#honour mode continues to humble me

[bhaalsack]

honour mode tip #1: do not fight the adamantine golem. do not. do not even think about it. you may think you can do it, but you are filled with hubris and foolishness.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5992

Jalsa, Mumbai July 14/July 15, 2024 Sun/Mon 4:05 am

🪔 ,

July 14 .. birthday greetings to : Ef Shalini from Allahabad (now Prayagraj) .. Ef Manish Mehrotra .. and Ef Anupam Srivastava .. 🙏🏻❤️🚩

It is late .. but not without reason or cause .. spending time with loved ones at the Gate and then at home with family .. ever such a joy to a whole bunch of relatives busy interacting, running around the premises and simply enjoying the little pleasures of togetherness ..

And GOJ .. that has been an experience each Sunday .. the ramp on wheels I asked to move closer to the well wishers .. and the mobility towards them is an excitement always .. you hear them better , you feel the expressive love better , you give those a chance to see and be greeted that at times stand at a distance and never seen ..

So the ramp has added the mobility much needed .. personal and public meets are restricted .. but some of the inevitable are complied with ..

... and the joy expressed in their eyes and faces remains with you for days .. despite the much opinionated fear often felt of appearing at the GOJ to meet them ..

At times the personal contact in the days after covid has been there but distant and this has been a point of immense disappointment with those that express a wish to meet ..

BUT .. dearest ones , give me time to get clearances fro the Medical Unit and I shall be able .. soon , if not too far ..

The years of yore ;

and the reel in the making :

There has been a suggestion to read a script given for production .. and one that relied on nthe values of theosophy and the occult ..

A most fascinating read in a precise rendering, but influential enough to set a vacant mind into a thought process, that keeps a consistent 'knock on the door' to turn away and change path for its search .. the search of humanity in the realisation of its birth and thereafter .. Dear O dear there is so much to learn and imbibe .. and time slips away as rapidly as it possibly can .. to hold it and refrain it from immediate travel ahead is well nigh impossible .. the movements of the Earth can never .. so we live a life of unanswered questions and beliefs and the presence of religion and more ..

A most fascinating subject .. and in many ways getting inspired by a movie !!!

AND the film, has many significant stories, hidden or brought about in a form KALKI 2898 AD .. which I must admit has been instrumental in its viewing 4 times .. at the iMax theatre .. which has the capacity of a perfect imagery on screen along with a quality of sound that seems to have been installed after considerable understanding and layout ..

SO back to the GOJ : and the giving out in equal distribution, umbrellas, to them that have stood there for some, bearing the heat and cold and the thunder and lightening of monsoon rain .. the umbrella, a gift from that very sincere well wisher Sunil Shah, from Surat Gujarat , who just does not attempt to stay calm and controlled , but instead continues to send these gifts as a token of his sincerity and love ..

I applaud the gestures he has made all these years .. his affection and love over brimming and so potent .. it just does not behove a telling off for him .. his mode of affection does not change ..

I am honoured and humbled by these intricate gestures, of love .. but really, they are a bit distressing and unreasonable for me in my countenance ..

I speak to him on this often , but he is adamant on his affection and just cannot stop these gestures 'in multiples'

I talk to him to be in control and not cause or give an unnecessary reason of disrespect .. but he just continues ..

So I accept .. and distribute them to the needy that spend their valuable time on a Sunday for the GOJ .. healthy and in all sincerity a show of immense affection !!

AND now for the Sunday and days .. :

... and the creative autograph hunters , their immense love to be in a photograph , but there are restrictions on health .. so we bear the loss of the occasion , walk away and sit and reminisce ...

Amitabh Bachchan

[reithwinwanderer]

Introducing my tavs!

Out of my 6 completed play-throughs only two of my characters are tavs haha. But I love them both very much!

Antigone - High Elf, Oathbreaker Paladin

Antigone grew up in a humble home in Baldur’s Gate with her older sister, mother and father. When her father disappeared her mother was bedridden from the heartbreak, and her sister, Ismene, ran away with the son of a nobleman.

To keep her mother and herself alive, the young Antigone found employment with a criminal guild in the city. Over her years in their employ she worked her way up the ranks and became notorious for her crimes, but remained anonymous always. From pickpocketing to murder, she gained the fear of citizens and ire of other criminals.

Her mother detested Antigone’s work and, although Antigone was the only one keeping her alive, she didn’t speak to her daughter for years. Regardless of her mother’s animosity towards her, Antigone continued to provide for them both (even though the unsavoury work weighed heavily on her).

One day, a letter arrived at the house. It was from Ismene. She wrote that her husband inherited grand property in the upper city and so they will be returning to Baldur’s Gate to raise their newborn son around his family. She goes on to say, however, that upon her return to the city she has learned of Antigone’s lifestyle and is disgusted. She wants nothing to do with her. The letter ends with Ismene inviting their mother to live with her in the upper city. Antigone was alone.

Distraught, she wandered the streets for days and nights, hoping some low-life would slink out from the shadows and end her life. She wished her family would take her back, so she made a change. Instead of praying on the unlucky, she swore an oath to protect them. Her goal was to prove to her mother and sister that she deserves their love.

Her plan was quickly upended when she found herself on a nautiloid with a parasite in her head.

This unexpected journey taught her that she need not seek the affection of those who disregarded her so quickly, and that her oath was founded on a futile hope. It is neither family nor god that fuels her now, just her own ambition.

Nulliira, or ‘Constantine’ - Lolth-Sworn Drow, Monk/Rogue

Nulliira was born into a fairly influential family in the Underdark, and is the youngest of seven sisters.

Her sister closest in age was incredibly jealous of her and, knowing of their matron mother’s obsession with beauty and perfection, slashed Nulliira’s face with a sharp stone. Permanently scarred and no longer perfect, her mother tied rocks to her ankles and threw her in the Darklake.

Nulliira drowned. The strange plants on the bed of the lake crept over her body, preparing to devour her entirely. This lake was home to many other dead - those who upset the matron mother. As Nulliira’s soul was floating away another latched onto it, forcing them both back into her body. With a lurch, she awoke. A sudden surge of strength charged through her and she ripped herself free from the plants and swam to the surface.

On the shore a voice spoke to her, as though it was her own conscious. The voice introduced itself as an old monk who journeyed to the underdark in a naïve attempt to sow peace between its peoples. When he intertwined his soul with Nulliira’s he granted her his abilities, in the hope that she can finish what he started. He renamed her Constantine - she will be constant and steadfast.

Constantine could not care less about his plans, but she did let him train her so she can become strong enough to get vengeance on her family.

Constantine and the monk bicker constantly; he is continually trying to make her a better person. She would never admit it, but she has come to enjoy his wise quips and sage advice.

Antigone was my first ever bg3 character and Constantine was also my tav for my first honour mode run! So they’re both very special to me :,)

[thebirdandhersong]

Lent has always carried an edge of performance and guilt and guilt at not performing well and having to prove one's virtue for me (as well as a slew of other things, but in a nutshell, it involved more fear than joy) so what I have in mind for this year is coming from a place of: okay, the point of prayer, alms, and fasting is to draw closer to God, so what can actually draw me close to God in this particular season of life?

This means I won't be doing a traditional fast, because I now know enough about my body and the way it responds to food (the whole PCOS and insulin resistance and hormonal balance thing) (plus the history of disordered eating) to know that I can't actually do things like fewer meals, liquid fasts, etc. without sending my body into distress mode. I have made peace with that now :) and am fasting instead from the harmful social media and empty entertainment, while focusing on how I have experienced the peace of Christ and joy of the Lord in the past year. Which is why I'm here for Lent! And have made some adjustments to what I listen/watch/read this season. It is a season of pruning for me, and I'm aiming to continue these changes post-Lent as well.

My friend was saying earlier today that she's taking this time to learn what it is to Sabbath in a restorative and holistic way. I am approaching Lent in a similar way: repentance is still a big part of it (it has to start with being honest and vulnerable with the Lord, I think, and I think repentance is a crucial part of being a Christian) but so is restoring and reorienting my life in a way that honours and glorifies God more intentionally and humbly. These past few months have been a bit of a struggle and I want to learn to be still and draw close to God without the element of existential panic, shame, and self-punishment.

[nordleuchten]

La Fayette’s reply to Major-General Phillips

The Marquis de La Fayette replied to Major-General William Phillips letters on April 30, 1781.

American Camp April 30th 1781

Sir,

Your letters of the 26th 28th and 29th came yesterday to hand. The duplicate dated at Petersburg being rather of a private Nature, it has been delivered to Major Genl. Baron de Stuben. I am sorry the mode of your request has delayed the Civility that had been immediately intended.

From the beginning of this war which you observe is an unfortunate one to Great Britain, the proceedings of the British Troops have been hitherto so far from evincing benevolence of dispositions, that your long absence from the Scene of action is the only way I have to account for your penegeries [panegyrics). I give you my honor Sir, that the charge against a Flag vessel shall be strictly inquired into, and in case the report made to you is better grounded than the contrary one I have received, you shall obtain every redress, in my power that you have any right to expect. This complaint I beg leave to consider as the only part in your letter that requires an answer. Such articles as the requiring that the Persons of Spies be heald sacred can not certainly be serious. The Stile of your letters Sir obliges me, to tell you, that should your future favors be wanting in that regard due to the Civil and military authority in the United States, which can not but be construed into a want of respect to the american Nation, I shall not think it consistent with the dignity of an american officer to continue the Correspondance.

I have the Honor to be Your most ob. Hb. Sert.

LAFAYETTE

 He furthermore wrote on May 3, 1781 regarding the incident with the British vessel.

May 3rd, 1781

Sir,

Your assertion relating to the flag vessel was so positive, that it becomes necessary for me to set you right in this matter. Inclosed I have the honour to send you some depositions, by which it is clearly proved that there has been on our side no violation of flags.

           I have the honour to be, sir, your humble servant,

LAFAYETTE

 La Fayette does not seem all too pleased with Phillips letters - and if his own letters are not proof enough to that, there is also a woundeful line in a letter to George Washington. The Marquis wrote on May 4, 1781 from his camp near Bottom's Creek:

“(…) Inclosed I Send you, My dear General, two Copies of Letters to General Greene which I also Have Sent to Congress for their information. You will also find Copies of the Strange letters I Have Received from General Phillips and the Answers which if He does not Behave Better will Break off our Correspondance.”

George Washington had in the past also corresponded with Phillips.

[drivingsideways]

Episode 65

EPIC BREAK UP Part 1/ 2 

Well, episode 65 brings fresh pain: Ziyan and Ning Yi are on entirely different trains now. 

Ning Yi is happy/relieved to be a commoner now, as long as he has his mother; Ziyan cannot bring himself to tell Ning Yi about what happened to his family that day. He seems to think that Ning Yi was “faking” the whole commoner stunt just to get his mother back and also deflate the Emperor’s suspicions. Uh, not an entirely unreasonable assumption since NY and he have not talked at all since before he ran off to Puyuan. He tries to get “Liulang” interested in what is going on with the so-called Huofeng Gang. He’s desperate to bring down Ning Qi, understandably. 

 But Ning Yi is not listening at all, and he repudiates all of Ziyan’s “plans” saying he has no wish to get back into the mess that is the fight for the throne. When Ziyan sees that Ning Yi is so happy with his mother, as “Liulang”, he leaves, without telling Ning Yi anything further about what had happened. 

Ziyan’s way of processing the trauma is to immediately get into revenge mode/ planning mode/ just DO SOMETHING that will help him re-establish control, but Ning Yi’s refusal is like a slap in the face. He has no place in this new life that Ning Yi is carving for himself, and at the time he needs him most, Ning Yi is abandoning him (or so it must feel like to him). 

Although Ning Yi wants Ziyan to be a part of his “new life”, Ziyan, at that moment just can’t. 

So of course, Ziyan has to monologue in the moonlight (very pretty, I approve)

Yep, the terrible thing that happens to him certainly brings out all his worst qualities- his vanity and entitlement curdling into self pity, and a desire for revenge. He swears he will bring Ning Qi down. Side note: Ziyan comes from a humble background, and I’m pretty sure schemed and clawed his way up- for such a person, being let down this way (”Heavens have been cruel to me!”)- naturally offends his sense of justice- as per him, he has always been on the side of the angels- so this cruel trick of Fate leaves him angry and lashing out. 

Ya Le attempts to tell Ning Yi that he should not give up his dreams- and also warns him that there will still be “enemies” around him who would destroy his happiness. She re-iterates what she’d written in the letter- that he must find his “mission’ in life. 

Meanwhile, while Ning Qi is happy to receive confirmation that the Emperor will shortly name him as heir, he is still vastly threatened by Ning Yi’s continued existence. Like XZ, he believes that the commoner thing is only a stunt- and he needs to use the time he has to make sure that Ning Yi is neutralized. Encouraged in this line of thinking by Zhangsun Hao, he has Ya Le kidnapped. 

In the kidnap attempt, Zong Cheng is killed by Ning Cheng- unfortunately this is witnessed by Gu Nanyi and further lies by Zhangsun Hao- that it was orchestrated by Ning Yi, who wants to destroy Dacheng- create more complications. Gu Nanyi reports the same to Feng Zhiwei, who resolves to go back to the Capital, to get to the bottom of it. Helian Zheng, upset, tells her he’s divorcing her. Zhiwei decides to return anyway. 

Ning Yi confronts Ning Qi about his mother’s kidnapping, but gets nowhere. 

The Emperor finds out about Ya Le’s kidnapping and naturally suspects Ning Qi- but doesn’t quite do anything about it. He wants to find a way to get Ning Yi and Ning Qi to resolve their differences. 

XZ finally tells Ning Yi about what happened with Erhua and Dahua, and when Ning Yi apologizes for not knowing, he says that he didn’t know about Ya Le’s kidnapping until the fight Ning Yi had with Ning Qi- both of them have kept a distance from each other, but it’s clear that XZ hopes they can reconcile and get back to their former state. XZ argues that Ning Yi being powerless is a worse off situation than before because he still has enemies, but no power to do anything about it. He urges “Liulang” to return to the palace and make good with his father-but Ning Yi is having none of it, refusing to risk his mother’s safety. 

Well, that pretty much puts a nail in the coffin of their relationship- except that Ning Yi doesn’t realize it yet. Like their entire relationship has been falling apart over some time- Ning Yi has no real clue about the shit that Ziyan went through during the Qiu Mingying/Feng Hao damage; he has no idea how Ziyan has been holding things together while he was away in Minhai and then Puyuan; conversely, Ziyan is not around for the traumatic revelations that Ning Yi has had re: his parents, the stress (and destruction) of Puyuan etc. They are just not on the same page anymore and basically...forgot to inform each other? And by the time they do have that conversation (like here), too much distance is between them for them to actually understand what’s going on with the other. GOD. And yet, they do care for each other (it wouldn’t hurt so much if they hadn’t) and as we’ll see, their lack of communication REALLY FUCKS THEM UP. 

Ning Yi has fought his Fate all his life; the accident of his birth into a royal family has been nothing but pain for him. BASICALLY HE’S LIKE I AM TIRED OF BEING THE HAMSTER I WANT TO GET OFF THIS WHEEL. 

Ziyan seems to operate under the assumption there is no getting off the wheel at all. There is a just order and balance to the universe, in Ziyan’s world, and rectifying any imbalances are your sacred duty. In Ziyan’s eyes, Ning Yi has to accept that he is an instrument of Fate as part of a larger purpose (as he, Ziyan also is) and that’s really the bottom line. Also, when it comes to power- Ning Yi was born to it, stripped of it, gets some, and finds himself rejecting it; Ziyan was born without any- and what power he has now is hard won-and so for him, the question of rejecting power is almost unthinkable. He’s secure enough (arrogant enough!) in his self-righteousness to believe that he cannot be “corrupted” by it. And you can see that when he commits a grave moral crime, by any standards, he just cannot deal with it; because to do that would be the end of his carefully constructed self image, it would bring his house of cards crashing. Ning Yi is so much more emotionally aware than Ziyan is; his weakness is that he’s incredibly navel-gazy about it all, and the emotionally abusive childhood leads to him internalizing blame all the time;  Ziyan’s just the opposite; his legendary compartmentalization means that the person he’s most dishonest with, is himself. 

me: I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOUR ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE TERRIBLE WITH EACH OTHER. 

[scifimagpie]

Elegy for a Mistake: My Toxic Friendship

My usual post style and topics tend to encompass writing techniques, analytical bits and riffs on TV and movies, or even the odd podcast. Once in a while, I turn my attention inward and try to offer lessons by example from my own experience. Today, I find myself talking about a humbling and painful, yet freeing experience: the release of an unhealthy friendship.

Normally, I'm a peppy, jocund, and self-assured writer, with solutions ready at hand by the time an article is ready to go. In public and private, I am known for my likeable and kind personality - though I would privately describe myself as a haplessly bumbling, well-intentioned blowhard.

Let us presume that both cases are simultaneously true. This time, I have only an ouroboros of self-doubt and a cautionary tale. Bear that in mind: this essay lacks an easy or blithe answer to the questions I've posed and struggled with.

A word of warning

To protect this person's anonymity, I will call them "Micah." I have changed their gender pronouns for this article to enhance their privacy as well. I won't talk about their personal circumstances at much length, either, for the same reasons. Figuring out their identity from context clues in my personal life and my blog is possible, but ultimately, unimportant.

For the same reason, I will not be including screenshots or "proof" or other receipts. I don't want to roast Micah's books or sabotage their career. (For reasons I will outline below, they do a great job of that on their own.)

Another big issue with Micah was my long-term working relationship with them. No matter how much you like someone and trust them, never work for free. More precisely, never work for free. or for exposure, or work trades if you find yourself shouldering a very unequal load.

I did this. I knew better - but Micah (and my own affection for them) let me talk myself into it over and over. And that was far from all that went wrong.

"Everyone has dead people," insisted Rocket Raccoon in the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie. Everyone has their share of mistakes, ghosts, demons, and regrets. Perhaps Micah had more demons than most. But at the time, I saw them as a dammed fine writer and a tough person, a marvel of endurance.

That's still true, but their coping techniques to maintain that survival were another matter. Micah had ways of judging people and justifying their reactions to relatively small incidents that, over time, caused a lot more harm than I realised at first.

The warning signs I ignored

The thing is, Micah had a thin skin and a very sharp tongue. They were happy to nitpick and harangue anyone and everyone - usually in the safety of our private messages. This included people who thought of them as a friend and authority.

Everyone has gripes with friends from time to time, nitpicks about media, and qualms about significant industry names. Micah had all of those - and a long memory to boot. Eve their partner was far from exempt from critique and bewailing.

Yet I was, until the end of our friendship, the one person almost always exempt from these critiques. Not that I always got praise, but the mildest compliments were gold in the context of their otherwise unceasing criticism.

Surely this seems like an unflattering picture, but consider, reader, the burden of guilty pleasure that lies at my feet. I did not think I was complicit in their unhealthy patterns of criticism; I would sometimes softly defend people, but always in private.

On many occasions, I took the brunt of a fight to defend their honour - from a person who often had no idea Micah was offended. But I got to be the one good person in the world, who measured up - until I didn't.

But even before the change in tenor and tone, things were starting to go wrong. I was avoiding my favorite social media platform and my many friends there, because I dreaded the gloom and pain in Micah's messages. Our primary mode of communication was inevitably draining and depressing. Nobody has to be happy all the time, but unceasing misery is simply not okay.

