#r. carter. appearance — look not with your eyes but with your heart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chanluster · 4 years ago

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non ducor duco | {m}

oneshot | historical! au | gang! au | 15.2k words

“The most notorious gang leader in Victorian London can gouge out the eyes of men, steal from the corrupted rich, and terrify an entire city, but cannot figure out a few complicated feelings with you.”

s u m m a r y >> the leader of the sons of seoul, the wanted criminal mastermind, christopher bang, has the courage to commit any deed save for confronting you, his most trusted accomplice, about his feelings. however, when opportunity arises, in the shape of an invitation to a grand seasonal ball, to take down his fated enemy, he takes you to the heart of a lavish estate, both of you unaware of actions that occur inside, and after the mission.

w a r n i n g s >> gonna be using chris instead of chan cause it’s set in 1860s london, chan is a dom of course, jisung and changbin are dumb and dumber, are also massive cockblockers, some cliché scenes cause i’m a sucker for them, sexual! tension!, gore, foul language, making out, dirty talk, aggressiveness, semi-public fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!), oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, chan has a thing for being called his korean name, whack spelling for ‘cum’ as ‘come’ cause technically that word didn’t exist in 1860s, there is a plot so there will be build up

a / n > > so i went way over the 10k originally planned lmfaoooo but i hope y’all enjoy this oneshot! i worked my ass off on it and hopefully y’all can appreciate gang leader chan in 1860s london cause honestly i’m a 100% whore for that concept

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IT WAS A UNIVERSAL LAW THAT ONE MUST NEVER FUCK WITH CHRISTOPHER BANG. EVER.

Whatever charge you may have against him, it must be withdrawn. Whatever he had done to you — robbed you, murdered your son, destroyed your entire existence — it did not matter. There were always limits, and trying to challenge this specific criminal would only result in your undoing.

It seemed the target, cornered before you and the very man himself, did not fully understand this order.

Chris Bang, in all his midnight suited glory, took a step towards the cowering man, the ends of his longcoat trailing him in the air. His gloved hands locked behind his back, a grave curve of his lips as he addressed his next victim. “Mr. Shaw, we know you have the documents.”

This said Mr Shaw hastily shook his head, raising his hands in immediate surrender. “Please, Mr. Bang,” he whimpered. “I have no inkling of what you speak of!”

“Don’t you dare lie!” You interjected, sliding out your knife, pointing it towards him. “We received reports of you. Don’t you dare forget the monthly checks we’ve sent for its safekeeping!”

“I was taking care of it, Miss!” He backed further, until the wall of his office stopped his escape. “They came to the office though.”

“Who did?!” You demanded, but the way Chris’s hand fisted in irritancy answered your question.

The Mayor had taken their shares. Once again, the tyrant had robbed them off their fortune.

“Mr. Shaw,” the man beside you started. The raw, dark matter in his voice had the owner’s eyes widening in pure fear. “Who was it specifically?”

“A really large man, about seven foot for sure…God, he had cuts all over his face, slight stubble,” he answered, knees slightly shaking. “Please, Mr. Bang, I have a family, children who have not grown—”

“Why is it that whenever man is at his weakest he mentions his loved ones?” A few stray locks escaped from Chris’ raked hair, caressing the ragged scar from his brow down to his cheek. “Why do you think that I’ll suddenly take pity because you have others who will mourn your existence?”

These questions had the man collapsing, leaning completely against the wall for support. You stole a glance at Chris, wondering if he was now capable of extracting the very souls from men. “Do not keep toying with me, Shaw,” he warned, leaning in slightly. “I know you have information.”

A soft, helpless whine escaped from the owner of the building. “Then-they'll kill me,” he mumbled, looking up at the criminal with desperation. It was a shame that never worked on a man with no sympathy.

“I can kill you too,” Chris countered, and in a flash a sleek, pocket knife appeared in his gloved hand, and hovered it right under Shaw’s chin. “So how about you tell me what you know, and I can prolong your imminent end, hmm? Does that seem fair enough?”

