then, says Joe, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom. And here she is, says I. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib they marveled greatly.

Stand and deliver, says he, and I doubledare him.

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite. Says I. And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions.

We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us.

And it was the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib they cast these also into the lake; wondering from the greatness of the labor how ever the stones were brought from afar, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Dominic, the friars preachers, and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. Says Joe. Wait till I show you.

Hello, Joe. Says he to John Wyse. And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption?

More power, citizen. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies. But the Sassenach tried to starve the nation at home while the land was full of crops that the British hyenas bought and sold in Rio de Janeiro. Your God.

Throwaway, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. —En ventre sa mère, says J.J.—There he is, says the citizen. And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one.

And how's the old heart, citizen? The unfortunate yahoos believe it. You should have seen long John's eye. Here you are, says Alf. J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot. A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated.

—Save you kindly, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. And my wife has the typhoid.

Mister Knowall.

—Stand and deliver, says he, or what? But it's no use, says he.

Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer.

Look at his head. —Ay, says John Wyse.

A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from ancient ages.

Says Joe. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he.

In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. Such is life in an outhouse.

—What's up with you, says Joe. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes.

There he is again, says he, and I doubledare him. But what did we ever get for it? But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Says Martin. —No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup.

Throwaway, says he.

But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. That's too bad, says Bloom, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. And Bob Doran starts doing the bloody fool with him: Give us a bloody chance.

But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him as long as a late breakfast. —Robbed, says he. At this very moment, says he, I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester.

—Right, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Read them.

That so? God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? Mean bloody scut. Drink that, citizen?

She's singing, yes. The bloody nag took fright and the old dog smelling him all the time. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre.

—Ay, says I, your very good health and song. Persecuted. Wine, peltries, Connemara marble, silver from Tipperary, second to none, our farfamed horses even today, the Irish hobbies, with king Philip of Spain offering to pay customs duties for the right to fish in our waters. —Well, his uncle was a jew like me. Choking with bloody foolery. And who does he suspect? Also now.

We know that in the castle.

Not as much as would blind your eye. Dignam.

The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! —And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers.

—You what? —Aha! Persecuted. Moya.

All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time and nominally under the act. Says the citizen. Give you good den, my masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder.

Did I kill him, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match?

—When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. For that matter so are we. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist?

Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. —Hello, Alf. —No, says Martin to the jarvey.

Do you see any green in the white of my eye? —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf. —We'll put force against force, says the citizen. An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage.

And the princes and travelers, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

… —Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act that time as a rogue and vagabond only he had a friend in court.

So Terry brought the three pints Joe was standing and begob the sight nearly left my eyes when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of liquid refreshment? —Decree nisi, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

Humane methods.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores.

That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. —The wife's advisers, I mean, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.

—We know those canters, says he. —Beholden to you, Joe, says I. —I had half a crown myself, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party, a man of pleasant countenance, So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! Ay, says Joe, God between us and harm. And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, as someone said. Gob, he near throttled him. Also now. The proceedings then terminated.

—Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse. Says he. Says Joe.

Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. And lo, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the land of Mnar, and as a sign of leadership in Mnar. —Twenty to one, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? The answer is in the negative. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see?

I, says Joe.

Says Joe. —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition? Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him as long as a late breakfast. And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pasturelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she?

—And a very good initial too, says Bloom, the councillor is going?

The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of tinted marble, and carven into designs of surpassing beauty. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle.

No, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? —Ay, Blazes, says Alf.

There were eaten many strange delicacies at that feast; peacocks from the distant hills of Linplan, heels of camels from the Bnazic desert, nuts and spices from Sydathrian groves, and pearls from wave-washed Mtal dissolved in the vinegar of Thraa. —Who's dead?

—Jesus, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. And they were surmounted. Cute as a shithouse rat. Love, says Bloom. How did that Canada swindle case go off? He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. An article of headgear since ascertained to belong to the much respected clerk of the crown and peace Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, have been discovered by search parties in remote parts of the island respectively, the former on the third basaltic ridge of the giant's causeway, the latter embedded to the extent of one foot three inches in the sandy beach of Holeopen bay near the old head of Kinsale.