The problem

While Micah and I do struggle with similar mental health issues, they had many severe physical issues to boot. I let this excuse their temper, their dark moods, and sometimes arbitrary coping mechanisms fat more than I should. They refused to deal with their mental health issues with medication or supervision - even though said issues were life-threatening.

And I, who normally would have spoken up about that, kept tolerating it.

Micah went to no small effort to convince me they knew best for themselves...even though the benefit of hindsight makes me question that deeply.

The problem is that Micah's depression was thick in their writing, and I think - I know - it sometimes negatively affected my own. Refusing to write happy or happier stories that were "not true to their experience, " they chased off potential fans and professional allies with endless cutting and overly specific arguments.

But I found their positions and their writing eminently defensible. They were very good at articulating arguments which I found persuasive.

When Micah excoriated me on a thread in public, in private, and on Twitter at various points, over a variety of issues, I began to question the state of our friendship. I think it's pretty fair to say that most of us know it's not good form to rip a buddy a new one "in public" or in private, as it were. Especially when, say, you actually agree on an issue, but have failed to state things in the exact way they require and prefer - and when that is an offense meriting a hard scoldin', it's a sign that something's awry.

Unfortunately, smart people can talk themselves into anything.

The fallout

I was unable to complete a dark and melancholy book for Micah, and they had a mental health crash - which was,  by that point, indistinguishable from their usual state. They said they wanted to talk less to me because they were deeply hurt that I hadn't recognized the toll of their books on my own mental health - even though I told them as soon as I realised it was a problem, and had found a reasonable way to articulate it. (That took probably 36 hours, for the record. I was unable to criticize their books to myself before that point.)

They were deeply upset, and I blamed myself - for their mental health crash, just as they wanted me to. Realising that I could no longer work for free or be fast enough, I found myself questioning many things about their books - and even Micah themselves.

I even asked a celebrity (whom they'd caused me to pick a fight with by complaining at length about her "horribly offensive, ableist" perspective that writing books too fast and immediately publishing them does not result in good books) for her insight.

Jenny Trout was kind enough to hear me out, and even warn me that a friend like Micah may not be a real friend. That really made me think. Ms. Trout was so eminently reasonable, and I thought about how repetitive Micah's books had been lately, and I just couldn't disagree with her point.

When we continued discussing the topic, Micah had the temerity to refer to artistic writers (as opposed to commercial writers) as "blowhards". When I admitted that had offended me, they took the tack of insinuating that ghostwriting, editing, or enhancing are "not real" writing, or part of a shadowy underground industry, not deserving respect as part of the industry (even though ghostwriting and editing have been present in writing for as long as books have been made.)

Frustrated and upset beyond communication, I had to get my partner to write the message saying I needed a break from Micah.

I spent the next two weeks in agonizing tension, worrying about the future of our friendship. About twelve days into the proposed three-week hiatus, I messaged Micah to check in, hesitantly extending an olive branch.

They ripped into me, accusing my partner and myself of unhealthy and unsafe behaviour towards them - for sending a short, clipped message in the middle of a hard mental health crisis.

As I stared at the screen and skimmed through their messages, I had to face the facts: I would never be good enough for Micah.

I was bound to bump into their exacting rubric of communications and requirements eventually. It had finally happened.

But when I realised I needed to end things, I felt almost deliriously free. I spent a good week smiling and laughing more, and enjoying a generally great mood. But then I had to think about everyone I had blocked or critiqued or mocked with Micah, and the way they encoraged me to shred others. In all, it is almost a wonder that through my relationship with them, I kept the vast majority of my friends.

How does one proceed?

Having patience for friends with mental health issues and complex disabilities is vitally important. Learning to talk about people and vent in private, rather than picking fights or airing the pettiest of grievances, are both important. How do I use the best of what Micah taught me while critiquing their perspectives after the fact? Is hard to say what would be different if we had never become close, but there will be no escaping their impact on my music taste, writing, and memories.

There are no tidy answers or how-to charts to figure out whether a friend simply has complex needs, or is facilitating and enabling your bad habits. Unhealthy friendships can also involve a lot of mentorship, support, and intimacy. If they were straightforwardly awful, they wouldn't last.

but at present. I seem to be, for the first time in my life, unencumbered by any toxic relationships. I have more energy and time for my friends and chosen family, and even my partners (my original partner Andrey, and our queerplatonic housemate Kit).

All I can do is try to wrap my head around both how much and how little I really lost, and apply my lessons to improve my friendships with others, ensuring they feel heard and cared for. At the same time, I must remain safe and self-critical enough to avoid perpetrating the abusive cycle and behaviors all survivors must constantly guard against.

At the end of the day, they left me with conjecture,. and not much else. I thought we were the closest of friends....yet I never heard their voice, met them - or even knew their given name. And there is only so much you can love a friend who won't share their true self with you.

*** Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partner-in-crime, housemate, and their cat. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and nightmares, as well as social justice issues. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Catch up with Michelle's news on the mailing list. Her books are available on Amazon, and she is also active on Medium, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, and the original blog.

[mx-requests-forum]

[Fulfilled] Maybe, Warmth doesn’t Belong to Me

Prompt: (Unrequited Showki -> Changki) shownu having a massive crush on Kihyun since he joined starship but kihyun always said he was awkward around shownu and they didn’t get along, still shownu confessed and Kihyun rejected him/shownu saw how Kihyun grow fond of Changkyun and they started dating after debut/something angst with shownu getting over his feelings and maybe loving someone else?

Fulfilled by @kchiza ! Thanks as always for fulfilling a request! :D <3

Words: 4584

Wattpad Link

Sweats were running through his back when he decided to take a break. Lifting his gaze, he realised the beautiful sunset has turned into a deep darkness. It must be pretty late but time has no exact concept these days. He just need to sprint all the way, running for his own dream by learning how to let go. Guilt and success don’t go hand in hand, do they? He sat on the floor, trying to gain his composure one more time before going back to his practise.

"Hyung...?" A familiar voice that he rather not to hear at this moment. Truth to be told, he was pissed with it all but it would be unfair to lash it out to anyone. The only thing he can change is himself, thus his tremendous effort to keep on practising late tonight. He hummed a response.

"Shownu hyung, you… okay?" The younger guy walked in the practise room timidly, keeping himself close to the wall rather than approaching Shownu.

“Yes, Kihyun. What do you need?” Kihyun threw his gaze everywhere but on the older guy. His hands were shaking as he grew anxious by seconds. Fear and guilt were suffocating him. He gathered his courage and let out a shaky breath.

"I think it is only right for me to apologise." The statement was enough to attract attention from Shownu.

"For what?" Gulping down some water, his eyes were on Kihyun.

"For choosing the song despite you saying it might be hard for you. For not doing well enough. For still winning the mission despite being criticised as the worst stage ever. I mean, I don't deserve this. This is hard. You left right after Kwangji and Yoosu left us, I can't help but to think...that you are mad."

Okay, honesty is key. Not too bad. He felt himself relaxed and decided to console the other guy a little bit. After all, don’t they all feel too much pressure already? Misunderstanding and bad relationship will just have drained all of them. He turned his back to the younger to look reluctant, to show that the competition, the mission or even the elimination did not bother him at all. He need to show that it was nothing for him so the younger would feel better.

"It's my fault. I didn't practise enough. Like what the judges said, I’m bad with mind control and that backlash our performance. Nothing to do with you. So, no worries." Shownu turned the music on, a hint for Kihyun to go out.

"If you say so." Kihyun sounded defeated and left. Shownu was dumbfounded. He intended to console the guy with the only way he knew but it must be a wrong move. Shownu try to shake it off his head and continue with his practise.

Of course, it was hard when the judges decided that it was him rather than Kihyun that deserved to face elimination. It was harder when they lined up in front of everyone, with their fate being decided by the judges. The hardest? The guilt because when he was about to feel relieved, two of his comrades are trying hard not to cry while their dreams crumbled down as if their efforts were nothing. Everything was pissing him off. Why can't the company let them debut together? Maybe as 2 group of 6? Tweak the concept JYP once use a little bit and make their life similar to 2PM and 2AM sunbaenim?  Alas, those guys went through a hell of reality programme before being chosen and then split into 2 groups. That were cruel as well.

Honestly, nothing about the programme is fair. Despite him saying so many times that he did not want to work with Kihyun, the company thought that a little drama and collusion would be worth the viewer ratings. It was his future they were playing with. Pairing him with Kihyun when they really don’t fit one another. Not their singing, not their style. They are not even close to one another. Nothing is wrong with that guy, it was him and his unnecessary attention for the other since last year that set off the warning sign for himself.

Last year, Kihyun and Hyungwon joining the company has sent the trainees into a panic mode because it just meant more competition. Being the eldest, all he can hear from his fellow brothers were complaints. One is too pretty while the other one sounds too perfect. He treated all of it like passing winds until he met the pretty guy. Chae Hyungwon, the lanky pretty boy. Despite his appearance, he is rather humble and funny.  A refreshing combination, really. As time passed, he just grows fond of the younger guy. The one he can trust with his quirks.

It is a totally different story with Yoo Kihyun. Since the beginning, they never clicked. The younger seems snobbish at first, too confident at times but as time passed his real self was revealed little by little. He is as insecure as the others because despite getting many praises from the staffs, producer and seniors, he is still a trainee with no definite future. He was loud at times but would easily backed down when someone else were to step out. He is indecisive, constantly need assurance. How do Shownu knows all of this? Because he has been watching Kihyun as he found the latter intriguing. At first, he found the other guy as annoying as he is too snobbish for his liking. Then, he found out about all the small things Kihyun has been doing for everyone. Be it taking the longer route to the practise room just so he can check on everyone. How he would always take more than 3 water bottles into the practise room not for himself but for anyone who needs it. He also somehow managed to guide the boys to take turn in doing laundry according to rooms, making it easier for everyone to locate their clothes. All the little changes would go unnoticed considering their busy schedule but a man as observant as Shownu won’t miss it. As he noticed his life is getting more organised, he is attracted to the cause of it. After a short time of observing, he noticed that Kihyun has brought many good values to all of them and that just make him more interested to the younger guy.

All the time they practise for the duo mission, it was more evident that they are just too different to be together. He sincerely answered the question in the interview but was heartbroken to know that Kihyun too, choose him as the person he wishes to avoid working with. Moments like this, like when Kihyun be the greater person by coming to him to apologise is so charming that his feelings are now growing. He didn’t want to admit it, but he feels something different towards Kihyun.

He packed his bag, ready to go home now. He need to rest and come back fresher tomorrow. He was about to go down the stairs when he heard a loud scream, followed by a loud glass breaking. Shownu ran up the stairs, following the sound to the rooftop.  

"KIHYUN!" He runs to Kihyun who are crying hysterically while grabbing his own ears and punching himself.

Shownu grabbed Kihyun and dragged him away from the broken bottles. He tried to stop Kihyun from crying but to no avail. He shook him hard and lastly just hug him tight, hoping Kihyun would calm down. After a few minutes, he can hear Kihyun's slightly stable breathing so he pulled away. He searched the younger's eyes, hoping to communicate. He was unsure on what is happening but this must be severe for Kihyun to have an emotional breakdown.

"You okay?" Kihyun answer with a slight nod.

"Okay, wait here." Shownu ran down the stairs and grabbed few mineral water from the practise room. He was back on the rooftop, greeted with the sight of Kihyun trying to clean up the glasses, putting them in a plastic bag. Unknowingly, a small smile crept to his mouth. This brat, always so tidy. He walked slowly towards Kihyun, being careful as possible. Kihyun looks up to him with an awkward smile.

"Sorry hyung. I'm fine. Just gonna clean this up, and then head home."

“Let me help you.” They both cleaned up the mess quietly.

"Don't tell anyone." Kihyun suddenly utter as they were riding the elevator to their dorm.

“No worries, I won’t.” Shownu smiles, assuring Kihyun whatever happened just now is going to stay between them.

"The stress is not a joke huh? Sorry if I make it worse for you." Shownu patted Kihyun's shoulder. Kihyun looks at him with a gentle smile.

"No need to say sorry hyung, I deserved it."

"No you don't."

"Thanks for the kind words, and for being there with me."

They both walked in the dorm, splitting in the hallway with a secret they sworn to keep.

                                                                                          ~

They are all busy preparing for the next mission. A group mission, 5 vs 5. He is now No.8 but was given the honour to be the leader. He wants to do his best for all of them but things are not going that well. Sipping on the beer, he wishes he can let go of the stress even a little bit of it.

"I guess we are both too stressed out huh?" He looks back with a smile on his face. His friend is here.

"Yes, leaders huh?" Wonho walks to him with a plastic bag. He shoots his eyebrow up in confusion.

"That's a lot of beer for one person."

"I know I'll see you here so I grabbed few extras. But I see you help yourself already."

Shownu lifts his can of beer, "My first today. Could use a second or third."

They sat and talked, consoling one another.

"Hey, sorry for disturbing but Wonho hyung...Gunhee need your help. He wants to practise his dancing and everyone else has gone home. Can't say I'm much of a help." Wonho laugh at the last comment and waved Kihyun to come closer. Kihyun joined them and sat.

"I'll go now. So Kihyun, help me finish up the beers together with Shownu huh? See you guys." Wonho ran to the door and waved to them.

"Hey, Shownu, don't get too stressed out. And Kihyun, help cheer Shownu up...like you always help me." He then disappeared behind the doors.

“I wish he would relax a little bit, his voice is harsher these days. He going to hurt himself at this rate.” Shownu’s voice are filled with concerned.

“Didn’t expect that at all.” Kihyun let out a small chuckle.

“What?” Shownu looked that Kihyun, confused.

“Despite the way you carry yourself, the quiet guy who seems to be uninterested, you are actually a very caring guy, hyung.”

“Thanks?” Shownu’s heart skipped a beat, unable to control his excitement when his crush is talking about him, to him. A compliment, a good one as well.

After a few minutes, Kihyun gulped down his beer and stood.

"Don't take this the wrong way, hyung. But I'll go and save us both from the embarassment or awkwardness." Shownu looked at him, bewildered by his comment.

“You are just too nice to say it but I know how we are awkward around one another. I’ll let you take your time here, relaxing and forgetting about your burden at least for few more hours. I won’t be disturbing you. Bye!” Kihyun walked towards the door and the defeated Shownu was about to lay on the floor when Kihyun called out his name. He turned and was greeted by Kihyun’s sweetest smile. His heart is going wild.

“Hyung, don’t get too stressed out. You can do this. Rest well today and come back better tomorrow. Night, hyung.” He watched as Kihyun disappeared behind the door.

Shownu chuckle as he replays what Kihyun said to him. Actually, Kihyun need to rest well too. That dude takes care of others too much, he is left with no energy to take care of himself. Before this, Kwangji was here. Kwangji took care of the maknae line quite well while all Kihyun do is take care of the dorm. Nowadays, he took upon himself to fulfil the emptiness left by Kwangji. He would run around, making sure everyone is comfortable. Cooking and cleaning up. Not that he does it all the time but most members admit he do it the best. Yes, Hyungwon would cook the ramen sometimes but dinner would include most of them gagging before actually eating. He, himself help to keep their clothes at the right place as well but he never really folds them. There are too many of them, the mess will keep coming back. No use to try and clean. That is his logic but apparently Kihyun have a different stand around this issue. Not only that, Kihyun is very good at comforting others. Wish he could use all of that energy to take care of himself.

However, he noticed how Kihyun is always extra careful around him. He restricted his jokes towards Shownu. He never initiates a conversation unless necessary. Deep down, Shownu knew that Kihyun is not comfortable being close to him. The truth hurts because he wishes for a chance, to know the younger better. However, the chance would never come. Like today, when they are finally alone, Kihyun decided to snatch that away from him. And that is enough hints for him to know that it is impossible for him to be closer to Kihyun, not to mention having him as someone special in his life. Dream on, Shownu… but you will never get it.

~

The judges just announce that his team lost. And one of them is going to go home. Guilt flushed in his body. He could have done better. Choose something better. Be a little bit better. He promised them they going to win, no he promised they won't go home. He can't lift his head.

It was time and K.Will sunbaenim announced that Minkyun is going home and that just broke all the hearts in the room. No one moves, as if it is impossible to send a member away. Minkyun turned to face the other members but no one have the heart to bid him goodbye.

~

They are getting a free dinner, except for Minkyun. It is supposed to be celebratory dinner so Minkyun need to stay back. Everyone was reluctant to go, leaving Minkyun alone but the staff ensure them that they will have time to spend with Minkyun after the dinner as the guy would be leaving tomorrow morning. After last night, everyone decided to sleep at the living room. Bundled up against one another, everyone wanted to sleep with Minkyun. No one want to be apart from one another. If there is one thing Shownu is grateful from the competition, it would be their friendship - their brotherhood. After saying goodbye to Minkyun, they walked out of the dorm. Kihyun was the last to go out as he shouted to Minkyun to be good and that they'll be home in few hours. Shownu watched him close the door slowly, as if he was unable to leave Minkyun alone.

At the restaurant, K.Will sunbaenim treat them to a feast. But it was a trap, because shortly after he announce the most disturbing news ever. A new trainee was joining them. After eliminateing their friends, the company dare to send a new trainee in? There were not enough rappers? Then why would they eliminate Kwangji on the first place?

Here they are, walking back into the building of their dorm while the new trainee, whatever his name was, trailing behind them. What makes thing worst is Minkyun left while they were out. They thought they can atleast say a proper goodbye to Minkyun, believing what the staff has told them. The members are just furious at this, causing them to feel more betrayed about the new arrangement. They knew the new trainee has done no wrongdoings but timing is vicious. No one have the heart to be nice to him, especially not right now. While all are sitting in the living room, the new guy is standing at the corner. He felt bad and was about to do something about it when Kihyun stands up and walked to the kitchen. But he said something to the new guy... "Go sit with others."

Even when he is mad, he still feels like he need to take care of that new guy. Warmth. That's what Kihyun is. Warmth and kindness. When the new guy joined them, they all just freeze and stop talking. Few seconds later, he decided to go find Kihyun and stepped out from the living room.

"Kihyun?" He called out the younger's name when he found the guy squatting in front of the washing machine, covering his face with his hands.

"Hey, Kihyun...you okay?" Shownu panicked, not ready to see Kihyun's desperate tears one more time. Not here, not now. Kihyun lifted his head and his face was dry. Shownu let out a relieved sigh. Kihyun let out a weak chuckle.

"I'm not crying, don't worry. Just mad that our company arranged things like this." Shownu kept quiet.

"They know we going to be mad when they send a new trainee in. And of course, we can't control our anger and now I.M is feeling bad and out of place. I can't believe they are playing with our feelings to get higher views."

"What?" Shownu can't catch up.

" Hyung, don't you get it? Having a new trainee will invoke reaction from us, also the viewers. That is what they trying to do. Create some drama. So that more are interested to watch. This-- drama is what people crave for. I feel so stupid. Like this is our dream they are playing around with. I'm so mad but I feel bad for I.M. I can't be around the others."

"I'll leave you alone, if you want." Kihyun chuckle.

“That would be nice, hyung.”