You almost felt sorry for the man. “H-his men…” tears formed in his eyes. “His men kept calling him Carter.”

“Brilliant,” you muttered. ‘Scar’ Carter, the Mayor’s link to the crime world, the dirty dealings of London. Carter, the lapdog of the socialites. The most irritating, disgusting son of a bitch you had ever encountered.

“I see.” The knife stayed, caressing the manager’s skin. “Now I know they’re to sell the documents. The bastard is greedy.

“Question is, Shaw, where is the transaction going to take place?”

Dear God, the man looked as if he was about to piss his trousers. “The ball.” He tried to gulp, but felt the curve of the blade. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a masquerade ball in a few days, and Carter already had a client. They’re going to do the dealing there, I swear on my children!”

A harsh scoff emitted from the criminal. “You better hope for the sake of your sons that you aren’t lying.”

“Did you get the invitations?” You asked, eyes darting around the dirtied room, the messy desks and chairs lopsided from your searching.

“Yes, yes!” He pointed to a set of drawers. “There are two in there!”

You walked towards the destination, opening the drawers and sure enough, finding the gold-edged enveloped, addressed to Shaw and his wife. “Are your names inside too?”

“No, just the envelope, but that is not important! I promise!”

You pocketed the invitations inside your coat pocket, joining your leader’s side again. Chris, after a minute of heart-wrenching silence, stood up, freeing Shaw��s neck from the knife, sliding it within his belt.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” His eyes were still upon the man when he said, “Let us return.”

The both of you were ready to leave when you heard Shaw’s sudden protests.

“The Sons of Seoul, everybody!” He declared, almost hysterically. “Coming in, fucking everything up, and leaving as if nothing had ever happened!”

Chris paused in his tracks, a quiet stillness passing over his whole figure.

“What are you going to do now, Mr. Bang?” He hissed, slowly sliding up. “Are you going to infiltrate the biggest ball of the season? Create a bloodbath on the dance floor? It’s what you love to do so ardently, no?”

You heard the harsh spit smack on the office floor. “Stop meddling with the business of the British socialites. Go back to the gutter you crawled out of.” The next words overflowed with hatred. “Go back to where you really came from, you slit-eyed prick.”

Your eyes flashed in shock, swerving around to see the raging expression on Shaw’s beady little face. Fisting your hands, you were ready to knock him out when you felt the man beside you move.

Chris whirled around, eyes promising a horrifying future as he pounced upon the manager.

A yelp was heard as Chris’ fingers dug at the corner of Shaw's eyes, and relished the cries of terror as with a roar of his own, he squeezed with his thumb and forefinger, swelling the balls of vision from their sockets. With a loud pop! the two eyes tore from their origins, gooey residue trailing down his face as Christopher Bang palmed the two organs in his hands.

He observed his victim bellowing in pain as he fell to his knees, hands covering his bloodied sockets. A ghostly smirk accompanied his lips. "Better slit-eyes than none at all."

You had to suppress the severe shivers that threatened to break your stance.

Shaw broke the universal law. His undoing was inevitable.

He flung the eyes upon the owner, and turned on his heel, eerily cool as he walked out of the office, blood and goo still on his black gloves. Not a hair ruffled upon his pretty head.

You spared a look at the victim, crying out in infinite pain, hands on his sockets still. “Do not fuck with Christopher Bang,” was all you said, before following the devil out of the building.

The afternoon London heat hit you as you exited the offices, Chris waiting as he examined the filthy streets surrounding you. People of all classes strolled by, beggars on the street asking for two-pence, children selling newspapers down the corners, and carriages riding away on the wide roads. The man still did not clean his gloves from the mess, and you pointed this out as you arrived at his side.

“It does not bother me,” he waved you off, but you brought out your leather skin.

“Bring your hands out,” you ordered.