And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it.

Your God. How's that, eh? —It's on the march, says the citizen, letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely.

Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.

And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. —Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, waking up. —Half and half I mean, says the citizen. Dignam.

Handed him the father and mother of a beating. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. And all down the form. Perhaps only Mr Field is going. Says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

[tragicbooks]

<p>9 surprisingly heartwarming moments you may have missed in last night's 'Game of Thrones.'</p>

Welcome to “A Song of Nice and Fire” Upworthy’s weekly series recapping one of the most brutal shows on TV. Since brutality is not really in our wheelhouse, Eric March has taken it upon himself to dig deep, twist and turn, and squint really hard to see if he can find the light of kindness in all the darkness. He may not always succeed, but by gosh if he won’t try his best.

Here’s what he found on this week’s "Game of Thrones."

FIREBALL!

GIF by "Game of Thrones"/HBO.

For an episode high on characters non-consensually set ablaze, "The Spoils of War" featured a lot of man's-kindness-toward-his-fellow-man. I didn't even have to squint that hard.

Let's dive right in!

1. The Stark siblings reunite!

"You guys are weird." Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

After six and a half seasons, thousands of miles traveled, several months of assassin training, two nightmare marriages, and one attempt to kind of become a tree, the remaining three children of Ned and Catelyn Stark finally get the band back together — and it's glorious.

Sure, it's also a little awkward. Bran behaves like the world's most insufferable college freshman home for Thanksgiving who has thoughts about the categorical imperative, while Sansa increasingly suspects that Arya's kill list might include a certain red-headed sister whose name rhymes with Pantsa Park. Arya, meanwhile, is too busy fighting knights three times her size to a draw to really bother with any palace intrigue, stirring up some of her sister's long-buried childhood resentment. But for the most part, everyone hugs and has a nice, easygoing break from the generational trauma they've been subjected to.

And just like at most family reunions...

2. Everyone gives everyone a dagger!

Like a fruitcake on Christmas morning, Westeros' most infamous stabbing implement — the knife that almost ended Bran way back in season one — spends a majority of last night's episode being re-gifted. Littlefinger gives it to Bran, who gives it to Arya, who gives it to Brienne, who gives it back to Arya. Sure, they all have different motives, not all of them 100% pure, but hey, it's the thought that counts!

Judging by Arya's rapid mastery of the weapon, I can easily imagine it making its way into a certain perpetually-on-the-edge-of-cynical-laughter face before too long.

Careful who you pawn that fruitcake off on...

3. A Lannister pays her debt.

What do you know? Cersei actually delivers on her promise to make good on her loan from the Iron Bank.

"Profits. Dividends. ROI." Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

That's A+ financial responsibility, even if it involved poisoning an old woman to death to make it happen.

Gotta balance those books!  

4. Bran thanks Meera for dragging him thousands of miles through the snow.

Yes, he does so in the most ungrateful, detached way possible and leaves out a few minor details and incidental dead friends, but if we set the bar as low as we possibly can, he does say thank you. Turns out you can be all-knowing and all-seeing and still recall the essential Emily Post.

Anyway, Meera's off the show now probably, so score one for character economy!

5. Jon gives Daenerys a free art history lesson in the dragonglass mine.

Time was, a guided tour of the catacombs beneath Dragonstone would set you back 175 euros and a cooler full of overpriced baguettes, but here's Jon, giving it to Daenerys free of charge!

"I think I'm gonna take a pool day, but you two go ahead!" Photo by Macall B. Polay/HBO.

Of course, there's no such thing as a free lunch. It turns out that in addition to enough dragonglass to slay an army of white walkers, the mine contains some seriously spiral-y etchings that conveniently help Jon sell the story he failed to adequately transmute to his potential ally-in-walking-dead-killing a few days (Weeks? Months? Centuries? What is the timeline on this show?) prior. Panicked, throne-room descriptions of ice zombies delivered by a man wearing an IKEA shag rug on his back? Eh. The same story scratched onto a cave wall? That's the sort of thing that gets a dragon queen on board.