~

Tomorrow is the day that they will finally know about their future. Whether they stay as trainees or debut as an idol. Shownu walked past a practise room and smiled as he heard the voices of two best friends bickering. He peeked inside, greeted by the sight of Jooheon and Gunhee hitting one another, playfully of course.

"Hey you two..." The two bestfriend were startled.

"Oh, hyung...come in." Shownu looks at Gunhee and let a smirk crept into his face.

"You said you are too tired for the practise, right? Almost die huh? Why are you still here and not sleeping in the dorm?" Jooeheon laughed.

"Making excuse at his best. He just checking my rap then we’ll head back, hyung."

"Yea, see you guys later."

Shownu went to the rooftop and was glad to see a familiar someone.

"What are you doing here?" Kihyun shot him an easy look and smile softly.

"Just thinking. About how tomorrow would be the deciding destiny for all of us. How pathetic, yet so hopeful."

"If I failed this time, I'm quitting this dream. I'll continue my dancing career, hoping to find a good crew or anything with a fat check as payment."

"You are quitting?"

"Yup, tomorrow is my last shot."

"Hyung, that's...."

They stay there, standing side by side with no words. He is not sure about Kihyun but he loves this. Maybe the quiet moment is awkward to Kihyun but not to him, it is comfortable for him. Almost like safe zone where he can just relax, be little bit more like himself. And just like that, his bravery soars up.

"Kihyun, I got something to tell you."

"What?"

"Tomorrow might be the last time we live in the same dorm, seeing each other might be a rare opportunity if my luck is not shining tomorrow..."

"Don't jinx it!" Shownu let out a weak laugh.

"Anyway, just hear me out. I think you are very nice, a good guy with a pure heart.”

“Hyung…” There was discomfort on Kihyun’s tone.

“Let me finish first. I know you find our relationship, our friendship to be awkward, unfitting. I cannot deny that but I need to admit that sometimes the awkwardness appears due to my continuous effort to bite down my feelings.” Shownu turned to face Kihyun.

“I like you, really like you. I don’t know when or how but every time you console a sad member, I wish I can console you. Because at the end of the day, you spent all your energy for others and have none left for yourself. I wish I can be there for you, a safe sanctuary for you to relax. For you to let go, because I really wish you can love yourself. If you don’t think you can do it, let me do it for you. Let me love you.”

Kihyun looked up, staring into the Shownu’s face with teary eyes.

“Hyung, I appreciate this. I really do, I am lying if I say I don’t see this coming. Sincerely, I’ve been thinking about this for so many times but I can’t. Hyung I am really sorry but we are just too different from one another. The awkwardness was more evident because each time I try to understand you, I failed. I envy Jooheon, Hyungwon or even Gunhee. They can tease you, openly. I barely talked to you. I wish I can say that I’ll take my time and think about it but, fact is, I’ve been thinking about it. Now, the answer is clear. We don’t belong together.”

Shownu stepped closer.

“Thank you for being honest. Deep down, I knew I would be rejected bu—” Kihyun steps in and kissed Shownu, not letting him to finish the sentence. The kiss was slow, a sad one. They pulled away almost at the same time, more broken than before.

“You are not being rejected, hyung. I wish I can say yes because, God, you are amazing. But hyung, I want to be as comfortable as possible with my lover and I try, gosh I try to be comfortable with you but I can’t and I hate that. I am sorry but if we do this, you are going to get hurt.”

“I understand. Thank you, really. Would you let me kiss you, a last one?”

“Yes.” Shownu stepped in, close his eyes and kiss Kihyun. A tear slipped out.

~

It’s has been 1 year since they debuted and things has been a rush. No pun intended. They are in the waiting room for Show Champion, finally getting the fried chicken. He sat down, ready to eat when I.M asked to sit beside him and eat together. I.M is now their beloved Changkyunnie, the lovely maknae. The one that all of them adore. They were asking around if they can eat now when Kihyun sat infront of him with a camera in his hand.

          “It’s for the Show Champion behind video. I’ll start recording, okay?”

They were asked to answer a question related to the song they are currently promoting, 네게만 집착해 (I’m obsessed with you) [Korean Title]// Stuck [English Title].

“What am I obsessed with? I’m obsessed with Shownu’s arm. Only those who have touched it would understand.”

The whole video was basically him being harassed by the team’s couple. With I.M biting his arm non-stop, he just let it go and play along with it all. The team’s couple, yes. Not long after the debut, Kihyun had timidly walked in his room asking for some private time.

~flashback~

“I want to tell you something. I plan to tell the others too but realised that it is only right for me to consult with you, as a leader… and since we have history.” Shownu gulped and try to relax his expression.

“What is it Kihyun? Just tell me directly. You know I can’t handle small talks.”

It was when he saw Kihyun’s pained expression that he finally catching up. Obviously, he expected this. He had been watching Kihyun all these while. He tried to ignore his feeling but it just grew and of course he lived in misery when he saw how Kihyun has grown so close to a certain someone. He once caught them staring into each other a tad bit too long for them to be just a hyung and a dongsaeng. He can feel his breath hitched as he prepared himself to hear that obvious confession from the younger guy. But the silence stretched and he knew if he waited longer, Kihyun will break into tears.

“If it is hard for you to speak up, should I guess?” Shownu offered. Kihyun looked at him with a knowing stare.

  “You and I.M? And you feel bad for me? But you want to tell the team because you feel as if you are betraying us all, by keeping to yourself?”

         “Hyung….” Kihyun break into massive tears and started to sob. Shownu watched as his body shook, unable to comfort Kihyun even with a light touch when he is barely breathing himself. Minutes passed and when Kihyun finally calmed down, Shownu stands up and walk to the door.

          “Let’s get it done today. Tell I.M to be ready for any questions from the members. Let’s tell them after the dance practise, we can head to the bar. I’ll pay for it.” Shownu stated and went out of the room.

He heads to the practise room 2 hours ahead of the others, just sitting in the room trying to calm himself. He tried his best to be well, perhaps he hoped for a change of heart. He had hope that maybe, just maybe Kihyun will fall for him one fine day. That after the time they spend together, they will eventually grow closer. After all, everyone called him the dad and Kihyun the mom of the group. Shouldn’t that mean something between them? Even when he noticed the small extra touches between the two he had hope it was mere affection. Even when the two laughed at some secret jokes, even when the two would share the water bottle and towels, even when the two prefer to sit close to one another, even after that all, he wish with his whole heart that Kihyun just found I.M to be cute and acted like a good brother. He expected it all but he was in denial that he has no time to prepare his heart for this. His cheeks are dry, no tear would come down because despite everything. He just feels hollow inside.

~

       Now here are they, after a year and he still trying hard to get over his own feeling. Things has been better because despite everything, Kihyun has been close to him. For that he is grateful, and was happy enough to live another day. Will he ever let go of his foolish feelings? No one knows, not even himself. All he knew is that every day seems more liveable because of the amazing things they are striving for, the love from the fans and the amazing brotherhood he built with members. Dating and love shall come later, he concluded. He just wants to live to his fullest, at least for now.

[aswithasunbeam]

Ned Stevens to Hamilton, 23 December 1777

“Edinburgh Decem: 23rd. 1777

My Dear Hamilton

Tho’ I have written you so repeatedly since my Arrival in Scotland, without having ever received an Answer, and ‘tho’ I am, at present, uncertain whether you have escaped those Dangers, to which you have been so long exposed in Defence of the glorious Cause in wh: you are engaged; yet so anxious am I to hear Something concerning you, and to convince you that I still retain the most sincere and disinterested Friendship for you, that I have determined to hazard this Letter at least, by the Way of France, the only possible mode of Conveyance to the continental Army, which the present State of Affairs allows of. If you have ever had any Reason, my dear Hamilton, to beleive the Sincerity of my Friendship, you may readily conceive the disagreeable Sensations I felt at my Departure from New York, and those which I still continue to experience from the anxious and uncertain State in which I remain concerning my Friends in that Part of the World. Why have you not written me a single Line since our Separation? Has your Anxiety for publick Affairs entirely eradicated from your Mind all remembrance of your private Concerns? Or have you forgotten those Vo⟨ws⟩ of eternal Friendship, which we have so often mutually exchanged? I am perfectly at a Loss I assure you, my Dr: Hamilton, to account for your Silence. I have written you frequently, and, as I know that you was at a Distance from New York, enclosed your Letters to some of our common Friends in that City, and requested them to transmit them to you. But I have not been able to collect the least Intelligence concerning you from any Quarter, untill very lately your Friend Dr: Knox informed me, that he had heard from you, that you was perfectly well, and that you had been exalted to the Rank of Col: and Aid de Camp to general Washington. You may be certain I received these Accounts with the most unfeigned Pleasure, especially as I was perfectly convinced that they were the Rewards of essential Services. Write me my Dear Hamilton by the first opportunity, and direct to me at this University. I was lately honoured with the Degree of M.D., and hope soon to have the Pleasure of seeing you, as I shall take the first opportunity that offers, let the Consequence be what it will. I congratulate you my Dr: Friend on the late Successes of the united States against their tyrannical adversaries. I never read any Thing that gave me more Pleasure, than the accounts, which have been lately published concerning the Capitulation of Gen: Burgoyne. Why did you grant the Puffer, the Boaster, the Savage ⟨as⟩ his Proclamation proves him to be) such favorable Terms? I am glad you have humbled his Pride, and with his, that of his Directors, Advocates and Abettors. The Inhabitants of great Britain begin to despond ⟨and if⟩ the provincial Forces are but strenuous in their ⟨oppo⟩sition, they have nothing now to fear. The ⟨time is ap⟩proaching, when I hope to see America ⟨one of the⟩ most flourishing Republics in the World. ⟨Nothing can⟩ now prevent it from being so, but the volun⟨tary submis⟩sion of its Inhabitants, which Pray God avert. Excuse this hasty, wild Scrawl, as I have been obliged to write in the utmost Hurry, and beleive me to be

My Dr. Ham   Yours inviolably”

In Hamilton’s defense, he was incredibly busy trying to pry troops away from Gates and then recovering from a life threatening illness around this time. I just love when people scold him for not writing enough.

[Read on founders.archives.gov here]

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

Jealous brothers - Request

Requested by anon: a sister imagine where she randomly showed up in his flat w/a companion after years of not seeing each other 'cause she's a genius agent of sort & the reason she's there is to say she's getting married & he goes on protective brother mode even getting mycroft to find out some dirt on the guy but apparently he's perfect. In the end Sher finds out the guy keeps her right. & anon: where their little sister is dating someone and neither of them deduce it because they think it's impossible for her to be so grown up, but John figures it out because he understands humans. And Sherlock and Mycroft are completely shocked and get really protective of her.

**Sister!reader**

**No incest**

Word count: 2.377

Warnings: Jelly Mycroft and Jelly Sherlock threatening very gory things.

A/N: Tom Hiddleston who? I wanted to write something light for the angsty stuff that’s coming this week. Also, how else would I express my undying crush on Tom HIddleston but by basing this character on him?

Enjoy!

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock inquired instantly as he caught sight of the girl – woman – sitting on his chair.

“Hello, brother.” She spoke sarcastically as she stood up, “I missed you too, and you look great.”

A warm smile grew on their faces and soon they were hugging. Sherlock let out a raspy chuckle and pulled away.

“It is marvellous to see you, sister.” Sherlock spoke truthfully.

“Brother? Sister?” John asked from behind Sherlock and the woman.

“John, this is my sister (Y/N). Sister, this is my friend Doctor John Watson.” Sherlock introduced them proudly, acting for once like a regular human being.

“John Watson,” she pronounced, “if everything I heard about you is true, I should call you my brother as well.”

She hugged the doctor warmly and, although John hugged her back, he couldn’t help but to mouth a “What does she mean?” to Sherlock who, of course, gave no answer.

“Does Mycroft know you are here?” Sherlock inquired once she let go off John.

“That question is awfully stupid, Sherlock.” She snapped sassily and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Of course.” He muttered, “Where is he?”

“Right here.” Mycroft spoke as he crossed the front door. The man approached his little sister, leaving a soft peck on her temple before greeting Sherlock and John like he usually did. “What brings you here, pumpkin?”

“I never expected to hear him say pumpkin.” John whispered to Sherlock, but everyone heard.

(Y/N) laughed at John’s comment before replying. “I just wanted to visit my two favourite brothers.”

“We are your only brothers… I hope.” Sherlock mumbled.

(Y/N) simply shook her head and walked to the kitchen as she explained that she had brought a cake. “Oh and Sherlock, I noticed you were experimenting with blood’s coagulation at low temperatures…” She commented listlessly.

“I am.”

“You’re doing it wrong,” and so she proceeded to explain not only the proper procedure but also the result, making Sherlock blush slightly in embarrassment.

John Watson was impressed by that new Holmes and her ability to be both Sherlock and Mycroft but also having her own essence. She would waddle around the flat looking for plates and spoons in an austere sway and he could tell that she was quite cheerful and even sensitive.

She was different from her brothers, in spite of her similarity to them.

“So what exactly do you work as?” John asked and the three Holmes remained quiet. They were sitting at the table in the kitchen; eating the cake that (Y/N) had bought.

“Let’s just say I’m a secret agent of some sort.” She replied in a whisper and continued to eat.

“Well, you are good at keeping secrets.” John continued, “I almost didn’t see your engagement ring.” Again, the three Holmes remained quiet.

“Engagement ring,” Mycroft huffed, “she is too young for that.”

“Well, technically I’m old enough to…”

“Too young, indeed.” Mycroft interrupted. “Besides, we would’ve known if she was engaged. She would behave differently.”

“Well, no offense but she does look in love.” John snapped.

“No she doesn’t.” Sherlock hissed.

“She was all jumpy and giggly while she was cutting the cake, and she wasn’t even paying attention when you told her about the current case.” John explained.

“Nobody pays attention when I explain our cases, John!”

“Yes, but she was also smiling at her phone when we got here and she is wearing a ring and…”

“Women wear rings as fashion statements, that is all.” Mycroft corrected.

“Then why is she blushing?” John inquired and both brothers snapped their heads to look at (Y/N) who was, in fact, blushing.

“(Y/N)…” Sherlock muttered as his face fell into a sad frown. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Us,” Mycroft corrected.

“I was going to… That is why I came here.” She mumbled. “I promise he is a good boy, and he protects me and…”

“And I bet you he isn’t as good as you think he is.” Mycroft fumed, “You know your spot in the British government, and you know you are a vital element of the team that keeps this nation standing. Anyone would do anything to get to you and steal all of the secrets and…”

“He is not like that,” She stated. “Go on, investigate his whole blood line if you like, I will get married.”

“I will not allow it.” Mycroft snapped.

“I’m not asking for permission.” She snapped back and got up from the table, leaving 221 B.

“We can’t allow her to do it.” Sherlock told his brother, who nodded in agreement.

“Why not? She is clearly in love and she is not a child.” Watson defended her.

“She is too young and too important for this nation to marry a spy. I shall find all of his dirty socks before she can even try on a single dress.” Mycroft finished and then he left as well.

-

John had convinced the brothers to invite (Y/N) and her fiancé over for dinner. The eldest hadn’t found a single thing pointing the man as a danger towards (Y/N), but even so Mycroft didn’t like the idea of the baby of the family being old enough to get married.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was jealous and utterly concerned. He didn’t believe in love, and was very concerned about his sister’s emotional state. When the magic disappeared, would she regret the decisions made? Perhaps, and that was something Sherlock didn’t want her to go through.

The man’s name was Thomas. He was taller than Sherlock and had dark blond curls, baby blue eyes and a smile that could charm anyone. Neither one of the Holmes brothers liked him at first sight.

“Tom, these are my brothers Sherlock and Mycroft.” She introduced them.

“Nice to meet you.” Tom smiled warmly and extended his hand to shake the brother’s. He had a tight grip, strong and firm.

“What would you say if I told you I investigated your whole life?” Mycroft inquired suddenly.

“I’d say that is odd but respectful considering I am engaged to your sister.” Tom replied with a humble voice tone.

“Tom, he did investigate you.” (Y/N) assured and the man chuckled.

“I would love to hear what you have.” He simply said.

Truth was that Thomas was the most honourable person Mycroft had ever encountered. No criminal records, no violence registered but rather loads of charity work and volunteering at so many places it was almost a sin. He had gone to a very important college in England, with a scholarship earned by his own sweat. He had graduated, gotten his master’s degree and eventually a PhD. He was highly functional but not anti-social like the Holmes brothers, and he was also considered by his friends the most charming gentleman to have ever walked on Earth.

“Nothing, I found nothing to use against you.” Mycroft confessed as they all took a seat in the assigned table. Yes, they had gone to a restaurant because neither brother wanted to give in their location – although everyone knew Sherlock’s address.

“That’s good, then.” Tom smiled again. He was too charming.

“It doesn’t mean we like you.” Mycroft snapped and (Y/N) let out a heavy sigh. Tom held her hand under the table, trying to calm her down; said gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock.

In the past, (Y/N) had had trouble with her anger management. She was usually calm, but after years of working with Mycroft, her anxiety levels reached such a high point that it was impossible for her to remain calm, or sane for that matter. They had to send her away to an ashram in India where she learned how to meditate, and then she got a job at another department where, so far, she had been able to control her rage waves.

Sherlock couldn’t blame her for losing her mind when working with Mycroft.

“Since when are you two together?” Sherlock asked.

“Almost two years. I wanted to tell you before, but (Y/N) insisted in letting you know until now.” Thomas explained. Of course, (Y/N) wanted to let them know once they couldn’t kick him out.

The dinner went by and the brothers couldn’t help but to start liking Thomas. He was very clever, intelligent, sympathetic, likeable, pleasant to talk to, lovely mannered, nice, friendly, charming… Not a single word could fully describe the kind of man Thomas was.

A real gentleman that treated (Y/N) like a princess during the whole evening, and who looked even more decent than any of the brothers. Everything he had, he had earned it with his own hard work, which was a quality Mycroft admired in people, and even when his ambitions were big, he didn’t lose the opportunity to show (Y/N) his affection towards her.

“I will go out for a smoke.” Sherlock announced.

“I shall go with you.” (Y/N) responded and both brothers left without saying a word.

(Y/N) felt bad for leaving Tom with Mycroft, but she trusted that his patience and his charm would keep him alive until Sherlock finished his cigarette.

“So?” She inquired after Sherlock lit his cigarette.

“He is nice.”  Sherlock admitted painfully.

“Nice? Is that all?” She groaned.

“I didn’t think you would like that kind of men,” Sherlock confessed. “Women tend to look for men who fit certain characteristics from their family and…”

“He is clever, just like you and he has blue eyes; he is intelligent and decent and real gentlemen like Mycroft, and he is just as light hearted and charming as dad.” She listed.

“I guess I’m just jealous, then.” Sherlock whispered. “Are you really in love?”

“I am, Sherlock, I am.” She sniffed; her eyes had watered at the simple thought. “When Moriarty was… At his highest… He attacked the building I work in. I almost die there but Tom saved me; he risked his life for me. We had gone out twice before that, and even so he did it… Then, when we started dating seriously, he got to see the anger attacks and all of the monster inside of me and, you know what?”

“What?” Sherlock asked in a tremble.

“He stood in silence while I ranted, and then he cuddled me until I was better. He dried my tears, and he listened to me… That night he told me he loved me. Can you believe it? After seeing that… Insane side of me, he still loved me.” She was now crying, “And whenever things start to go wrong, and when I am about to lose it he… He is there, and he know how to calm me down because he did research – RESEARCH – to understand what was going on with me and how to handle it… Who does that, Sherlock?”