Chris scowled. “I said I’m alright,___.” He began walking forwards, towards your humble abode, not far away from your starting point. “Besides, whoever strolls past us, they’ll second guess their evil intentions against us.” You glanced over the strange looking fellows, scattered across the roads. “Shows I am not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “Dirty pig.”

You felt daggers glaring into you. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” you said, turning a corner, already catching sight of the docks. “I expect this behaviour from Jisung. Perhaps even Changbin, but not from you.”

“Enough with this,” the man ordered, irritancy clear in his voice. Grumbling, you walked beside him in silence, the Thames entering your vision. You wished it would have radiated a rich, clear blue body of water, but from the stench which even reached your nose, it would be impossible. The river, a dump for the sewers, the rubbish disposed daily, was a toxic mass of water, and the cause of thousands dying from drinking its contents. When you first joined the Sons you nearly drank from the river, being saved only by Chris’ rough hand slapping the cup away. You remembered you received a harsh scolding from him that day, immediately providing you with clean water after to quench your thirst.

A small smile curved onto your lips at the memory.

“Hand it over.”

You perked your head up to see his filthy, gloved hands out. “What is it?” You asked.

“The water.”An irritated sigh escaped him. “I’ll clean the bloody gloves.”

Your smile grew as you handed him the leather skin. “But only because I don’t ever want to be associated with Jisung and Changbin,” he added, and you only laughed, watching the man rub the mess off his attire as you both arrived at the docks.

The first sounds heard were not of the boats bellowing at port, nor the waves lapping in underneath the stilts.

No, all you were welcomed with was a string of curses, spat by Seo Changbin.

“You fucking bastard, how dare you—”

“Here we go again,” you caught Chris muttering, who quickened his pace, thundering to where the two of his sidemen fought, caught in a scrap.

Han Jisung’s whines were carried through the river air, burning into your eardrums. “Bin, no, I said I’m sorry—!”

When you caught up to Chris, he opened his mouth, exasperation clear in his voice. “Boys!” He exclaimed.

Immediately the fighting ceased. The boys addressed, Changbin atop Jisung, ready to throw the final punch, turned back to see his leader scowling. Jisung let out a yelp, throwing the former from him and scrambling to his feet. Changbin followed suit, a little more slowly after rubbing his side in agony.

“Why the fuck,” Chris started, pointer finger darting between his two men, “Are you both fighting again?”

Changbin, fixing his ruined locks with his hand, shot his best friend a glare. “He took my fucking scones again.” He groaned, much too loud. “God, I specifically stored them in a place where no one would find them, but this greedy pig still managed to snuff them out!”

Jisung, a slender and more comical figure, crossed his arms, raising his chin in stubbornness. “I did not see a bloody name on them! Tell me Bin,” he matched his opponent’s stare. “Did you write down your name with blood-red ink across the scones? Because I certainly did not see the words Seo Changbin scrawled on the surface!”

“Argh!” The elder of the two turned his raging gaze towards the leader, who was watching his subordinates with slight distaste. “Chris, permission to cut off his tongue for being the bane of my existence?!”

Chris only stepped past them, heading for the big wooden table situated near the gang’s warehouse. The sounds of ships sailing in the dirty waters thrummed to the port, shouting heard all around over new, imported goods. “Another time, Changbin,” he only said, bringing out a chair and sitting down, propping an ankle over a knee. “I have encountered enough organ slicing for the day.”

Jisung’s face twisted in awed curiosity, settling himself down beside Chris. “Without me?” he let out a disappointed whine, turning to you. “I trusted you, at least!”

“I was surprised myself, Ji,” you argued, raising a hand towards the aloof man as you sat opposite your friend. “I didn’t know Chris gouged out Shaw’s eyes until they were in his hand!”

“You truly are a selfish man,” Changbin complained, plopping himself on the last seat. “Alway keeping the fun for yourself and ____.”

You did not really know why your face flushed a little at his charge, but you made sure to whack Changbin in the gut, earning a pained groan from the boy.

Chris locked his hands upon the table. “Well, gentlemen, then it is time for you to join in on the entertainment.”