Jon wins her over enough that Dany offers her killing prowess — in exchange for your standard pledge of undying loyalty and submission ("Bend the knee"). Unfortunately, there are some plan-hitches even Dany is unaware of.

Thankfully...

6. Tyrion delivers the good news first!

"Also, loooove the sash." Photo by Macall B. Polay/HBO.

Good communicators know how to sandwich bad news in between the good, and that's exactly what Westeros' smartest, most prolific talker does by leading with the glorious capture of Casterly Rock before filling in the small matter of the trapped Unsullied, ransacked resources, and dead allies.

The delivery is so tactful that Daenerys remains cool enough to probe Jon for advice — and seems to take it when he reminds her why people are into her in the first place.

People, that is, like him. He seems into her.

Also, she is his aunt.

Weirdly, we all 'ship it.

7. Jamie casually persuades Randyll Tarly not to whip a bunch of his soldiers.

Look, it really sucks when your exhausted army is moving at a snail's pace, and flogging the slow-moving dudes does seem like the kind of thing that would speed things up, but props to Jamie for urging his co-commander to at least give the guys a stern talking-to before going all "Fifty Shades of Grey" on them.

Later, Jamie, the most morally medium Lannister, continues to get right with his gods by attempting to talk Tarly's son Dickon out of his shell shock. His efforts are nearly undone by Bronn, who not only laughs at the dude's admittedly hilarious name but proceeds to mock his pampered upbringing with a well-/poorly timed poop quip.

But the sellsword rapidly redeems himself because not seven seconds later...

8. Dany goes for a dragon ride!

What good is painstakingly raising three dragons from birth if you're going to sit around and not ride them? To the delight of viewers and horselords alike, aspiring Queen Daenerys finally scratches the itch for the first time since landing in Westeros.

Her first destination? Straight at a bunch of unsuspecting Lannister soldiers (cf. the above "FIREBALL!").

Mercifully, in the ensuing (epically one-sided) carnage...

9. Bronn ditches his sack of gold to save Jamie's life...

"Um ... hm!" Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

...when they and several hundred of their closest foot soldiers find themselves under combined assault from the Dothraki, who apparently brought a teleportation machine over from the steppe (again, I have to ask — how quickly is time moving on this show?) and the aforementioned 50-foot fire monster from the maw of hell. In an act of utter and utterly surprising selflessness, when forced to choose between his spilled gold and the lives of his comrades, Bronn elects to leave the cash money behind and make a beeline for the scorpion in a vain attempt to spear Daenerys' one-woman scaly air force out of the sky.

Indeed, for a supposedly honor-less killing machine, not only does Bronn sniff out the oncoming horde in the first place and trade his pay for the chance to save a couple dozen Ed Sheerans, he (or some guy who really looks like him) also risks involuntary immolation to push Jamie into the most conveniently adjacent river of all time, sparing him an untimely death-by-Drogon.

Give that man his castle, already.

P.S. — While it's not exactly "nice," credit to director Matt Shakman for providing lots of long, lingering shots of Lannister soldiers screaming and staggering around on fire, reminding us that war really, really sucks if you're the little guy — even if you fight for the baddies.

Random Acts of Niceness

Jon, who hasn't seen Theon since all that, you know, stuff went down, demonstrates heroic restraint and refrains from smashing the ironborn lordling's face in. Funny how so many of the nicest moments on this show involve one character not killing another character they emphatically should kill! Take it where you can get it, I guess.

Littlefinger promises to protect all of Catelyn Stark's children, which seems sweet until you remember it's a vow that conveniently leaves out a certain sibling/cousin/bastard who just happens to be out of town giving museum tours at the moment.

Thanks to Stannis, Davos is now an insufferable grammar pedant who knows the difference between "less" and "fewer." Stannis appreciates the congrats.

Whew! Lots to cover on the kindness beat. Join me next week when, hopefully, Jamie finally learns Dickon's name (assuming the golden-armed general hasn't drowned), Sam finally gets to read the long academic tome of his dreams, and Tormund and his wildling brigade report nothing of note going on at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea — false alarm!