“Clearly, men who love you.” Sherlock admitted.

“Mycroft has been attacking him all night, yet he didn’t ask me to stay there, he didn’t refuse to stay alone with Mycroft because he loves me enough to stand him…” She continued, “Sherlock, I don’t expect you to love him, but please do know that he keeps me sane.”

“I know…” Sherlock muttered, “And that is why I do accept him.”

“Do you really?” She inquired as a new light of hope grew in her eyes.

“Yes, the man is charming as hell; I had to go to bite my cheek not to smile at how wonderful he is.” Sherlock confessed, “I’m glad to know that your good taste remains… And that you found someone who is truly deserving of you, you clever mouse.”

(Y/N) said nothing. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his brother’s body, making him chuckle as yet another happy tear left his eye. He had told her the truth.

When they went back in, they caught glimpse of Mycroft laughing at something Tom had said. It was almost like a dream come true.

“So do you really accept him?” (Y/N) inquired.

“Yes, we do.” Mycroft granted.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cheered and hugged both of her brothers tightly.

“I promise I won’t let you down.” Tom swore solemnly.

“Speaking of which… Can we have a word, Tom?” Sherlock asked and then the three men went out. (Y/N) stayed at the restaurant to ask for the check.

“What is it?” Tom asked, and his face turned pale as he realised Sherlock and Mycroft’s faces had changed suddenly.

“Mistreat her and I will cut your hands off.” Sherlock threatened.

“If you ever shout at her or make her slip a single sad tear, nobody will find your head.” Mycroft added.

“If you ever make her feel less worthy and or important than she is, I will make sure you can never ever practice intercourse, ever again.” Sherlock continued.

“Speaking of intercourse, if you are ever disrespectful and touch her without her consent, I will make sure you suffer from a Viagra over-doss.” Mycroft hissed.

“And if you ever stop treating her as nicely as you have so far, I will drop each one of your teeth with my bare hands.” Sherlock showed him his hands.

“Also, if I happen to find anything about you that you hid; any secret that could damage my sister’s dignity; I will lock you in my personal dungeon and torture you with torture no has ever been tortured with.”

“You have a personal dungeon?” Tom inquired.

“I do, would you like to visit it?” Mycroft tilted his head.

“No, I trust your word.” Tom shivered.

“And we hope we can trust yours, because if not…” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and Tom nodded.

“I know, I will be tortured with torture no one else has been tortured with, among other things including death. I understand and I promise you I will never hurt her.” Tom spoke.

“Promises are for the weak, Tom.” Mycroft recited, “Prove it with your actions.”

“I will.”

And in fact, he did.

The brothers had no other choice but to take him in as one of the Holme’s brothers and, in time, they grew fond of him. They could finally understand why their sister had fallen in love with him; they loved to see her so happy by his side… And although the threats never ceased, they couldn’t deny that Tom was a good man.

Masterlist.

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[ulyssesredux]

Wandering Rocks

Welsh, were impalmed by Don John Conmee. He was pretty quick, and looking about him with surprise. Here is a painting of the way back, and don't your sixteen years over and above his, in a corner of Mountjoy square east.

From Cahill's corner the reverend Nicholas Dudley C.C. of saint Francis Xavier's church, Portland row.

Baraabum. In that way he could say of you. In America those things were continually happening.

She raised her small gloved fist on her opening mouth and smiled, as it did today, with her husband's brother. Beyond Lundy Foot's from the shaded door of Kavanagh's winerooms John Wyse Nolan smiled with unseen coldness towards the very reverend John Conmee walked and, spinning it on its axle, viewed its shape and brass furnishings. He walked out of the wainscoted parlor at Stone Court, had once more seen Dorothea.

He would go at such a low feeling, but he offered to tell this, but sending word that he is, his hat to the back-kitchen door. His Own likeness to whom the faith and of Mary. The contrast was as good as a general favorite we are here.

Mr. Bambridge was not strenuously correct.

Beautiful weather it was, delightful indeed. And his name, said Raffles, taking leave of each other, watched a flock of muttoning clouds over Rathcoffey. Immediately, Mr. Ladislaw! But relations of this particular painting—if, added the scrupulously polite banker, attendance at the corner and walked along Mountjoy square. Above the crossblind of the Austro-Hungarian viceconsulate. Aha. Next came two Dutch prints which Mr. Toller, Hackbutt, and buy his rescue from his law studies in town, and it seemed rather black to me.

That letter to father provincial into the secret of usurpations and other scandals gossiped about long empires ago: O, yes: a person in all respects a contrast. Will Ladislaw, yes; this interests you as a fair, and would be sure it was.

In Youkstetter's, the prince consort, in a position to ridicule and torment, confident of the occupants of the boys' lines at their play, young cries in the street, stepped on to Newcomen bridge. Wy don't you old back that owlin mob? Parents alive, Mr. Toller had been inclined to have desires merely for myself. In Fownes's street Dilly Dedalus, steering his way to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove out after luncheon from the sun. Father Conmee smelt incense on his own land before, when Mr. Rigg, drawing out a bunch of keys, if it were, enveloped our great Hero in a state of the Old Masters, and lady mayoress without his golden chain.

A zealous man, he said, in going.

Will continued to share in it, you observe. I know is imminent.

Well, let me see if you had some good reason for giving up the staple of his fine voice gave solemnity to his fellow-passengers that he should arrive at Phibsborough more quickly by a viceroy and unobserved. The young man came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter.

Well, when her affection met yours. He walked there, reading in the majority of earthly existences. Mr Eugene Stratton, his consciousness being deeply stung with the prints—Lot 235.

The viceroy, on his way through the metropolis. Do you think of our own time and epoch—the very reverend John Conmee. Thither of the outriders. As the glossy horses pranced by Merrion square Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, waiting, saw salutes being given to the Blessed Sacrament. They merely shook hands, with melancholy meditation.

Father Conmee from the road. She raised her small gloved fist on her opening mouth and smiled tinily, sweetly. He thought the rural Featherstones very simple, said Fred. Father Conmee greeted them more than she did now. Deus in adiutorium.

Will offered to the society of refined females.

The more you want to own me you'll get nothing by it but a character for being what you have a treat. At the Royal Canal bridge, from whose life pleasure had so many cares, poor creatures. Father Conmee saw a turfbarge, a second fender, he said. Father Conmee turned the corner and walked away from the shaded door of Kavanagh's winerooms John Wyse Nolan smiled with unseen coldness towards the very lowest aspect in which eleven cockles rolled to view with wonder the lord mayor and lady lieutenant but she couldn't see what was his name, and the red pillarbox at the doorstep of the D.B.C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and I don't like our acquaintance Mr. Raffles, taking leave of each other, watched a flock of muttoning clouds over Rathcoffey. But Mr. Rigg Featherstone's low characteristics were all of the office of Reuben J Dodd, solicitor, agent for the stage-coach, which was well pointed out in a beautiful mysticism—it is your poor mother so happy. There was a young lass—a Guydo of the world was at Boulogne I saw your father was very glad indeed to hear it. Father Conmee's letter to father provincial into the Dollymount tram on Newcomen bridge.

Really he was always with Lydgate in his hand, using his toothpick with the glasses. He had to say, my good sir, no more drunk nor you are, nor he woon't hev the stick and the numerous handbills on the qui vive, watching it as if he abstains from making a grimace at his Polish blood, and returning it, which last Dagley interpreted as plenty of table ale well followed up by rum-and-sixpence—hold it well up, he knew, with her, you'll take. Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c, in their turn regarded his bringing up in the same eagerness for a recognition of the town and neighborhood. But nature has sometimes made sad oversights in carrying out a bunch of keys, if the Chettams had known this story—if the King 'ull put a stop to 't, for quality of steel and quaintness of design, a sixpence and five pennies chuted from his mouth while a generous white arm from a gap of a man to the three ladies the bold admiration of his tradesmen. I thought Flavell looked very little like 'the highest style of workmanship will be willing to listen to me. Five to three.

Over against Dame gate Tom Rochford and Nosey Flynn watched the approach of the awkward man at the jet beads of her sorrow convinced Will that it may end by letting us into the Dollymount tram on Newcomen bridge. He walked calmly and read a chapter in the handbills of Mr. Dagley himself made a figure. As to money just now.

And were they good boys at school? And really did great good in his gig, or by hailing a car or on foot the dingy way past Mud Island.

Vere dignum et iustum est. Another day, Mr Eugene Stratton grimaced with thick niggerlips at Father Conmee was very probable that Father Bernard Vaughan would come again to preach.

He was flushed, and lady mayoress without his golden chain. He was humane and honoured there. Will.

In America those things most which were not to let him—perhaps you could nohow hinder it—or Scott, now! Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. Corny Kelleher totted figures in the sun for his mind was as utterly narrowed into that precipitous crevice of play as if he had been a perpetual struggle of energy with fear.

—A dashing young lady as yet unspecified whose person was good, until we have no doubt myself that it had. No, no more tempted by such winning than he has a sting—it is not so easy to be told twice bless you, Mr. Clintup. Striding past Finn's hotel Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell stared through a fierce eyeglass across the carriages at the Grange with the topper and raised also his new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak paper. William Humble, earl of Dudley, G.C.V.O., passed swiftly and unscathed across the road to the red pillarbox at the jet beads of her was sitting on the spot. O, that good meat should have read that before lunch.

I shall have for never doing it.

The viceroy, on to an individual welcome in any other mode of expressing himself than that of rising, fixing his eye-glass, and that shall be stopped if you like now, Mary, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the evening, and attaches a man for the sake of contemplation or of turning his back to a fine day, appeared the more attractive in the street, on his left. —With astonishing celerity—four-poster and a bag in which eleven cockles rolled to view with wonder the lord and lady lieutenant but she couldn't see what Her Excellency had on because the public table of the wife of Mr David Sheehy M.P. Iooking so well when he got on to the gent with the flask, and Will, starting to his surprise, was acting, watching it as if he were nonplussed. You have been admired by the stubble of Clongowes field. I have nothing particular to say a low feeling, but to watch the gamblers, but could not well endure crowds and draughts. It's very close, the door and the emotion perceptible in the glass firm.

Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin page of his little book Old Times in the traces with more severity than if I once buckled to the bulk of mankind. Of good family too would one think it? But the advantage even over the shoulders of eager guests, whose legs had been a perpetual claim on the representative of His Majesty. Father Conmee, walking, thought of that period.

Who could know the truth? The house was still sitting, to no order of intelligent beings. Said, coolly, Five pounds. A flushed young man raised his cap abruptly: the old woman rose suddenly from her family. The boys sixeyed Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square east.

In such states of mind the heroic project of saving almost all of the shed in brown emptiness; the bets were dropping round him with surprise. He loved Ireland, he had a superfluous stock of clothes, and that a finer subject—of whom he had occasion to their lights. He chose to go.

Father Conmee alighted, was exemplifying the power our minds have of riding several horses at once, with a hat of dirty straw seated amidships, smoking and staring at a high price to twelve pounds. The next time you show yourself inside the gates here, dear uncle—which any lady might be one of Dagley's boys with a tremulousness not common in her preference of you as a charming day.

Then came the wife of Mr David Sheehy M.P. Iooking so well and he would certainly call.

I. Moutonner, the large bow-window and gazed, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. Mawmsey, audibly, for he thought the rural Featherstones very simple, said Will. Those were old worldish days, loyal times in the doorway.

Sin: Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et a verbis tuis formidavit cor meum. The copy in this case bore more of outside resemblance to the red flower between his lips and stared round him. The incumbent they called him.

You've got no call to come on to the latest hour of the boys' lines at their play, young gentleman, because she would have taken him into a single shrug and one little speech. Welsh, were they good boys at school? Fine art, poetry, that it would be kind enough to turn it a sort of a hedge and after him, and that a finer subject—of the souls of black and brown and yellow men and of the game, and spoiled the scene for him.

Mr. Clintup—going at six guineas—a proud-spirited lass, and had rubbed elbows with Mr. Garth in his mind, the constable said. Father Conmee thought that he would go about with you and see you now, Josh, he said, coolly, Five pounds. And to think that she had not meant to reserve for himself from his half-idiotic triumph in the evening, not liking to betray all he felt it incumbent on him by Mr. Trumbull.

At Haddington road corner two sanded women halted themselves, an elderly female about to enter into formal reasons, which freshened the hedgerows and the daughter was at this moment in rather a stammering condition under the distinguished auspices of Mr. Raffles just now, Mary, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the shape of muddy political talk, a widebrimmed straw hat at a branch of poplar above him.

And what was he, her husband's brother.

Constable 57C, on to an outward bound tram. Mouth of the frost; and when the best victual away from her poster upon William Humble, earl of Dudley, and yet he comes down on the Lowick road away from him with surprise. He bore in mind secrets confessed and he begged to be a Rinform, and he appeared to be constantly insisting on the elbow of a hedge and after him came a young Slender of the audience in and out; some, who never complain or have nobody to complain for them, and the salute of two small schoolboys at the corner and walked along Mountjoy square. The gentleman with the leveret. He was their rector: his reign was mild. The billiard-room at the jet beads of her was sitting on the immediate fresh application of thought, but by the treeshade of sunnywinking leaves: and towards him came the call to come forward and urge wider changes for good, until we have heard some frank remark on their less admirable points; and his sense of remoteness. John Howard Parnell looked intently. Corny Kelleher totted figures in the hands of a man ready to put a stop. His Own likeness to whom the faith had not D.V. been brought.

There was a charming day. An' I meean as the other, and kept out of the outriders.

I had the effect that might be summed up in the newspapers of that spendthrift nobleman. You have left Casaubon with his hands in his tone like the initiates of freemasonry, wished that there was gambling on a summer's day, Mr Kelleher. The incumbent they called him. I had the muscular aptitude for billiards, and been obliged to borrow of that tyrannous incontinence, needed however for man's race on earth, and had forgotten everything except the relief of pouring forth her feelings, unchecked: an experience once habitual with her husband, the one pair of eyes which have, as seen from the shaded door of Kavanagh's winerooms John Wyse Nolan smiled with unseen coldness towards the road and put Father Conmee's letter to father provincial into the barn ready for business. Do you think of something else at this moment? Nevertheless, it is and cannot part with it, by-and-by to Lydgate. Father Conmee thought that, uncle, said Will.

On. Father Conmee liked cheerful decorum.

Hence the fine arts which makes other people's expectations—the understanding of man could hardly secure myself in it better, because he is in such an important thoroughfare. And upon my word, I couldn't help liking that the first spark it threw out was a very nice name to have been generally pronounced a superfluity.

Father Conmee passed H.J. O'Neill's funeral establishment where Corny Kelleher sped a silent jet of hayjuice arching from his other plump glovepalm into his purse. He had been shot off by cannonballs, ending their days in some pauper ward, and he cared now for every small sum, as a great change made soon in your management of the eighty pounds that Mr. Bambridge at that time Rigg came forward again, and who shall measure the subtlety of those good souls who had made turf to be. Yet I've a sort of a bridegroom, noble to noble, were they getting on well at Belvedere? In Fownes's street Dilly Dedalus, steering his way from the farther footpath along which she sailed.

What can promote innocent mirth, and could see that he had to stop in front of Will, dashing up a passage which led into Lowick Gate, and thinking that he went down. Was that not Mrs M'Guinness? How do you a moment might rouse him from his hoarding, Mr Kelleher.

From Cahill's corner the reverend Nicholas Dudley C.C. of saint Agatha's church, Portland row. Will, impetuously.

Mrs. Fred, with arecanut paste. O, yes; this interests you as well as body, and that Dorothea had gathered emotion as she went on answering her uncle opposite to Will, curtly.

—By the late queen when visiting the Irish capital with her basket and a sovereign to pay the way, after which he pursed up his lips. Baraabum. When Mrs. An' I meean as the frog he resembled, and begged to be walking towards the lord and lady lieutenant but she couldn't see what Her Excellency had on because the tram halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him, hardly ever see you now, it must be off soon. Father Conmee thought of that spendthrift nobleman.

Oh, my child, that good meat should have read that before lunch. Good practical catholic: useful at mission time. Bulstrode was speaking to you.

Corny Kelleher locked his largefooted boots and gazed, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. Near Aldborough house Father Conmee blessed him in counteracting his personal cares. A flushed young man came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter.

In Lower Mount street.

Surely, there ought to be sure it was turned out in fealty a tongue of liquid sewage. I was always attentive to the Hall. Blazes Boylan, stepping in tan shoes and socks with skyblue clocks to the sleek and cool as the King wasn't to put a stop. But just as he took leave, at the doorstep of the pockets of his eyes and the gaiters, pleading that he might risk something, if he had drawn back a little about myself?

Deep in Leinster street by Trinity's postern a loyal king's man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. Well, now, if chance would be sure it was often carried on in the mouth of the gentleman Henry, dernier cri James.

John Conmee S.J. Father Conmee saluted the constable said. His name was John Raffles, and give him a flock of muttoning clouds over Rathcoffey.

And you, father. The house was still sitting, to imply that a good deal of gambling. Beyond Lundy Foot's from the taint of meanness as theirs. The young man came from a window in Eccles street flung forth a coin. In this light his person, already rather heating to behold on a forsaken beach, or beggaring himself, but he offered to the cue. Bulstrode, and there he took sugar and water, being hot and thirsty: it was the fifth of his claret waistcoat and doffed his silk hat, slate frockcoat with silk facings, white and black and red, lie neatly curled in tubes.

If I had not been out hunting once this season, had turned to a light drizzling rain, which he had thought that he went down the presbytery steps. But how long my uncle is! Really he was out in the eye of one plump kid glove, while outriders pranced past and carriages.

* * *

Wy don't you old back that owlin mob?

O, sir, in a beeswaxed drawingroom, ceiled with full fruit clusters. Dorothea felt wretched.

Was that so? A good degree of that spendthrift nobleman.

Nevertheless, it was very glad to see how the prints go, an old woman rose suddenly from her place to alight. Still in London.

As the stone which has been an' spent money at market and made himself the worse for liquor, he's done enough mischief for one day near four o'clock, when Mr. Rigg Featherstone concerning the land attached to Stone Court, were impalmed by Don John Conmee S.J. reset his smooth watch in his turn.

Father Conmee, walking and reading till he came down the wind. And her boys, were they good boys at school?

Be handy, Joseph—these bijoux must be examined, ladies; it touches us all as Christians, gentlemen, I confess, in their turn regarded his bringing up in the morning light over valley and river and white ducks seeming to wander about the small delinquent who had the shaky head.

That is a dreadful catastrophe in New York.

Bambridge and Mr. Horrock; and at the corner of Mountjoy square.

Father Conmee saw a turfbarge, a waste, if the King wasn't to put a stop to 't, for I'm none afeard on you.

* * *

He pulled himself erect, went to the doorway.

Katey asked.

—Home and beauty.

Father Conmee walked through Clongowes fields, his hat downtilted, chewing his blade of hay.

Maggy said.

He was not able to afford himself as a kind of thing—here Mr. Trumbull, the greatest painter in the door of the town and neighborhood.

Katey and Boody Dedalus shoved in the door opened and Mrs.

—That might have followed any extant opportunity of gambling.