The two boys exchanged confused glances. On cue, you brought out the pair of invitations within your coat pocket, tossing them to the table. “The Mayor’s brother is holding a ball,” you explained, rolling your eyes at the boys tearing open the envelopes, yanking out the oblong, cartridge paper, details inked with a precise hand. “Since it does not have names, anyone can enter the estate.”

Jisung let out an excited yell, grabbing onto Changbin’s arm. “Binnie, we can actually have some fun!”

“Not so fast, boys,” Chris said, tightening his gloves. “The invitations are not yours.”

Changbin’s face immediately fell. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

The elder held out a finger, silencing the complaints, but not the quiet grumbling of his members. “As I was saying,” he continued, hands interlocking once more, “____ and I will use the invitations to get inside, with the two of you as our bodyguards.”

“Marvellous!” Jisung exclaimed, sarcasm practically dripping on his words. “Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic!”

“Jisung,” Chris warned, “How about you clean the shit off the docks instead?”

“Chan,” you murmured, causing him to glance at you. His sour expression almost softened at the word, the name which only few have ever said to him. You pondered at the time the two boys, sat to your right, tried teasing him with this name, and nearly earned an ass-beating. You, on the other hand, rather liked the way the name sounded on your tongue.

Perhaps, you wished dearly, he liked the way it sounded on your tongue too.

The man, after a pause, averted his eyes from you, focusing them on his comrades. “You both can still enjoy the festivities, but you have to keep a low profile, because while ____ and I are socialising and distracting the guests, you both need to find Carter.”

“Is he at the party too?” Changbin propped his elbows on the table. “Lord above, I’ve been wanting to kick his arse for a while.”

“So you both just frivol away, then?” Jisung whined. “I want to drink and dance!”

“And you both will,” Chris persisted. “We all will keep a lookout for Carter and his dealings, and if any of us find him first, you report to me. At my signal, you and Changbin will break through their trade. I will be behind you as long as I slip away without anyone discovering our motives.”

You look to your leader. “There’s another problem.”

The three all turned to you. “If we are to go to the most lavish ball of the season, we certainly need to dress for it.” Suddenly, you sounded like a little girl when you pointed out, “I do not have a gown to wear for the evening.”

An eyebrow raised upon Chan’s face, while Changbin and Jisung snickered, puckering their lips. “Aww, poor little ____ has no lace to woo the rich men!”

You made to slap the pair’s arms and narrowly missed, glaring. “As if you animals have any decent attire to wear for the ball! When was the last time you wore a proper tailcoat?”

That was enough for their teasing to cease, but Changbin was adamant. “Don’t throw me in with Jisung! He doesn't even bother to shower!”

“Oi, you bastard!”

The pair were ready to fight once more when Chris cleared his throat.

“You’re right,____.”

A glance at the man who said it. “I have only seen you in stealth gear and rags, the first time I met you.” He leaned back in his creaking chair. “Perhaps it is time to flower you up a little.”

Jisung and Changbin were about to chuckle once again when you shot them a dirty look.

“I will order evening attire tomorrow,” Chris decided. “They will arrive on the day of the ball, which is adequate enough timing.

“Now,” he declared, standing. “Are we all aware of what we have to do?”

The two boys turned sheepishly to you, who sighed and addressed the leader. “You and I attend the ball with these two fools as our bodyguards—”

“Hey!”

“____!”

“We maintain a believable facade and enjoy ourselves while also looking out for Carter and the documents. Once we find out where he is, Changbin and Jisung take him away, and we slip out of the party unnoticed.”

Chris, after a pause, nodded, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Good girl.”

And just like that, he left the table, your eyes a little wide and heart a little raced.

When Chris retreated into the warehouse, the two boys turned their malicious gazes towards you, smirking much too wide for your liking.

“Do not,” you snapped, cheeks burning deeper, earning a smattering of laughter from the bastards.

“Whatever you say, good girl,” Changbin simpered, Jisung repeating the damned endearment until you hastily stood from your chair.

You rewarded them both with your middle finger before storming back into another warehouse, Chris’ words still engraved in your mind.

Just as Christopher Bang had predicted, the new attire arrived on the day of the ball.

More planning had been explained, more additions to the grand scheme of the evening which was mere hours away. The gang was ready, but you can never be perfectly anticipated for any ideas gone amiss.

You even taught Jisung and Changbin to dance, ranging from the Polka to the Viennese Waltz, which was popular amongst high society in the growing years of Queen Victoria’s reign. They were terrible at the start, both of them always falling on each other, but with hard effort they learned quickly, almost perfecting the art of leading your partner on the ballroom floor.

You had not bothered asking the other if he wished to learn. There was something about him which made you think that he could do anything. Not once had he ever doubted your theory.

It was as if there was nothing in the world he could not know like the back of his gloved hand.

Thoughts like these were what filled you with such awe for him. Such deep-rooted pride that you worked under this man. Those thoughts did, however, curve into darker corners — when his midnight-lined eyes and raven figure haunted you in restless nights.

You aggressively shook your head, swinging your legs over the dock. Sitting upon the wood, you watched the sun descend slowly, the stark yellows and whites of the sky beginning to darken. Ships docked and stayed, men with their filthy language and filthier intentions flocked outside, and strange women with too-tight corsets and lips too rosey, smirking at the newcomers, carrying out their own ways of living.

Sometimes, you’d watch this run-down life move on in this exact same spot, thanking the lucky stars for not being one of the boys with the weights on their backs, nor the girls with the untied top corsets. You thanked the same man, who brought you out of that hell, giving you the chance to fight all this wrong embedded in London.

You also thanked him, especially that day, for calling you that endearment.

God. The man was a criminal, yet you were the one being imprisoned.

“____!”

You turned, heaving to your feet when you see Jisung running to you, packages in his hands. “Your gown’s inside!” He exclaimed, gummy smile lighting up his entire face.

Throwing you the box, you caught it just before it flew into the Thames, shooting the boy a wary glare. “Careful,” you said, looking over the silk ribbon tied into a perfect bow upon the middle. Although there were greater happinesses in life, small ones such as new dresses had you in near giggles.

“I’ve got my very own tailcoat now,” Jisung yelled, ripping open the packaging, about to whip out his new clothing when you waved him to stop.

“Do it inside, Ji, or you’ll ruin your outfit!”

“Trust him to fuck up a perfectly new suit before trying it on,” Changbin’s voice drawled through the dock, who held a box of his own. “Also, the boss is saying to quit dallying and start dressing!”

You obliged, holding onto your box tenderly as you entered a little building beside the main warehouse, consisting of everyone’s rooms and privies. Your eyes glanced to Chris’ bedroom door before pushing open the door to yours, stepping inside to the small, yet decorated space, filled with a board of knives and bows displayed upon one wall and an erratic strokes of paint brushed along the textured surfaces, courtesy of Jisung and Changbin’s lack of motivation to finish your room. An undone bed was tucked into the corner, and a large mirror stood on its curled railing in the other corner, revealing yourself, hands underneath the package.

The sun fell further, sky being painted with dark oranges and purple and pinks, staining your bedroom the colours of soft autumn as you put your package on the bed, untying the ribbon and unboxing the whole treat.

The first glance of the dress had you smiling in pure incitement.

You brought the dress out of its box, letting it trail free right down to your toes, holding it to arm’s length to examine the details : it was a mysterious, dark red, a colour which instantly attracted attention within the golds of the ballroom. The neck line was low, dipping just enough to tempt until it swelled over for the openings for the arms, black ruffles on the fabric to accentuate off shoulders. The intricate, midnight detail was stitched to perfection, creating a network of swirls upon the bodice before flaring out into the wider skirts. Dear God, you had never seen such an exquisite dress on any noble lady in this damned city.