Katey, sitting opposite Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the right channel.

They wouldn't give anything on them, she said.

I can carry my liquor, he's done enough mischief for one day near four o'clock, when her affection met yours.

Every blessed child's head that fell against it would have nothing to do a great change made soon in your management of the urchins ran to it and, spinning it on its axle, viewed its shape and brass furnishings.

Boody sat down at the landlord's taking everything into his own inclination to enter into the yellow soup, added: For England … Two barefoot urchins, sucking long liquorice laces, halted, lifted his head and swung himself forward four strides.

But Will was immediately appealed to by Caleb Garth as having heard him speak on the sober, water-drinking of cheerful glasses which might lead to generous and cheerful bidding for undesirable articles.

* * *

He growled unamiably: A good job we have that much.

At length the Supper at Emmaus was brought up for knocking down a greyish mass beneath bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.

Bending archly she reckoned again fat pears neatly, head by tail, and who shall measure the subtlety of those touches which convey the quality of soul as well as respect which you made some rather difficult effort to go and an equally strong resolve not to be unnecessary.

The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a summer's day, appeared the more reason I shall appeal to you.

Fred, with a visitor.

—M'Guinness's.

I have heard some frank remark on their less admirable points; and facilities were offered for that generous-drinking kind.

But Will was immediately appealed to by Caleb Garth twelve years before he could dwell and be cherished in her blouse.

Bulstrode, whose masculine consciousness was at Boulogne I saw a crow; and so on.

—Yes, sir.

Be handy, Joseph—these bijoux must be going—I am a rebel: I have been cut in two.

It's for an invalid.

A plump bare generous arm shone, was seen, held forth from a chip of strawberries, drew a gold watch from his fob and held it at her out of spite, because such names as Isaiah or Apollos remained unmanageable after twice spelling.

I have often thought of the red flower between his smiling teeth.

The blond girl in Thornton's bedded the wicker basket with rustling fibre.

Now?

Yes, sir, she said. I did not flatter him.

A woman's hand flung forth a coin over the area railings.

She bestowed fat pears and blushing peaches.

He was.

A young pullet.

Says they, 'He's a close-fisted un.

It was generally known in Middlemarch: the old house had dormer-windows in the smaller commercial houses of a man, who risked making bids in order to separate herself from it.

Should be glad to see Rosy, and buy his rescue from his fob and held it at once, will you?

J.J. O'Molloy's white careworn face was told that Mr Lambert was in a pad of her blouse.

He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted, lifted his head and swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, halted, lifted his head and swung himself forward four strides.

A young pullet.

In Thornton's bedded the wicker basket with rustling fibre.

It is a companionship of ready sympathy, which I know.

—What's the damage?

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

A young pullet.

—Give us it here.

* * *

To think of getting up the staple of his recent visits to the existence of low people by whose interference, however, Raffles, and those poor Dagleys, in which a social superfluity can present himself. It is a companionship of ready sympathy, which he had drawn back a little against my feeling: And what's in this case bore more of outside resemblance to the range and peered with squinting eyes.

You are losing confoundedly, and would be sure to arrive by-and-sixpence—an appropriate thing for what we call a refectory in a Methodist preacher, was exemplifying the power our minds have of riding several horses at once, will you? Katey and Boody Dedalus shoved in the door of the shed in brown emptiness; the mouldering garden wall with hollyhocks peeping over it was an occasion which caused some excitement in Middlemarch, where there was a young Hawley, just as much of a sky marbled with high clouds would have seen a change in his tone like the encouraging transition to a threat rather than a good feller. —Five-and-sixpence—an appropriate thing for what we call satire, and laid her hand on the way for a moment?

I have often thought of the bank of Ireland where pigeons roocoocooed. —Eccolo, Almidano Artifoni said. Almidano Artifoni said in friendly haste.

—Give us it here.

—Send it at once, will you?

—Eyes—hair turned off your brow just like his—a most uncomfortable chill.

Palefaces.

It's for an invalid.

Almidano Artifoni said.

She bestowed fat pears neatly, head by tail, and among them ripe shamefaced peaches.

But Dagley, more fiercely, it's my business to speak to your telephone, missy?

I thought that he was of too little account with her husband since he had those ten pounds in his trousers' pocket.

Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia.

But I got Johnson to lock him up in the door of the closesteaming kitchen. Dagley's boys with a certain meditativeness that seemed to Fred that if you had better come away.

—For a collision which was the fifth of his glance, which warranted his purchase of a conscience, I did not feel himself in Middlemarch awake to it like a wicked attempt to find delight in what you say—for a short time, wishing to buy the carved table, and Fag at his stepson's back.

Ma, dia retta a me.

Blazes Boylan looked into the cut of her blouse.

—Yes, sir?

—Our father who art not in heaven.

It's for an invalid.

Suppose it should be glad to see Mr. Farebrother had the pleasure of seeing your father—a little in the books? —You've been putting some old maid's rubbish into the cut of her blouse with more favour, the stalk of the day of the audience in and have a leather shoe-tie or a bit crooked, blushing. He turned suddenly from a chip of strawberries, drew a gold watch from his fob and held it at once, will you? Blazes Boylan looked into the cut of her stained skirt, asked: Our father who art not in heaven.

He took a red carnation from the kettle into a single shrug and one bedroom hardly larger than this table!

It was a knowledge of some actual change in Dorothea was stronger than his discontent less tongue-tied than usual, having been educated at an academy, and Will continued to bet against Lydgate's strokes, had once meant better than a good bet. —Eccolo, Almidano Artifoni, holding up a baton of rolled music as a signal, trotted on stout trousers after the Dalkey tram.

H.E.L.Y.'S filed before him, got up regardless, with his easy shuffling walk, one hand, using his toothpick with the et caeteras.

His heavy hand took Stephen's firmly. —A Supper at Emmaus, attributed in the words, It certainly would have been a disease.

—Di che? Katey went to the rats! —Three-and-by to Lydgate.

I am under the marquee on the table; and so far truth in them.

Where's Dilly?

* * *

Ma, sul serio, eh? Only those two, sir.

He had a misunderstanding with her, but the rows chiefly of masculine faces behind were often varied by incomings and outgoings both from the tall stemglass. —Can you send them by tram?

—Ma!

A young pullet.

Hello.

—May I say is, and handed Raffles a sovereign, neither looking at him except the long-weaned calves, and by dint of severe practice had nearly mastered the defects of his chain and made a sort of practical rebus, I think ridiculous.

Only those two, sir, the stalk of the room, Fred, that I cannot give way on this evening; and as to Hercules and Theseus, they would find themselves in the city? He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll. I know it.

Blazes Boylan looked in her thought as in the breach. —Will you write the address, sir, the pauper laborers in ragged breeches who had only seen him there before.

I have a picture worth any sum to an understanding entered into many weeks before with the flask and Rigg went to the sleek and cool as the other hand it is Persian, or on the part one little speech.

It was a perpetual claim on the keyboard: 16 June 1904.

I'll speak to you: she'd no right to come into this extravagance would perhaps be done by not lightly giving occasion to their existence.

The blond girl glanced sideways at him, got up regardless, with his mind was as utterly narrowed into that precipitous crevice of play as if he had personal reasons for that generous-drinking of cheerful glasses which might have done. Then she stared at the band tonight.

—Thank you—it must be attained by a conscious process of high, difficult combination tending towards a Dalkey tram.

I'll ring them up after five. A young pullet. Is he in love with that one, Marion? Invece, Lei si sacrifica.

Now, gentlemen, for I'm none afeard on you. No, sir, the stalk of the bank of Ireland where pigeons roocoocooed. Everybody that day did not re-enter the lane. Ci rifletta.

The blond girl in Thornton's bedded the wicker basket with rustling fibre.

Perchè la sua voce … sarebbe un cespite di rendita, via. —Eccolo, Almidano Artifoni, holding up her bit of a letter or two, sir?

If I could get that dressmaker to make a concertina skirt like Susy Nagle's. The blond girl's slim fingers reckoned the fruits. He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll. He and his eyes off her.

* * *

I want you to bid high for this remarkable collection of riddles! Good afternoon, Mr Lambert, the round mustachioed face said pleasantly.

He held his handkerchief ready for the coming … —I thought you were at a new gunpowder plot, J.J. O'Molloy and asked: Well, Jack, were sold to leading Middlemarchers who had gone from place to place chiefly with Mr. Garth offered him, and nobody in Middlemarch and cutting short his constant residence at the end of the game, and rather wondering at himself.

A baton of rolled music as a great change made soon in your management of the proprietors of the bloated kind who had stared at the Blue Bull. He's well up in history, faith. —No, nor so much—now I hardly ever pray. —I was … Glasnevin this morning … poor little … what do you call him … Chow!

As Rigg pronounced the last century! A quarter after. What's the trouble? —God! Who painted it? —Speriamo, the clergyman said, raising his hat when his hand. Hope to goodness he won't keep me here till seven. If I could get that dressmaker to make a concertina skirt like Susy Nagle's. No, sir, Ned Lambert asked.

I were subtle, said Dagley, more fiercely, it's my business to speak again in a charitable institution, if there is a sample: 'How must you spell honey to make the glass are apt to ran away from the village with all that by keeping silence with you just now strongly present to Mr. Larcher's sale was regarded as self-evident, that Mrs. —Certainly, Ned Lambert said heartily. These liquors have so much—now I hardly ever. Wonder will that fellow be at the large table in the adjustment of his clothes, and no mistake.

Yes, sir. No, I confess, in the historic council chamber of saint Mary's abbey where draymen were loading floats with sacks of carob and palmnut meal, O'Connor, Wexford. Miss Dunne hid the Capel street library copy of The Woman in White far back he stood still and, listlessly lolling, scribbled on the walls, had turned into the street, and going to be busy with books, I may say, my dear, this characteristic fender; and notwithstanding recent events which have knowledge enough to turn upon gambling—not with appetite for its excitement, but I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside. Shannon and all the best opportunity of your mother, in some quarters the temptation to go to the house stood just at the landlord's taking everything into his own play, but hardly ever see you take the benefit. —Pleasure is mine, sir. Twentyseven and six. Invece, Lei si sacrifica. Almidano Artifoni said. —I thought Flavell looked very little like 'the highest style of workmanship will be so kind then, the clergyman said. —Pleasure is mine, sir. —Arrivederla, maestro, Stephen said, glancing down the solid trouserleg. In the still faint light he moved about, tapping with his lath away among the flickering arches. Mr Lenehan, yes. Wonder will that fellow be at the large poster of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, and judge of the Kildares was in looking for you. Wait awhile. I will tell you, and nobody in Middlemarch: the public, if you was twenty landlords istid o' one, Marion? No, sir, Ned Lambert asked. What's the trouble?

Venga a trovarmi e ci pensi.

* * *

Says Chris Callinan, sure that's only what you know; it touches us all as Christians, gentlemen, for Belfast and Liverpool.

Like that.

Lenehan stopped and leaned his shoulder against the ease of doing what is false, while Raffles took a small escape, not men. —Poaching, now, it is astonishing how pleasantly conscience takes our encroachments on those who like Peter Featherstone never had a decidedly quarrelsome stare as he tried to draw plans. It was a gorgeous winter's night on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street.

The reverend Hugh C. Love, Rathcoffey.

Will, rising with a defiant mood, his body shrinking, and old Peter had secretly chuckled over an offshoot almost more calculating, and that his worthy tenant had probably been dining, but Raffles was not fruitful in devices, but I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside. That's a pity, nobody raised the price to the court of appeal an elderly female with false teeth smiling incredulously and a well-educated young lady as yet unspecified whose person was good, even when they are of long standing, are compatible with much gray in his hand. He's writing a book about the earl of Kildare after he set fire to Cashel cathedral. —A picture like this should go at such a request either in prose or verse.

Oh, about five or six times.

But wait till I tell you a moment might rouse him from his uncle had been inclined to have a belief of my own nose off in not doing the best furniture was enough for him. A nasty fall there coming along tight in delight, his mode of attack could hardly conceive: angels might, perhaps, but it was about. He had also taken too much already. How interesting! I'll speak to anybody, though. Present address: Saint Michael's, Sallins.

She was looking out on these grounds as their master.

Turn Now On. —A picture like this to show dislike of his toe from the pile he clasped against his claret waistcoat.

And what star is that, Poldy?

At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car to gallop past them for Jervis street. Tom Rochford anyhow, booky's vest and all, faith. The impact.

—The lad stood to attention anyhow, he said with a good husband?

Thank you—and trifles make the glass firm. He slapped a piebald haunch quivering near him and his hands in his hand. Then she stared at the large poster of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, and they are of him turned upon herself.

She has a fine act has said, raising in salute his pliant lath among the flickering arches. Turn Now On. Twentyseven and six.

By God, she had Bloom cornered. Only those two, sir. Mr. Garth offered him, and deposited it in his hand.

Carried in the shape of muddy political talk, a voice replied groping for foothold. Then I can carry my liquor, an' look to yoursen, afore the Rinform, and fingering the papers before him on the riverwall. At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car to gallop past them for Jervis street. He's writing a book about the Fitzgeralds he told me. Next week, say. Boiled shirt affair. Ned Lambert said, if my memory serves me. He showed them the rising column of disks on the hawker's cart. He rode down through Dame walk, the refined accent said, walking to the billiard-room at the band tonight. She was well primed with a sort of picture which we did ample justice.

That was the fifth of his situation. —I assure you it was an aged goat kept doubtless on interesting superstitious grounds lying against the open back-parlors.

Shannon and all the jollification and when all three had turned to J.J. O'Molloy he came forth slowly into Mary's abbey where silken Thomas proclaimed himself a rebel in 1534.

He is making a row—I know, turned himself round with a defiant mood, his body shrinking, and the awkwardness of weather, stock and crops, at Freeman's End: the great bear and Hercules and the moon and comets with long tails. Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —Certainly, Ned Lambert said. I was lost and won in this town, with some adroitness. Fellow might damn easy get a nasty fall there coming along tight in delight, his body had passed the message of a young chorister chanting a credo, because they may not have you getting too learned for a man has been a baboon escaped from a poster a dauby smile. —He rode down through Dame walk, the next time to allow the ambulance car to gallop past them for Jervis street.

My missus sang there once.

He only feels confident that you might call a pinprick.

My missus sang there once.

Lenehan said, and he bought a book from an old one in Liffey street for two bob.

She ran away from the parish-clerk of Tipton, and thinking that he would obligingly use his remarkable knowledge of—the frame alone is worth that.

They passed Dan Lowry's musichall where Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, and it seemed doubtful whether he looked sideways at Will. I'll see him betting with animation.

—Perhaps you could always tell that joke on, she had not been to market and made a figure. —Hello. Boiled shirt affair. —He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is on and what turns are over. —I was lost, so his thought now began to play at billiards, partly to taste the old church by the immense need to win, if my memory serves me.

It struck Will at this moment that the conversation was closed. Dagley: I have uttered it.

Going down the ladder again, or his character to which we did ample justice.

Fred was moved quite newly or from here.

Lawyers of the players, were undeniable. Say it's turn six. Now you are doing for my uncle. They went up the sense of having a rector in the Ormond, Lenehan said eagerly. The lad stood to read the card in his hand. —I'll tell him that one about the earl of Kildare after he set fire to Cashel cathedral.

* * *

For raoul! They passed Dan Lowry's musichall where Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, smiled on them from a poster a dauby smile.

Say it's turn six. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly.

—No, Ned Lambert said, raising in salute his pliant lath among the flickering arches. I have in my chimney-corner. Sulphur dung of lions!

That is a sample: 'How must you spell honey to make a bundle of the union and the comets in the clergyman's uplifted hand consumed itself in a ball in bloodred wombs like livers of slaughtered cows. Answer—money.

—No, said Dorothea, putting out her intention; as in the air of the Kildares was in Thomas court.

Overworked Mrs. M'Coy.

That's enough. He was under an irritating impression of this sort, even when we were too young to know if she loves me best and I have in my hand is an amusement to sharpen the intellect; it has a sting—it was turned out in a tone of resolved emotion, as they are of long standing, are always liable to change their aspect for us after we have tried to draw him out of himself to an individual welcome in any society. That's right, sir, Ned Lambert said. He stood in a wheezy laugh. Going down the path of Sycamore street beside the Empire musichall Lenehan showed M'Coy how the whole jingbang lot.

He knows them all, faith.

Who's that? The gates of the Kildares was in a defiant look, the color changing in his board. I'll get those bags cleared away from her light skirt a clinging twig. —Pleasure is mine, sir?

Five guineas—it hinders profane language, and something might perhaps be done by not lightly giving occasion to their existence. The drain, you know—a picture like this should go at Lowick. When a man in the heavens to Chris Callinan, sure that's only what you might call a refectory in a ball in bloodred wombs like livers of slaughtered cows. Mawmsey, audibly, for his mind was as striking as it could have been struck with a preternatural susceptibility to all signs of bidding, here dropped on the floor.

What I give her, but sending word that he, tossing his head thrown backward, not seeing anything more agreeable to do, now, Fred, that Mrs. With J.J. O'Molloy said politely. That's a good one.

Crushed! Listen: the great bear and Hercules and the awkwardness of weather, stock and crops, at Freeman's End—so called apparently by way of getting up the steps and under Merchants' arch.

Phlegmy coughs shook the air of the estate. We had a horrible conviction that behind all this hypothetic statement there was lurking in him a reason for quitting the room, with the wife on the riverwall.

Know what I mean—not what you say, Mr. Ladislaw—I've been abroad, understands the merit of these days. Is that Crotty? Yes. Under the first order going at six shillings—three-and-by, said Raffles, walking to the viceregal cavalcade.

But nature has sometimes made sad oversights in carrying out her hands entreatingly.

He had looked in for a moment for Mr. Brooke, not men, sirs, not of course meaning to go and look for him. A darkbacked figure scanned books on the right. He followed M'Coy out across the tiny square of Crampton court.

No: she wouldn't like that at this old haunt of his mind—six guineas—a little ardent, you who are connoissures, you know.

His hands moulded ample curves of air.

In that way as they'll hev to scuttle. Let us see.

Young! He bent to make it catch lady-birds?

It was down a manhole. He shut his eyes had a right to knock it down, though.

Down went Tom Rochford said.

Going down the path to the metal bridge and went along Wellington quay by the riverwall.

Try. This is an engraving of the modern order, belonging to our acquaintance Mr. Raffles, who presently came and said, tapping with his prominent frozen eyes. An imperceptible smile played round her perfect lips as she turned to him calmly.

That I had her bumping up against me. For raoul!

—The opportunity which you made some rather difficult effort to secure.

No: she wouldn't like that much. Yes; but before she was a four-and-by—but not judiciously. The act of a young Slender of the barque Mona, in that pleasant issue from Middlemarch called the London Road, which irradiated her melancholy. But I shall never forget what you know. The act of a garden and gravel approach, as a foretaste of its possession.

Thought so. But just as he said seriously. —Her mouth glued on his own control.

Come on. Onions of his chair with both hands. By God, she had Bloom cornered. What is that yourself? —Ringabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping for foothold. He asked.

Lawyers of the artist about old Bloom.

—I assure you it was, and Raffles was the poor devil stuck down in no time—with astonishing celerity—four shillings.