Your smile grew a little wider. Christopher Bang, once again, has not disappointed.

You turned it on it’s back, mouth parting in surprise at the silk lacing, undone and trailing down the dress, waiting to be tied and admired. Realising that we’re you to wear this, the entire ball would see your back half-exposed. Even the man you’re to be escorted with.

The thought alone made your insides sing.

Chris had ordered this dress. He knew what he was acquiring for you, what he asked you to dare.

Well, you were happy to oblige. Something within you wished to see his eyes blaze at you in the gown.

Closing the curtains of your room, you quickly lit up a metallic lamp, orange light leaking onto your dresser and walls. Setting the source upon a stool, you began shedding your coat, tossing it on the bed before going to the dresser.

You spent about ten minutes on your hair, lifting locks upward and curling them into a messy bun. You brought out clips of pearls, attaching them at the back of your hair, letting the few stray curls bounce along your ears and neck.

After finishing your hair you began shedding your clothing, excitement rushing in your gut at the thought of wearing the ballgown. When you were adorned in nothing but your underthings, you grabbed onto the arms of the new dress, entering one leg into the opening before sliding the other. You raised the gown, fitting the bodice upon yourself and the short sleeves cuffing just under your shoulders.

Looking over your shoulder at the back, it was bare before the mirror, saving your rear only with a small dip which was edged with more black lace. The laces for tightening the back still hung uselessly, begging to be entangled with their partners.

And you tried to oblige. You truly did, straining your hands behind your back and trying your hardest to tie the laces with the opposites, of creating a pattern adequate enough for the ball and announce your preparation. Unfortunately for you, your fingers refused to assist you that moment in the evening.

Letting out an irritated sigh, you called for your friends.

“Jisung!” you shouted, hands endeavouring still. “Changbin!”

Your back still to the door, you waited for the two fools to arrive, but no one came. Again, you called their names, but to no avail, only silence answering you.

“I swear to the Lord,” you muttered, arms now starting to hurt from the stretching. You were about to bring the warehouse down with your roar when you heard the door quietly creak open, the sound of boots emitting against the floor.

“Ah, finally,” you began as you turned around, hands clutching the bodice of the dress, ready to be irritated by your comrades when all words abandoned your tongue.

There, standing by the door, in all his midnight-tainted glory, was Chris Bang.

You hated how your eyes widened at the sight of him.

The man always took care of his appearance, but that evening he had truly outdone himself - His infamous woollen longcoat was hung over his arm, exposing his black tailcoat, shining slightly in the flickering lamp light. His waistcoat underneath fit snug, and his white cravat tie peaked just above the lapels, caressing his Adam’s apple. His raven locks were slicked back, a few stray flyaways drooping over his forehead. The gloves were worn still, skin never exposed.

You caught his eyes flicker, something within stirring at seeing you, holding onto your dress in case it fell to the floor. The prolonging silence was shattered when you forced yourself to speak.

“Chris,” you said, because his name was the first thing, the only thing you could comprehend.

He, too, inhaled, slowly. “Jisung and Changbin...they’re outside, so they could not hear.”

“Oh.”

Another round of silence. God, you wished you could just say something to him, anything which wasn’t a single syllable—

“____.”

You snapped into focus. “Yes?”

“Why did you call them?”

Blinking, you stumbled, “I, I just needed help with…” your hand gestured to your back. “...with the laces.”

There was an indecipherable undertone in his next words. “You could have called me.”

“You’re here now.”

Again. The world-heavy pause upon the both of you.

A few more seconds ticked by when Chris set his coat upon the dresser chair. His eyes never left yours.

“Turn around.”

You dragged your gaze away from his as you complied, baring your back before him, laces dangling. His footsteps sounded from behind you, and his presence was felt, large and magnetic.

Leather sliding from skin, you sensed his eyes on you, taking in your illuminated skin. You had the greatest urge to shiver, but suppressed it, waiting for his next move.

A small breath hitched in your throat when Chris grabbed onto the first pair of laces and tugged them back, pulling you to him.