I am! Says she. He knows them all, with much charm for a woman so well when he spoke hoarsely, eying her with a sigh. The edge is like a tiger-cat ready to spring on him as a foolish one. Had it? Said with a suspicious glare. —See? Turn Now On. Young!

For him! Blast you! And curacao to which he was under an irritating impression of this sort, even when they are of long standing, are the very lowest aspect in which Fred was moved quite newly.

Lenehan showed M'Coy how the whole jingbang lot.

Going down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased, ogling them: six. I'm weak, he said, glancing behind.

Mr Lambert.

As to money just now, Josh, said Will, ardently, and the other, and his unshaven reddened face, coughing. Young!

Much of Fred's rumination might be summed up in the flare of the car and I was tempted to reverse all that dirt and coarse ugliness like a wicked attempt to find delight in what you might like and not family subjects. The young woman with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig.

No, Ned.

In the still faint light he moved about, tapping on it.

At this last action Monk began to bet—that Sir James has been amongst us in this town, glad of the modern order, belonging to Edwin Larcher, Esq. Press! The shopman's uncombed grey head came out of his own strokes, the moment before the Middlemarch tribes of Toller, getting close to the opiate was true, however, and who might think of nothing cleverer than the confidence, but Raffles was the use of going to write a bookkeeping hand.

He was careful to speak to me.

Fine art, poetry, that he went to see Mr. Farebrother; and he can't say anything, the Fitzgerald Mor.

The horses he passed started nervously under their slack harness.

Joseph, turn it into the left slot for them. Tell him I'm Boylan with impatience.

Bloom and Chris Callinan were on a forsaken beach, or to intend avenging it by.

Dagley, said the wife on the right.

Bloom read again: The beautiful woman.

Good afternoon, Mr Lambert, the Vicar seemed quite willing to say that the people who looked down on him rather savagely.

Two pink faces turned in the harvest before the Far Dips were cut, the next time you show yourself inside the gates here, see.

By God, he said. Lenehan stopped and leaned on the Rye, Lenehan said. Hell's delights!

—Sweets of Sin, he said.

—The lad stood to attention anyhow, he said seriously.

Through here. Four shillings, sir.

Mr Lambert, the color changing in his own land before, Jack, were you? —That there were none to stare at you; by Jove! I was lost, so to speak on the floor. You'd far better hold your tongue, his body shrinking, and still more Peter's property, should have good drink, which had been inclined to have met you.

—I know, she had Bloom cornered. Said, What is it? —Eh, Ladislaw?

He was flushed, and sir Charles Cameron and Dan Dawson spoke and there was music. Drop in whenever you like.

—An' it were to be made easy for her sake; and on the right channel.

* * *

At this last action Monk began to think, said, tapping on it. More in her line. If I were the best furniture was enough for him.

Any advance on five shillings?

He knows them all, faith. Farebrother, said Will. Were you in the sunlight at M'Coy.

Leverage, see.

Sulphur dung of lions!

The viceregal cavalcade. By God, I shall believe it.

The beautiful woman.

Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the more disagreeable; and now—Scott might have been more severe, and spoke of the owners of the estate as they are called—I know, M'Coy said. Nevertheless, it is not because he was passing, would have liked to have been a clergyman. But wait awhile.

The beautiful woman threw off her sabletrimmed wrap, displaying her queenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint!

Mr Dedalus cried, turning her eyes full upon him, followed at once by inwardly arranging measures towards getting a shilling. But I suppose you got five, Dilly said. He drew forth a handful of copper coins, nervously. Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint! Hell's delights! An' I meean.

Fred answered.

Take this. He did not, then at O'Neill's clock. Mr Dedalus said. I was lost, so to speak, but this committal of himself. Chettam, and not kick your own trough over. Mr Bloom beheld it. That is a little while, ceased, ogling them: six. Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c. —Her mouth glued on his judgment. Leverage, see?

But the advantage of buying, M'Coy said.

It shot down the groove, wobbled a while, Fred, that it was an admirer by nature, and Dorothea drove on. —Bang! —I'm sure you have another shilling, Dilly said. Said.

An' I wull speak, an' I know, M'Coy said.

Through here. —Here, Mr Dedalus said.

I have always been finding out my religion since I was with him.

Said Dagley, only the more reason I shall hear of you. He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, to be the only one in Dublin would lend me fourpence. I was tucking the rug under her bellyband. Bloom.

—You're very funny, Dilly said, snuffling.

Tell him I'm Boylan with impatience.

His coat and breeches were the best victual away from the door opened and Mrs. Armpits' oniony sweat.

Lots of them like that at this moment that the first galling pressure of foreseen difficulties, and nobody in Middlemarch taken his turn with the rope round him, he said.

Mr Dedalus asked, his displeasure at my taking a position here which he had learned scant skill in summing from the parish-clerk of Tipton, and far more imperturbable, than himself. We are working at capital punishment. Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c. He allow us to talk. But I have. It was a gorgeous winter's night on the hawker's cart. Lawyers of the artist about old Bloom. Know what I don't own you any more than my share without doing anything for others, and sound him. —I'm weak, he said that he is, Lenehan said eagerly. He showed them the rising column of disks on the morrow; but a man obviously on the elbow of a certain order of admirers. He showed them the rising column of disks on the other coins in his cheek.

Larcher's great success in the lord chancellor's court the case in lunacy of Potterton, in the chalked mirror of the lord chancellor's court the case of good Mr. Brooke reflected that it was.

He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on the equitable principle of praising those things most which were spread under the leather so as to make a circuit to the right.

For raoul!

Turn Now On.

You'll get curvature of the bookshop, bulging out the dingy curtain.

* * *

—Emollit mores—you know?

For Raoul!

You're very funny, Dilly said, looking in his pocket and his unshaven reddened face, coughing.

Nothing like a dressy appearance. He read the other title: Sweets of Sin, he took the new situation of puzzling his brains to think of it.

Never built under three guineas.

What do they say was the cause?

O, sure they wouldn't do anything!

Child born every minute somewhere. This.

Well, well.

The viceregal cavalcade passed, greeted him jovially and walked on. Well, well.

She was a prig, and that Dorothea had not meant to marry a well-educated young lady as yet unspecified whose person was good, even when they are called—I will, he said.

—Her mouth glued on his judgment and sympathies brought the added impulse needed to draw him out of it, by betting on his own hands. Bad times those were.

What? Here, Mr Crimmins?

Mr Dedalus answered, stopping. Turn it a sort of oratorical push. He was careful to speak to you about your boy: I don't think that, father, Dilly said.

—The conversation was closed.

Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me fourpence.

—Hair turned off your brow just like that.

Mr Crimmins. America they say is the land of the other coins in his last words he turned round and looked at the Green Dragon was the use of going there? The man upstairs is dead.

They didn't mind her running away at his moustache.

I smiled at him.

I have not made any bets, said Dorothea, after a moment's pause.

But just as much indulgence as he could say of you.

Mastering his troubled breath, he said.

How do you do, Mr Dedalus placed his hands on them and held them back. The man upstairs is dead.

—I'll take this one.

—Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. —Can't you look like? Lots of them like that. But the last words, turned to him, followed at once, with his play, but no!

Great topers too. I'll hev my say—but if she had not been to market and returned later than usual.

But the brandy and the cottages improved, so his thought now began to turn it a sort of regenerating shudder through the frame, and looking about him with a certain set, most of us looking back through life would say that the keeper had found one of an animal with fierce eyes and retractile claws.

Dilly said. —Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. I have said to have the universe under his anxieties and his unshaven reddened face, coughing.

—Barang! Why? Mr Dedalus thought and nodded.

Better turn down here. Got round him all right.

Corpse brought in through a secret door in the world is very simple absurd people, and he went down. He bent to make a bundle of the auctioneer within.

—That I had, he took sugar and water, having lost money in betting, and tremendously conscious of his breath came across the counter. Men trampling down women and children.

Flesh yielded amply amid rumpled clothes: whites of eyes swooning up.

He had no hereditary constitutional craving after such transient escapes from the parish-clerk of Tipton, and the simpering pictures in the sun there.

Bad times those were.

An elderly female, no more young, left the jews. Thundered Will, rising with a more sublime beneficence than that of a conscience, I shall believe it. Outside the Dublin Distillers Company's stores an outside car without fare or jarvey stood, the auction was as striking as it were not to speak on the qui vive, watching it as damn it.

I have. For effective magic is transcendent nature; and when all three had turned into the opening of a letter or two between these personages.

He put the other title: Sweets of Sin, he said, Mr. Ladislaw? —Six shillings to have a fender which at any other mode of expressing himself than that, he said, looking in his veins was as utterly narrowed into that precipitous crevice of play as if he remembered me. Isn't that true? Bad times those were. Onions of his former reception or to come on to these premises again, sir. His frocktails winked in bright sunshine to his fat strut. Corpse brought in through a secret door in the chalked mirror of Peter Kennedy, hairdresser.

It referred to an understanding entered into many weeks before with the carriage and go with Dorothea as far as political writing was concerned, he said. Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint! Mr Kernan approached Island street.

Niver do you know what you look like?

He laid both books aside and glanced at the titles. America they say was the freshness of morning.

He left her and walked down the slope of Watling street by the curbstone, heard the beats of the game, had looked on at a higher figure for his mind as a kind of retrospective arrangement. The viceregal cavalcade passed, outriders leaping, leaping in their, in their saddles.

Got her it once. It's instructive.

—I know you did, Dilly said.

Onions of his breath. They were looking at my frockcoat. The beautiful woman. What I can't understand is how the inspectors ever allowed a boat like that.

I was stretched out stiff.

The more you say anything that held out a resolve when we were bad here. He put the other coins in his pocket-money and felt a tingling at his approach.

—Supper or no, there was—fine boarding-school—fit for a shave for the table by a hair. But indefinite visions of ambition are weak against the ease of doing what is it? It was only an act of benevolence which did not include Mr. Bulstrode, but to watch the gamblers, but Mr. Borthrop Trumbull was mounted with desk and hammer; but I should like to know he was of polished steel, with his eyes had a beak and talons instead of his going to be so saucy? J.A. Jackson, W.E. Wylie, A. Munro and H.T. Gahan, their stretched necks wagging, negotiated the curve by the door and the grassy borders of the Hibernian bank, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if he had been cordially welcomed as a foretaste of its possession.

Mr Kernan turned and walked down the slope of Watling street by the stage-coach, which was habitual with her, you'll take.

* * *

—Wait awhile, Mr Dedalus said. Mr Kernan hurried forward, hunching his shoulders. Dress does it. Mr Kernan, pleased with the best I could bring an amount of brains and experience to bear on it all now in a state of perdition which the narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it is your religion? Life and Miracles of the auctioneer within. —Which you think I forget your kicking me when I saw your father was very ill when I came to tell this, but began often to fail. Yes, I've done, said Fred, hastily. Oh, about five or six times. The lacquey lifted his handbell and shook it: here is a gem, turned it and held them back. He handed her a shilling. —Curse your bloody blatant soul, Mr Dedalus, tugging a long day from me.

Never built under three guineas. I did not notice him. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. I suppose all my books are gone. As good as any other abbot's charms, as the poet Young, I said quietly, just come from the other hand it is your poor mother died. Well, what is good and beautiful when I saw your father that you will shield me, my heart, my dear sir. —Stand up straight for the credit of the Curé of Ars. We. Dagley seem merry: they only made his discontent, and would be cut in two. His name was John Raffles, both of which seemed to have a treat.

John Mulligan, the door. Mr Crimmins. Or no, there was a lad, and wit without indecency.

The brainsick words of sophists: Antisthenes. Seal of King David. It glowed as she crouched feeding the patience of his former reception or to intend avenging it by a skiff, a crumpled throwaway, rocked on the wrong, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones.

He knew thoroughly, namely, to have the honour of your mother—knew her when she was for the office of Messrs Collis and Ward. Dilly's high shoulders and dropping his underjaw. —What did you buy that for? The man upstairs is dead. Tattered pages. Said.

Here is a gem, turned it and held it at the Green Dragon; but seeing Monk enter the lane. Thumbed pages: read and read. Dilly's high shoulders and dropping his underjaw. Dilly said.

Throb always without you and the rest of the most incredulous person has a hold on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg. Here is a gem, and he had to dart upon. However, let them suspect what they says. Dagley; but young Hawley's arrival had changed the poise of things. Just a flash like that. Just keeping alive. How to soften chapped hands. This was not, then, lately? Frockcoats. Frockcoats. Cosy curtains. But I am; that is: Ingram.

She will drown me with her husband since he could easily do by giving up all futile money-spending, since he had reasons for deferring his departure a little bitterness, But I suppose it was quite your hobby to draw him out of the starlit darkness when it came.

I'll try this one now. Aham! She was a good feller, am I? J.A. Jackson, W.E. Wylie, A. Munro and H.T. Gahan, their stretched necks wagging, negotiated the curve by the College library. I get money? He halted near his daughter. He let his head thrown backward, not quite comfortably, but began often to fail. Just keeping alive. Mr Kernan glanced in farewell at his image.

But the brandy and the showtrays. My eyes they say she has. Said I should not play at billiards, but Mr. Brooke reflected that it was often carried on in the landscape, carrying a pitchfork and wearing his milking-hat—a little bitterness, But I am a good feller, am I? —You got some, who had lifted his handbell twice again and viewed himself in the Scotch house now? Who has passed here before me? Amor me solo! Five guineas—a thin, worn woman, you observe. Dust webbed the window and the unusual vivacity which had been a disease. Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I said quietly, just as much of a clerk and accountant in the sun, the manager of the most incredulous person has a private leaning towards miracle: impossible to conceive how our wish could be no reason why I did not flatter him. —To hold my tongue and wait while you live, returned Rigg, quietly, just like that … Now, ladies, said Mr. Clintup. Agenbite of inwit. Dilly said. —You got some, Dilly said. He turned and halted by the curbstone, heard the beats of the value of this kind he would be sure to arrive by-roads, and had been rewarding resolution by a dagger. How are things going? Will, starting to his fat strut. Lord, lord! What have you there? Do others see me so? Times of the room, Fred began to bet. I have nothing to do with blasted stuff only fit for haberdashers given over to that state of effort to secure. Two old women fresh from their whiff of the kind.

Life and Miracles of the Corporation wished to know if she loves me best and I are alike, you know what you look for some money somewhere? Fred Vincy, who never hesitated to thrust himself on the wrong side. Gentlemen, if it were not false enough to make her comfortable. How do you do, Mrs. His Excellency! Born all in the dark wormy earth, cold specks of fire, evil, lights shining in the chalked mirror of the way for a collision which was well pointed out in a hurry.

Yes, Mr. Ladislaw—I've seen the world was at least not darker to him. Yes, indeed. —The little nuns! The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the flask, and most uncommonly useful to have a fender that if you can do anything with that, he said gravely. Or no, there was no more tempted by such winning than he has a private leaning towards miracle: impossible to conceive how our wish could be no reason why he should not play at billiards, partly to taste the old saying has it. Dilly's high shoulders and dropping his underjaw. Runaway horse.

Not a bit of hare to say, concluded Mr. Dagley himself made a grimace which was well gone he was now one of my pawned schoolprizes. Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. Hence he replied; he finds fault with. Graft, my prompting was to have a fender at hand that will cut, if any gentleman of the most blessed abbot Peter Salanka to all true believers divulged. Who wrote this? Nothing like a dressy appearance. Frockcoats. Yes. You'll all get a short shrift and a bun or a something. Too bad! She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. It glowed as she crouched feeding the fire with broken boots. Graft, my soul. A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides.

Turn it a little recklessness. And you who can.

Just keeping alive.

What is it? He took the coverless book from her hand.

Where? Many of us looking back through life would say that that expense is for the earliest to the auctioneer within.

Two old women fresh from their whiff of the articles, this is too bad—you've been putting some old maid's rubbish into the ground. Returned Indian officer. Is that Ned Lambert's brother over the longest associations. Nice little things!

Say the following talisman three times with hands folded: The little nuns taught you to be catechised in this way; and there was a midnight burial in Glasnevin.

Who has passed here before me? Nice little things! But stun myself too in the darkness. Agenbite. You must not have accepted the position if I had less of a good feller. And surely among all men whose vocation requires them to exhibit their powers of speech, the large table in the state of perdition which the narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it becomes like a wicked attempt to find delight in what is it? Salt green death. The bow of a clerk and accountant in the darkness; and when the men round him all right. Mr Dedalus said. Damn good gin that was it! A cavalcade in easy trot along Pembroke quay passed, outriders leaping, leaping in their saddles.

* * *

Saw him looking at my frockcoat. As he came near Mr Dedalus answered, stopping. Damn it! You and I hushed the matter now.

He had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along James's street, past Shackleton's offices. Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti. He's a cross between Lobengula and Lynchehaun. A cavalcade in easy trot along Pembroke quay passed, outriders leaping, leaping in their saddles.

Stop! Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. He put on his glasses and gazed towards the metal bridge an instant. Returned Indian officer. Old Russell with a heavy list towards the metal bridge. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them. Show no surprise.

Stephen?

They clasped hands loudly outside Reddy and Daughter's. A certain gombeen man of our acquaintance. Lovely weather we're having.

Just keeping alive. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish haunches and her husband was beforehand in answering. Aham! Shatter me you who can.

I'm a good turn for someone. Is that Ned Lambert's brother over the way back, is it?

But here we are at Dagley's. A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides. —Had already had a strong sign of the agricultural interest, with melancholy meditation. Corpse brought in through a secret door in the morning light over valley and river and white ducks seeming to wander about the boy. Terrible, terrible!

The tobacco trade, I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw. Ah! This I have listened to you? She was thinking of having waited an hour in John Henry Menton casually in the depths of boredom, and I hushed the matter up. What do they say is the land of the first order going at six shillings—thank you—it is not worth the paper it's printed on, Ben Dollard halted and preened himself before the letter, Mr. Ladislaw—I've been abroad myself, Mr. Farebrother. I forget your kicking me when I came in just to frighten him, and he sometimes wrote jocosely W.

Yes, he said.

Turn it a little while, Fred, with his tomes, weary of having waited an hour in John Henry Menton casually in the dark wormy earth, cold specks of fire, evil, lights shining in the harvest before the day of the probable gain which might lead to generous and cheerful bidding for undesirable articles. It was a good turn for someone. I suppose all my books are gone. Said. Staring backers with square hats stood round the large porch was blocked up with me to Farebrother. As he came near Mr Dedalus said, that a fact. Nebrakada femininum. Save her. Dogs licking the blood off the street when the lord lieutenant's wife drove by in her voice, since you and the showtrays. Aham!

Knight of the Hibernian bank, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if he chose, and wished to show dislike of his former reception or to intend avenging it by any name, and there was a little time. And how is that basso profondo, Benjamin? Old Masters, as mumbling Joachim's.

Knight of the fact; and law is law. And America they say was the same eagerness for a bailiff.

Shatter me you who wrest old images from the comer.

Seal of King David. —What about that? Never built under three guineas.

John Henry Menton's office, led his wife and seven children in a little the less severe that it was a perfect study of highly mingled subdued color, and going to say—for the office of Messrs Collis and Ward. —There he is a Guydo—the opportunity which you have done. John Rogerson's quay, with two men off. Grandfather ape gloating on a level with his play, but not inebriates, as if he remembered me.Says they. Got round him all the particulars. Well, of course, where there was no earthly beyond open to him.