Almost too conveniently, your rear backed against his crotch, and a minute noise escaped you before putting some distance between you two again. You instantly regretted the action, already missing the mere caress of what lay underneath his trousers.

“Stop fidgeting,____,” he ordered, and you immediately stilled, the tug still adamant at your back. Almost disgraceful how quickly you listened to him.

Slowly, he tied the first bow, right to the small of your back. When he started on the second, though, the first touch of his fingers against your back threw you off guard.

You should have expected this. You should have known from the start of his task that his fingers would graze your skin but each caress was like a lick of fire, threatening to singe the skin. Your breath caught in your throat, each time Chris touched you.

Those damned fingers skirted upwards, tying up the laces with such delicacy it nearly softened your stance, if only you didn’t notice his growing warmth. You realised with no small amount of pleasure that he, too, was possibly flustered.

Christopher Bang. Flustered over a girl.

You almost gasped when his hands brought a few stray curls over your shoulder, the dip of your neck exposed as he began the final bow of your gown. The process was excruciatingly slow, each little caress enough for you to turn around and—

And what?

How you desperately wanted to find out.

Sensing the ribbon curling upon your neck, you understood.

“It is done,” he whispered, and you shifted at the sigh which kissed your skin. God, he was so close, you were scared that if you turned around his lips—

You did not need to worry when you felt strong hands grip your shoulders, whirling you around in a sudden fashion. Your eyes widened at the close proximity of his face, his beautiful fucking face, and the warm, slender hands on your naked shoulders.

“Chan,” you let yourself say, and you swore the criminal’s eyes darkened. His grip on you tightened.

Perhaps he would have closed the distance, saved you from desperation when someone knocked on the goddamn door.

“___?!”

“Hurry up, the carriage is waiting!”

“Women, honestly—!”

You yelped at the sound of your friends bellowing behind the door. Even Chris looked a little surprised, a slight tick in his jaw as the noise grew louder.

Grabbing onto your skirts, you thundered towards the door, furrowing your brows as you twisted the knob, opening to see the same two idiots, shooting you irritated glares.

“Is Miss Fancy-Shmancy finally ready?” Changbin drawled, propping a hand upon his hip, tails of his coat dangling behind him.

“Madame certainly took her time,” Jisung went on, sauntering into your bedroom without a care. “Might as well not attend the ball at all—”

His incessant rambling was instantly ceased when he saw Chris standing before you, putting on his gloves. His face was impassive as ever, save for the jaw still tightened.

“Oh, Chris,” he said, and started backing away to the door. “The carriage is outside.”

“Let us go, then,” he only replied as he grabbed his longcoat, strolling out of your bedroom, leaving your skin tingling and heart confused.

Changbin watched Chris exit the building, turning to you with a raised brow. “What was the Mr. Thorns-up-his-arse doing in your room?”

You scoffed at the nickname, picking up the invitations from the dresser. “He was just helping me.”

Jisung’s lips curved into a smirk. “Helping you…?”

“Stop it!” You demanded, but both of the boys could see the blush on your cheeks, even from the dim lamp light.

“Come on, now,____,” Changbin said, holding out an arm, and hitting Jisung’s arm to do the same. “Let us follow Chris before he shouts at us for keeping you here.”

“Don’t say such things,” you cooed, looping your arms with the two boys. “He will kill you outright instead.”

Laughter emitted from the two, leading you out of the room, down the halls and soon the building.

The carriage was waiting at the entrance of the dock, horses neighing softly at your arrival. Jisung opened the carriage door, letting you climb inside. Chris, inside already, held out a hand, you taking it as he had you sit beside him. His hard figure brushed against your shoulders, reminding you of his fingers on your back not too long ago.

Just like that, you slumped against the seating. That man was truly going to be the death of you.

When the two boys scrambled inside, Chris’ hand thudded against the roof, indicating it to start riding. The carriage obliged to his command.