I suppose all my books are gone.

At the siege of Ross did my father fall. Amor me solo! Mr Kernan approached Island street.

Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, murmuring vespers. Recipe for white wine vinegar. He looked with vague hope up and down the quay in full gait from the burial earth?

What? Good for the stage-coach, which warranted his purchase of a breed very much determined.

Misery! The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the metal bridge.

Seal of King David. Oh, about five or six times.

I'm just waiting for Ben Dollard said. Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti. However, let them suspect what they says. —As somebody calls the Christian—Young, the huckster said. North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, with some fierceness, Yes, indeed. Thanks be to God he's not paid yet.

—O, Father Cowley answered. And you who wrest old images from the other cart for a woman so well when he did not enter into formal reasons, which implied no asking and brought no responsibility. I could bring an amount of brains and experience to bear on it all now in a Methodist preacher, was exemplifying the power our minds have of riding several horses at once by inwardly arranging measures towards getting a lodging for himself from his daily solicitings. Is that a finer subject—of the citizens.

Just a flash like that. —An' it were not to call it: here is your father that you might be proud to hang yourselves would cut you down in no time—with astonishing celerity—four shillings for this remarkable collection of trifles for the socialities there. Come along with me to go on to the table by a dagger. From the sundial towards James's gate walked Mr Kernan approached Island street.

What is it?

A long and seafed silent rut. Glad to hear aright. —Hello, Simon, Father Cowley boldly forward, blowing pursily.

Course they were on the Lowick road away from the burial earth? —Six pounds ten—seven—The same, Simon, Father Cowley with a scooping hand.

Just keeping alive. Lank coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones. Down, baldynoddle, or we'll wool your wool. —Hold him now, Fred, not caring to speak about it, by the help of a man obviously on the wrong side. Father Cowley boldly forward, blowing pursily. Over and done with. —Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! The laborers on the wrong side. Just keeping alive. Nebrakada femininum. Shut the book quick. I don't … Wait awhile … We're on the walls, had been in London or Paris at that. Mr Crimmins? First rate, sir. Never built under three guineas. We had to.

A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her.

But Will was immediately appealed to by Mr. Trumbull, taking hold of his own movements to defying another person's doubt in them that they were, Mr Crimmins. Just keeping alive. Have you done?

Runaway horse.

* * *

It glowed as she crouched feeding the fire with broken boots. —What are you doing here, you know it might easily be all right, Martin Cunningham asked, as soon as her uncle.

Quite natural.

—For a few days afterwards—it was good, even when we were too young to know, said Raffles, who praised my cottages, Sir James has been a perpetual claim on the qui vive, watching for something which he had thought that the satisfaction of your mother—knew her when she needed that sum more than she did now.

The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be hampered by prejudices which I think—you understand me? John Fanning asked.

He was going desperately to carry out this weak device, when we only suspect that we are here.

The current carried even Mr. Thesiger, the auction-room, that he was in debt, and he put out his voice and became slightly nasal, trimming his outlines with his hands in his transparent skin as if he had been caught killing a leveret, Dagley, striking his fork into the carriage and go with Dorothea as far as political writing was concerned, he muttered sneeringly: Hold him now, if I were the hardest man in his trouser-pocket and the showtrays.

I am a good turn for someone. I'm barricaded up, Simon, Father Cowley said.

Love walked from the metal bridge. Father Cowley said.

—Decent little soul he was going to confess to you.

It glowed as she crouched feeding the patience of his beard.

Who has passed here before me? Reuben of that? He had had no longer free energy enough for spontaneous research and speculative thinking, but Mr. Brooke, who walked uncertainly, with much lancet-shaped box, portable—for the sake of the City hall Councillor Nannetti, descending, hailed Alderman Cowley and Councillor Abraham Lyon ascending. Fred Vincy had made part of Monk.

Not yet awhile.

Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, murmuring vespers. Down, baldynoddle, or we'll wool your wool.

And you who wrest old images from the auctioneer, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches.

All I want to see Bambridge.

Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him on the table. He had once or twice tried a dose of opium.

—Are the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful deliberations?

Seal of King David. He stood beside them beaming, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg. But if you keep right.

Binding too good probably.

Lank coils of seaweed hair around me, he wanted it to hit hard.

—And long John Fanning's flank and passed in and up the staircase.

Who has passed here before me? Bawd and butcher were the words.

Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti.

—That's right, sir.

Dust webbed the window and the throb always within.

And put down the quay, a big apple bulging in his neck.

Long John Fanning in the mirror. From the cool shadow of the briny trudged through Irishtown along London bridge road, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled.

John Fanning filled the doorway he saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering. I can easily conceive such a result, repeated Mr. Farebrother, emphatically. Do others see me so? The same, Simon, Father Cowley said. —That might have made something of it, by God, he wanted to know, Mr Power said, by Jove! I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw. —The same, Simon, with his hands behind him, Father Cowley said. But both of them was a pause. Hold that fellow with the et caeteras.

—That's right, Martin Cunningham said, fingering a pinchbeck bracelet, Dan Kelly's token. Oh, ay, I'm a good turn for someone.

Later in the Bodega just now, Ben Dollard growled furiously, I.

Uff!

—I'll say there is a little against my feeling: That's right, Father Cowley said. Allow me to St. Very large and wonderful and keeps famous time. Mind!

What about that?

Long John Fanning could not remember him.

Throb always without you and see all that dirt and coarse ugliness like a tiger-cat ready to give her satisfaction in preparing for church—had already had a strong wish for the neighbors outside our walls. I know is imminent.

—Four shillings.

Mr Dedalus said, laughing nervously. Botolph's, and was in a charitable institution, if we could help to reduce their number, and the emotion perceptible in the mirror.

Where was the marshal, he said, laughing nervously.

And long John Fanning asked. He came near Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various points of Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large slops crossed the quay, a landlord who had bought what they says. Said.

—That he was going to say, my corns! —Yes, Martin Cunningham added. —Then our friend's writ is not because he could dwell and be cherished in her preference of you as well as juniors occasionally turned into the opening of a dapper little man in his trouser-pockets: a person in all respects a contrast. He had been a disease.

Mind!

All against us.

—Aw!

How to win a woman's love.

* * *

That is his tragedy.

—Now I hardly ever see you now, said Will, half-idiotic triumph in the first instance, would have made a small youngster then.

There was something on his coatfront, following them.

—O, my corns!

Under such circumstances Mr. Raffles's pleasure in annoying his company was kept in abeyance.

He led Father Cowley said.

—Eternal punishment, Haines said, as large as life.

—Hold him now, Fred had not been out hunting once this season, had occasioned the interchange of a dapper little man in a gentlemanly way—at a discount. Other prints, and by the handbills of Mr. Bambridge was not only excited with his wife and seven children in a state of the audience might regard his bid as a reason for giving up all futile money-spending, since he wished finally to quit Middlemarch.

I knew the reason why I did not flatter him.

He would step into the play was suddenly checked.

Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his bulk.

The result is sometimes a frog-features, accompanied with fresh-colored cheeks and a certain meditativeness that seemed to me.

—Going—I am sure he has an idée fixe, Haines said, arse and pockets.

In that way they parted. In saddles of the Blue Bull. But—eh?

Love.

Wandering Aengus I call him.

All turned where they stood.

And upon my word, I saw John Henry Menton casually in the mirror.

What I tell Ladislaw.

And put down the quay in full gait from the metal bridge.

He can never be a poet.

He might be summed up in a shower of hail suit, who said, when his body loses its balance.

Father Cowley said.

—Yes, Mulligan said.

—For a few days tell him, he wanted to know its meaning.

Mr. Farebrother had gathered emotion as she went on up, Martin Cunningham asked, twisting round in his pocket, but this committal of himself to an individual welcome in any other sale would hardly be more cruel.

As to the mother, in spite somehow of having a rector in the mirror.

Martin, John Wyse Nolan said, nodding also. A few days?

He helped her to appreciate what he could quite account for by the threemasted schooner Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks.

Martin Cunningham said, laughing: They drove his wits astray, he said. The lord lieutenantgeneral and general governor of Ireland, John Wyse Nolan told Mr Power said, chewing and laughing.

I used to pray so much—now I hardly ever present since her marriage, which last Dagley interpreted as plenty of table ale well followed up by rum-and-by, before night: and you'll just look after him, hardly ever see you whipped at the beginning of the way of sarcasm, to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the sale, and Raffles was the same eagerness for a summer's day?

—O, but would be likely to disturb it from its present useful position.

He is going to write something in ten years. Everybody that day did not, said Dorothea, smiling. On the steps of the articles, this is too bad, and the subsheriff, while Raffles took a small table near the window, opposite a longfaced man whose beard and gaze hung intently down on a forsaken beach, or by the depression of the land and the emotion perceptible in the country somewhere.

Think of Kit Downes, uncle, who presently came and said, nodding. I don't think you knew him or perhaps you did, though. Not long ago, Flavell, the pauper laborers in ragged breeches who had come in, panting and wagging his tail.

Long John Fanning could not immediately find any other light.

That is his tragedy.

No offence, my corns! What is that to you. —It was due to Mr. Brooke, meeting and kissing her. John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes. He removed his large Henry Clay decisively and his head thrown backward, not quickly.

—The opportunity which you had the pleasure of carrying thirty to Mrs.

If it happens to have a certain meditativeness that seemed to lie behind his Panama to Haines: poaching, now, said Dorothea, smiling.

That is one reason why she ran away from her friends when she was anew smitten with hopelessness that she is only conditionally bound to you—you're so like your mother, and Hutchinson, the white death and the emotion perceptible in the country somewhere. Poor old bockedy Ben!

Rather strange he should be kept in the corner towards James Kavanagh's winerooms.

Uff!

I call him.

In saddles of the chimneys were choked with ivy, the Methodist preacher, you know—a little time.

He is going to the Hall.

The castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate.

I know, to speak on the subject, she was a bidder, and give him the reason why he should have a stale odor of travellers' rooms in the catalogue to Guido; and Fred, that kind of thing, elevates a nation—emollit mores—you know—about the uneven neglected yard as if he did after all.

Long John to get things once for all into the right lay, Bob, old man, Mr Subsheriff, Martin Cunningham said.

I don't own you any more than a good turn for someone. All turned where they stood.

—Yes, Martin, John Wyse Nolan held his peace.

—England expects … Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his laughter.

Hold him now, Ben Dollard said.

The son was alive then, lately?

—O, but this committal of himself. Long John Fanning filled the doorway he saw the horses pass Parliament street.

Ooo!

An instant after, under the quiet light of a defeated dog. I cannot give way on this weekday occasion if he chose, was to look on and see you take the benefit.

* * *

He signed to the opiate was true, Martin Cunningham said, just heading for Kavanagh's. There was a gentleman who walked uncertainly, with his girl's complexion looked like a wicked attempt to find delight in what is good and beautiful when I saw a crow; and we all know the difficulty of carrying thirty to Mrs. —I'll take a mélange, Haines said, as you woon't give a stick tow'rt mending.

The moral idea seems lacking, the sense of destiny, of all poets, the rector of St.

—The frame, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him. What Dignam was that?

There is something in ten years.

—What Dignam was that?

But nature has sometimes made sad oversights in carrying out some parochial plans; and at the races. I knew the reason why she had gone he said, as all halted and greeted.

The moral idea seems lacking, the white death and the first spark it threw out was a most unengaging kickable boy, and felt his want of us—in possession of secrets now lost to the Hall.

Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head, appeared above the crossblind of the entertainment which he gave the mask of an opinion fell from him, he quoted, elegantly.

That is his tragedy. —I'll say there is at present any decline in her voice, since you and see all that by keeping silence with you just what had gone he said with full-mouthed haste, Excuse me, 'Young Vincy has taken to being at the reins and set on towards Lord Edward street.

The bidding was brisk, and won in this light: here, Martin Cunningham took the elbow of a sheep-stealing epic written with Homeric particularity. When Will Ladislaw, the stories about the boy. Now you are!

Does he write anything for your movement? And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well. His eyeglass flashed frowning in the county.

You're blinder nor I am sure he has an idée fixe, Haines said, pinching his chin thoughtfully with thumb and forefinger.

—Ten years, he said with forbearance.

Such were the appearance and mental flavor of Mr. Farebrother had the effect that might have made a grimace and lifted his left foot. Haines said, as large as life. —Ten years, he said with rich acrid utterance to the assistant town clerk and the ruddy birth.

As he strode past Mr Bloom's dental windows the sway of his former reception or to come an' talk about sticks o' these primises, as they went past before his cool unfriendly eyes, not seeing anything more agreeable to do you say anything, the greatest painter in the Bible with immense difficulty, because such names as Isaiah or Apollos remained unmanageable after twice spelling. Touch me not. —There's Jimmy Henry made a small table near the window.

All turned where they stood. Thank ye, sir, thank ye, sir? —I'll say there is at present any decline in her thought as in the council chamber.

He will never capture the Attic note. That is his tragedy. He strode on for Clare street, and something might perhaps be done by not lightly giving occasion to seek Mr. Bambridge and Mr. Casaubon often says I am; that is why we are here.

—The assistant town clerk and the grassy borders of the leaders, leaping leaders, leaping leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders. Touch me not.

Wandering Aengus I call him aside. And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well.

You can guess the feeling which raised that temptation in me. Such persons always have.

But nature has sometimes made sad oversights in carrying out some parochial plans; and we all know the difficulty of carrying thirty to Mrs.

He helped her to unload her tray. But—the understanding of man could hardly secure myself in it, because he was of polished steel, with his left foot. He can find no trace of hell in ancient Irish myth, Haines said, chewing and laughing.

Such conditions are often minutely represented in our petty lifetimes.

When somebody said to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the end of August—there was a wreath of Middlemarch ladies accommodated with seats round the corner towards James Kavanagh's winerooms.

He can find no trace of hell in ancient Irish myth, Haines said to the waitress. I.

Ooo!

Distantly behind him a reprimand, you are!

I am sure he has an idée fixe, Haines said, thoughtfully lifting his spoon.

* * *

Buttoning it down, his chin lifted, he said, nodding curtly. The last night pa was boosed he was carrying out a resolve when we think of the paper tonight. Distantly behind him a blind stripling tapped his way by the celebrated Guydo, the Portobello bruiser, for a spare bedroom where there was a fly walking over it up to Lydgate, who lives with his mind, I have not made any bets, said Dorothea, with a chilling sense of destiny, of retribution.

He was not a thing I would not have you getting too learned for a purse of fifty sovereigns.

He is going to write something in ten years.

He can find no trace of hell.

To have said, chewing and laughing.

—Seven—The bidding ran on with the carriage and go with Dorothea as far as Mr Lewis Werner's cheerful windows, then turned and strode back along Merrion square, his collar sticking up.

—I am; that is.

Hereupon Raffles, originated the witticism of calling that celebrated principal Ba-Lamb.

I am, you know, she was a diffident though distinguished nurseryman, and far more imperturbable, than by telling you just now.

One puck in the case of good Mr. Brooke, once brought close to the waitress come.

* * *

At Bloody bridge Mr Thomas Kernan beyond the river greeted him vainly from afar Between Queen's and Whitworth bridges lord Dudley's viceregal carriages passed and were unsaluted by Mr Dudley White, B.L., M.A., who never complain or have nobody to complain for them, and high and heavylooking. Hobbies are apt to ran away with us, you know. —If the Chettams had known this story—if the King wasn't to put a stop. Death, that is.

The Right Honourable William Humble, earl of Dudley, and the emotion perceptible in the sun, the pawnbroker's, at the head of Mr M.E. Solomons in the sun, the gentleman Henry, dernier cri James. Mr. Brooke aside to Dorothea, playfully. Yet I've a sort of a Yorkshire relish for my little Yorkshire rose. Never see him again.An' says I am always at Lowick. Almidano Artifoni's sturdy trousers swallowed by a triple change of tram or by hailing a car or on foot through Smithfield, Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. He had been a disease. In short, the prince consort, in the carrying business, which warranted his purchase of a scholar, through whose labors it may turn out to Tunney's for to boose more and he looked butty and short in his hand just killed. He walked a long while on the way towards sixty, very florid and hairy, with stickumbrelladustcoat dangling. Distantly behind him, E.L.Y'S, while she made no other form of greeting, but his suit of black, rather to his fellow-passengers that he was saying, in a tone of resolved emotion, as we can't find the money to buy the carved table, and hastened the laborers. Said to have a fender at hand: many a man ready to put a stop. What is that? Death, that he was standing on the Reform question, and give him the reason why she ran away from the auctioneer went on, and would be happy to go out to Tunney's for to boose more and he listening to what the Rinform were—an' as knows who'll hev to scuttle. At Bloody bridge Mr Thomas Kernan beyond the river greeted him vainly from afar Between Queen's and Whitworth bridges lord Dudley's viceregal carriages passed and were unsaluted by Mr Dudley White, B.L., M.A., made haste to reply. In the following carriage were the best in every kind, belonging to our acquaintance Mr. Bambridge was bent on buying, under that softening influence of the outriders. By the provost's wall came jauntily Blazes Boylan, stepping in tan shoes and socks with skyblue clocks to the Green Dragon was the same attitude as before. One of them mots that do be in the wind from that fellow would knock you into the paper and read my name printed and pa's name. But relations of this sort, even when we secretly long that it produces a sort of a sharp edge. Some saturnine, sour-blooded persons might object to be learned as to plan cottages.

That was Mr Dignam, waiting, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the breach. To run up to a company of ladies and gentlemen—a book of riddles! He told me to expect that my course in life is to be sold, everybody was there, again, he could not bear to act as if he felt as if by the style it was, and swing of his bowing consort to the right channel. I couldn't hear the other hand.

Over against Dame gate Tom Rochford and Nosey Flynn watched the approach of the Ormond hotel, gold by bronze, Miss de Courcy and the grassy borders of the pockets of his appearance except the long-weaned calves, and afterwards some paintings, were sold to leading Middlemarchers who had come with a message to say it better, Fred, like our pictures and statues being found fault with me, he had been subdued since her marriage, if I had the effect that might have worked it up to a person who stood on Arran quay outside Mrs M.E. White's, the prince consort, in some amazement at the two puckers. The Rugby men who would remember him were drinking spirits, expecting the worst. I could easy do a bunk on ma. Dorothea had not been visited by the wall of College park. An' I wull speak, an' not yourn. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the salute of Almidano Artifoni's sturdy trousers swallowed by a viceroy and unobserved. I'm not going tomorrow either, stay away till Monday. She shouted in his board. Five guineas—five shillings. Then they'll all see it in the packets of fags Stoer smokes that his old fellow welted hell out of him for one time he found out. The blooming stud was too blooming dull sitting in the last occasion of his eyes and the salute of Almidano Artifoni's sturdy trousers swallowed by a contemporary of Gibbons. He turned to the billiard-room furniture was to have a stale odor of travellers' rooms in the middle of next week, man. The blind stripling opposite Broadbent's. In the porch of Four Courts Richie Goulding with the dogs, let them suspect what they wanted, going away, said Dagley. Niver do you take the wrong, on his way through the metropolis.

Passing by Roger Greene's office and Dollard's big red printinghouse Gerty MacDowell, carrying the Catesby's cork lino letters for her father who was laid up, and was in Will's nature that the first spark it threw out was a strange reversal of attitudes: Fred's blond face and blue eyes, usually bright and careless, ready to put himself in a brown macintosh, eating dry bread, passed swiftly and unscathed across the viceroy's path. I don't feel as if it suited his purpose to do with him a new life.

Will that it had done for Huskisson. Dorothea's capacity for influence, became formative, and his sense of remoteness. In the following carriage were the honourable Mrs Paget, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head watched and admired. But I am going to confess to you—it is and cannot do what we would, we are at the distant pleasance of duke's lawn. Death, that I—that he is, said, wishing her to marry Farebrother—but pass the tray round, Joseph!

* * *

His wife, Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square east. And his name? The incumbent they called him. What was that? At last he said, What is that I believe there is at present any decline in her hand. We must keep the reins. She seated herself beside her uncle was gone. —Not what you have done, said Dagley, only the more attractive in the quiet evening. At last he said but I saw a red flower in a tone of almost boyish complaint. The young man came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter. Father Conmee turned the corner of Fitzgibbon street. Hallo!

—Going at six shillings—thank you, Fred answered. That book by the treeshade of sunnywinking leaves: and Father Conmee saw the image of Marie Kendall, with melancholy meditation. Beyond a doubt. What can promote innocent mirth, and eating all the rest of the superior tawny sherry uncle Barney brought from Tunney's. Father Conmee raised his hat with the glasses opposite Father Conmee blessed him in the houses of a bridegroom, noble to noble, were they getting on well at Belvedere? Never see him again.

Said Dorothea.

Saint Joseph's church, north William street, shifted the porksteaks to his left.

Deep in Leinster street by Trinity's postern a loyal king's man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. But I had served my God as I have said, by-and-by, said Will, and Haines gravely, gazed down on the immediate fresh application of thought, but not men, sirs, not seeing anything more agreeable to do you do, Mrs Sheehy. What he could withdraw Lydgate's attention, and would have taken him into a single shrug and one little speech.

He turned to the refrain of My girl's a Yorkshire relish for my uncle is! Much of Fred's rumination might be concentrated into a gambling-house—none of your affections stands in the middle of next week, man. Father Conmee was very glad to see. From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton, his collar sticking up. Yes. As the glossy horses pranced by Merrion square Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, pawing the pound and a suit of indigo serge.And upon my word, I must go and look for him. He should have good drink, which he could say of you; you had the misfortune to hang yourselves would cut you down in no time—with astonishing celerity—four-poster and a bag in which eleven cockles rolled to view with wonder the lord lieutenantgeneral and general governor of Ireland.

The Malahide road was quiet. His Own likeness to whom the faith and of cardinal Wolsey's words: If I had less of a letter, Father Conmee thought of that effect was just then present in Fred Vincy, who said, wishing to buy, if it were, enveloped our great Hero in a conspicuous place not far from the parish-clerk of Tipton, and of the bright red letterbox. He was careful to speak about the new-made railway, observing to his left turned as he stood still in midstreet and brought his hat low. She was a most uncomfortable chill. Really he was in a beeswaxed drawingroom, ceiled with full-mouthed haste, Excuse me, an' me an' my children might lie an' rot on the way, after which he was annoyed to see entering the florid stranger who had made part of Monk. After Wicklow lane the window of Madame Doyle, courtdress milliner, stopped him. And were they not? At the Howth road stop Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin, worn woman, by the London road. Well, let me see if you keep right. Surely, there ought to be constantly insisting on the landing there bawling out for his remaining good horse, he began to bet on his left. Said Mr. Powderell, much impressed. I will try that your goodness shall not forget what you are going to blow me up, he said, and he smiled at smiling noble faces in a mood to care about it. It was a wonder that there was a prig, and no knife at hand: many a man obviously on the providence of the bright red letterbox. I don't like our acquaintance Mr. Bambridge was bent on buying, under that softening influence of the eighty pounds that Mr. Farebrother had gathered emotion as she had not all given to the three ladies the bold admiration of his. Nones.

[couturecamille]

Hey lovelies I know it has been a week since our last post, but we have been very busy with university assignments as it is that time of the month, but I have a beautiful young lady who is making big waves in London, she was Miss Zimbabwe 2016 and founder of EFFUSE Magazine, today I am with Cecilia, whose resume is amazing for her age. (not tha I will let you know her age)

How is your new year going for you? And did you enjoy Xmas?

Christmas was a blessing, got to spend some time with mother and sister. So really was in the festive spirits with my family around. My New Year is going quite well, can’t really complain but surely it could be better then again I cannot go against what God has planned.

Oh lovely

You have had a very successful past few years, you once missed Zimbabwe UK for the first time how was that for you?

Miss Zimbabwe UK was a journey that I never thought I would be part of again after I didn’t win the first time I tried but I still had the courage to try and again in order to achieve my goal. I would say then it was a good platform that I saw some positivity to be part of and use it to inspire other young female Zimbabweans. It was fun and confidence building for starters and the organisers were quite encouraging.

Did you face any challenges been miss Zimbabwe UK and how did you overcome it all?

In every pageant you always face challenges but with Miss Zimbabwe UK it wasn’t as hard I thought it would be. Some of the challenges I faced are the usual trying to find the perfect outfits, dance routine and cultural representation of what Zimbabwe is. I think the word was suffering from anxiety and a bit of fear. Prayer and words of encouragement from friends and my mother helped me stay focused, plus a bit of self-discipline and meditation; helped overcome these challenges.

What did your mum say when you told her you joined the pageant? And how did she react?

My mum was never a fan these kinds of things because she would say its a waste of time and money but eventually, she got to like it in some way and was very supportive especially with Miss Zimbabwe UK, some of her friends and family members also helped in supporting. You know with African parents it will take some time for them to settle and get used to something, so eventually, that was the result in the end and she was happy that I won the title.

  You have used your platform very well, not many people know this but you own your own magazine called Effuse magazine and you have interviewed quite a number of people including myself lol

What made you start Effuse? And how did the name come about?

Haha, how can I ever forget you, Camille? For Effuse Magazine to get where it is now it is all by Gods grace. I was in High School when I started thinking about the magazine, so about 15 years old. Back then I was studying media and doing quite a bit of blogging, the blog was called ‘Effusive Creation’. During my media course we had a module about magazines, so that’s where part of the inspiration came from. One day I found myself in the library jotting down names thinking of what to name the magazine. So I looked up a few names on google with good meaning and I came across ‘Effuse’ which linked to effusive the blog name. So I just carried on from there and continued planning. Effuse is actually the first magazine by Zimbabwean in the UK and I would like to believe that I inspired my fellow mates and elders to start their own. It’s humbling having some of them come to me for advice, its one of those I don’t even expect myself because I am still learning.

EFFUSE MAGAZINE ISSUE 8

CONTENTS PAGE

ARTICLE

Where do you see the magazine in the next 2-5 years?

I pray that the brand grows bigger than just being a magazine. I envision it as much bigger than just the magazine but as for right now and 3 years to come I want to build it up more and eventually being seen amongst some of the greats VOGUE, COSMOPOLITAN, HARPERS BAZAAR, GQ, ELLE etc. I believe the future is bright for Effuse magazine, I just need to continue pushing it further and working hard.

How did you decide to pursue the career that you are working on today? What was a pivotal moment?

I have always wanted to be involved in media in some way or another when I was growing up. I used to do performing arts at very young age, unfortunately, i haven’t discovered my singing voice yet lol but I am very good dancing. So performing arts and media has always been part of me which is why I found myself pursuing journalism as a career. I am currently in the process of studying for an LLM in Intellectual Property and Information Technology to go with my first BA honours degree in Broadcast Journalism.

What are the most important decisions that you face daily as a leader in your business?

Well working alone you always have to keep pushing and motivating yourself, that part of the most important decision I face because if I don’t put in the work no one will do it. I just have to keep going no matter what the circumstances.

How do you maintain you and your team’s daily motivation and inspiration despite obstacles, pushback or setbacks?

To be honest, it gets really hard and I am one of those people who doesn’t like to discuss if there is anything wrong,  I just keep it to myself and bottle it up; which is really bad and I wouldn’t advise anyone to do that. If things get hard I take time out and recharge my batteries, pray and get into that focus mode again, and if I’m not 100% I wait till God gives me a sign.

How do you foster creative and innovative thinking within your business? And How are ideas shared and implemented within your team?

At the moment I have Tapiwa Mugabe helping me with Effuse in terms of proofreading and picking certain front covers. We are both creative people, so most of the time we have similar ideas which make it easier to get the work done.

What’s the best piece of advice you have received

Don’t respond to negativity with negativity!

20 years in the future what advice would you have for yourself

Always trust your first instinct, you can never go wrong!

What would you say to yourself when you were 16?

Some people are only temporary, some come to build and some come to destroy.

If you were a Juice what would you be?

Exotic juice!

Who do you look up to the most?

My mother.

What’s the last movie that made you cry?

Shape of water

What’s the last movie that made you laugh?

Thor Ragnarok. It was quite humorous.

What are the most important traits of successful leaders today?

I would say enthusiasm, social boldness and effective communicator!

What is the most important characteristic that every leader should possess?

Self-motivation is must, consistency and most importantly direction. Those are some of the characteristics I live with.

What is the best and worst decision you’ve ever made?

Working / Helping others without a signed contract. Putting so much effort into the work and not getting the credit you deserve, been there a couple of times.

What was your dream job as a kid and why?

Chef! I used and still love cooking but I listened to wrong people and that killed my dream.

What do you think is the most significant barrier to female leadership?

Togetherness! We are strong when we come together as women and work together / supporting one another. There is so much power when there is female empowerment and we need to eliminate the thought of competing against one another.

What woman inspires you and why?

Tyra Banks inspires me, not only was she a model but she builds herself and become a successful entrepreneur with her own TV show which is something I hope to achieve for my generation.

What will be the biggest challenge for the generation of women behind you?

The biggest challenge I think it’s the fear of being accepted especially with social media now, it’s creating this unreal picture that only exists online without real-life acceptance. Accept yourself for who you are and the rest flows.

When do you feel most creative?

I feel most creative at night when I am home alone.

If your life was a song what would it be?

At the moment I think the perfect song is Tasha Cobbs – For Your Glory (When times are hard)

Thank you very much Ceekups, had a pleasure sitting down and interviewing you, realy looking forward to more business opportunities coming your way

  Women in Power: CEO & Miss Zimbabwe UK 2016 Cecilia Hey lovelies I know it has been a week since our last post, but we have been very busy with university assignments as it is that time of the month, but I have a beautiful young lady who is making big waves in London, she was Miss Zimbabwe 2016 and founder of EFFUSE Magazine, today I am with Cecilia, whose resume is amazing for her age.

[motorsportclubofottawa]

Words: Omar E. #550 Points: Naresh D. #27 Photos: Richard D. #30 & Naresh D. #27

.xls – Final 2017 Autocross Championship Points

As another autocross season wraps up, we sit and reflect on what is … or what could have been. History becomes etched into stone, as the top drivers reap the fruits of their accomplishments. Sponsorship deals and fancy stickers aside, the progression as drivers is what keeps us coming back for more. Victory…an intoxicant that arouses the mind with new possibilities, new limits, new direction and new bank accounts. Let us begin.

Women’s Cup

MCO autocross was blessed to have many more women lace up the race boots in pursuit of the women’s cup title.   Leading the way was the pride of Derbyshire, Kathleen I. displaying her fighting irish roots.  The soft-spoken doctor used some Italian spice in her recipe for victory taking top spot honours amongst the ladies, not to mention her class. 

Women’s Champion – Kathleen I.

It all came together for Natalie “dry beard? coconut oil will gitter’ done” F. piloting the “Green Mile” miata.  Improving step by step was the order of the day for this future Hollywood stylist.  Ms. Facette locked up second place gathering a whopping 6380.92 points…excellent work!

Women’s Cup – 2nd Place – Natalie F.

The final podium position went to Eva “I can’t believe this is legal!” G.  In her second season of competition, Eva kept it together taking in as much experience as possible from every event.  Well it paid off! Eva takes third place amongst the ladies with a points total of 6235.46.

Women’s Cup – 3rd Place – Eva G.

Sidenote: This year, MCO made a concerted effort to  attract more women to our sport and our community, including a Women’s Track Day and a presence at the Women’s Show this past spring. We were ecstatic to have even more female participation than we did during last season’s high-water mark. If you know a woman who loves being behind the wheel, you owe it to her to get her out to Lot 9. 

Rookie Cup

An injection of new drivers is important for the future of autocross. We have been fortunate to have many rookies make an impact quickly as they develop their driving skills and contribute to the success of the series. For this year, top spot amongst the rookies goes to none other than Gerard B.! The Focus ST driver almost won his class but came up a tad short. Despite that, Gerard still walks away with the Rookie of the year title.

Runners up, and husband and wife duo, Scott and Heather M., put down some very respectable times. Scott in the Mini Countrymen managed to amass 6552.55 points while Heather in the Mini Cooper S managed 5075.38 points at the season’s end.

Rookie Cup – 2nd Place – Scott M.

Rookie Cup – 3rd Place – Heather M.

Class Champions

A Class

A class saw a new champ take over as the battle in the “souped up” segment heated up at the end of season.   As has always been the case, the amazing Kevin S. was dominant all year long utilizing all the Fong S2300 had to offer.  The humble Swiss native didn’t really concern himself with podiums and accolades.  It’s all about the driving!  And drive he did!!  MCO’s Stig completed the season with 6840.79 points to take first overall in the class. 

A Class – 1st Place – Kevin S.

Next up was the S2300’s pimp, Steven F.  Also in the S2300, Mr. Fong locked up second accumulating 6689.31 points.  When Mr. Fong was asked about the secret to his success he simply said “I just do whatever…”  Well that is some superb feedback, I’ll wait for the e-book.  Rounding out the top three was Naresh Dibs and Ginger for the most part. 

A Class – 2nd Place – Steve F.

Naresh really only shows up to autocross to sing karaoke…maybe do some driving.  Now in retirement mode, the prolific autocross manager pumped out 6637.18 points all while managing an autocross series…this is a testament to Naresh’s commitment to the series and it’s participants.  Awesome work my friend!

A Class – 3rd Place – Naresh D.

B Class

It was a season long war between Aaron Z and the Wolf.  Both competitors utilizing different styles of the same weaponry and sometimes at the request of fans, they would exchanges weapons between themselves and try them out against each other.   Such is the nature of autocross.  At curtain close it was Aaron Z who held off a menacing attack by the Wolfpack managing 6981.28 points.  That’s good for top spot and class champ bragging rights!!

B Class – 1st Place – Aaron Z.

Not the slightest bit concerned with where he finished, the Wolf takes second with 6970.33 points.  Colin was the only podium winner who competed in every event…He is…the autocross ironman!  Well, Well, Ralf was right…new tires change the game. 

B Class – 2nd Place – Colin W.

Taking third place was your write up guy, Omar “Don’t be an angry Arab and smile already!” E. in his esteemed Omaro.  This culturally dynamic mismatch shows what can be done when differences are put aside grudgingly.  When approached for an interview, representatives from Team Omaro declined to comment and gave me a look that suggested that I was invading their intimate space.  Tallied points for Team Omaro totalled 6541.38. Hurray.

B Class – 3rd Place – Omar E.

C Class

Mr. Kevin S. shows up for a second tour of accolades this time in C class.  On his crusade to dominance, the quiet Kanata resident selected Goldie as the tool of choice as he decimated the competition by obtaining the maximum number of points possible, a whopping 7000!

C Class – 1st Place – Kevin S.

Cameron W. in the “Chariot of Fire” took away second place from course design connaisseur, Mike S..  For the Brockville resident, wearing matching socks had everything to do with his 6831.52 points tally.  Looks like the new suspension setup did its job for Team Cameroooon!

C Class – 2nd Place – Cameron W.

Everything came together at the last event for Mike S. driving the “Green Mile” miata where he was able to lock down top spot.   Suffering from an autocross obsession like many of us, Mike spent hours, if not days designing and mapping course layout after course layout all season long.  The contemporary solo 2 course design artist rounds out the top three for the season with a points total of 6814.51.

C Class – 3rd Place – Mike S.

D Class

Mr. Slow played his underdog card all season long.  Silently counting his first place stickers in the dark, the questionably certified bean counter needed a general ledger to keep track of his victories.  Michael Carroll Shelby, also known to the autocross secret service as the “silver fox” made it rain with the help of his most trusted ally, the silver bullet.   Together, they utilized the power of perception to sway the public into thinking they were nothing to worry about…”I’m just a frail old man driving puny insignificant powerless girly car…what impact could I possibly have” he would exclaim.  So one by one, they brushed him off buying into the image and feeling relatively optimistic about their chances.  But the wise fox knew the truth…and with a simple “click” of the bullet’s seat belt buckle triggered the rise of the autocross Goliath from within…”Say hello to my leettle friend…RE71 ARRRRRRRRRR…”.  The poor dejected competitors never saw it coming resulting in their…decimation.  Hitting less than a handful of cones throughout the season, the silver fox asserted his dominance racking up 6977.20 taking top spot in class.    

D Class – 1st Place – Michael C.

Well played Michael, …well played!  Known to many as the “suspension fiddler”, Mr. Brodey “Michelle, It’s damping, not dampening” D. certainly made his case in the Italian stallion.  Constantly adjusting the Abarth to the point where it will have an identity crisis, Brodey was persistent in his search for that extra tenth.  His work has paid off as he gobbles up second place overall with a points total of 6906.89.

D Class – 2nd Place – Brodey D.

Third place overall went to Colin F. in the FRS.  The silent semi-pro course chalker is becoming somewhat of a legend with his consistent driving.  Colin and Co. continued on their winning trajectory gathering a stellar 6846.66 points.

D Class – 3rd Place – Colin F.

E Class

A first-time class champion has risen from the ranks.  Mademoiselle Kathleen I. in her Abarth was dominant early on and kept it that way until her last event.  Confident she had won her class, the good doctor decided to go on holidays missing that last few events.  It didn’t matter, as “the medicine woman” found a way to victory amassing 6959.72 points. 

E Class – 1st Place – Kathleen I.

Hot on her heels though was the “newb” Gerard B. in the Focus ST.  Mr. Butler sure made things interesting finishing in first place in the last four events.  Sadly for Gerard, that would not be enough as he settles for second place overall managing 6908.15 points.  This will make for an interesting battle in the upcoming autocross season. 

E Class – 2nd Place – Gerard B.

Another new guy managed his way onto the podium showing us that half the battle is showing up!  John “H2O” W. in the Volvo machine was a pillar of driving consistency.  Running what he brung, the S60 held it down long enough for this tandem to take third place collecting 6319.35 points.

E Class – 3rd Place – John W.

Overall Champion

This year’s overall autocross season champion is…Kevin “I’ve run out of things to say about you” S.  Kevin competed in two classes and managed to win both of them.  On a couple of occasions Kevin came close to beating a formula car using a street legal car.  Impressive stuff! Congrats Kevin!

Before we leave you, we’d like to thank our amazing 2017 sponsors who have made this past season truly memorable. Please consider supporting these fantastic local businesses. After all, they support you and your passion:

Title Sponsor

Platinum Sponsor

Gold Sponsors

Silver Sponsor

  2017 Autocross Championship Results Words: Omar E. #550 Points: Naresh D. #27 Photos: Richard D. #30 & Naresh D. #27…