The small, interwoven streets widened as the carriage rode upon the main roads, going faster with each signal of Chris’ hand. The inside was alive with Jisung gloating shamelessly over his checkered waistcoat, with Changbin giving reassurances for his “ugly face ruining the clothing.” You laughed at every jab the two threw at each other, but would tense at the erratic touches Chris’ knee would send with every shake of the vehicle. Although the many layers of skirts cushioned these brushes, the blood rushing to your cheeks was evidence enough - everything he did made you so unhinged.

Soon, the big roads led from filthy, back-to-back housing to larger homes, the further the dirty central city strayed from you. A few touches of countryside teased your view when you saw mansions, estates the size of neighbourhoods gracing the surroundings. The carriage began to slow down, as more people adorned in fine attire entered your window view, no doubt going to the same destination as the gang.

The most illuminated estate welcomed you as the carriage stopped right before its vast, colourful gardens, smattering of couples taking intimate walks along the hedges. Chris, noticing the destination, opened the door, Changbin following suit. As the former got out he held out his hand to you. Surprised by his sudden manners, you took his hand, stepping down from the carriage, careful of your skirts as they brushed against the pavement. Jisung and Changbin were right beside you, uttering the driver to come back within a couple of hours.

“Now,” Chris began, bringing your hand to his arm. “You both stay behind me and ____. You wouldn’t need invitations if you both act like our bodyguards.”

“Right behind you, boss,” Jisung chanted, counting his knives inside his coat pockets. Changbin took one of the weapons from him, sliding it up his trouser sleeve, securing it with a leather ankle strap.

“Right.” the gang all looked at each other, silent understanding passing between all of you.

“Let’s ruffle some rich feathers.”

With your hand still on his arm, the leader of the Sons of Seoul led his gang inside of the massive estate.

Guards at the entrance shot you grave looks as they stopped you. “Invitations,” they said. You obliged, bringing out the golden paper. They looked over, convinced, and gave them back to you.

You and Chris were about to enter when Jisung and Changbin were stopped behind you. “Protection,” Chris said, but the guards were unconvinced.

“They need invitations too,” was their answer.

Dread, slight yet present, began to fill your stomach. Has the mission failed before it could even begin?

“I suggest you let them in, too,” Chris only said, black eyes piercing the two men with a glare. “Or my friend hosting this party will hear of this inconvenience.”

That seemed to stir the guards, for they said nothing more, letting your friends enter the estate. Jisung and Changbin made sure to smirk at the men before sauntering inside behind you.

Your eyes, upon stepping inside the main hall, were welcomed with paradise.

Gold. gold upon gold was painted, lined, moulded everywhere, upon the walls, on the floor, on the painted ceiling, hypnotising you with its kaleidoscopic pattern. Swirls of white and silver journeyed along the walls, and the floor bore solid treasures, sculpted into the ground and shining exquisitely from the chandelier lighting. Hundreds of lords and ladies, businessmen and escorts populated the manor, either being moved by the orchestral band, dancing, helping themselves to food from the lines of dishes or simply mingling among others.

It was the chaos of the rich. A place you didn’t quite fit in.

You stole a glance at the man beside you. Even though he looked contained as ever, you felt his arm tightening all over. Perhaps he knew he did not belong in this world either.

The grim understanding was cut off when Changbin’s shrill gulp sounded from behind you.

“Scones!”

The man immediately dashed towards the food section, earning blatant laughter from his friends as Jisung stepped beside Chris. “Once he’s done stuffing himself, we’ll get into positions.” He skirted his eyes over the buzzing crowd. “I have already spotted some of Carter’s men in different corners of the hall, so we can see where they’re going to go.”

“Any signs of Carter?” you asked, already feeling suggestive eyes on your body, the dark red curves of your figure.

“He’ll show himself soon,” Chris promised, beginning to take a step forward. “The bastard thrives in attention.” He turned to Jisung. “Make yourself scarce.”

He then saw Changbin making himself much too comfortable with the jam scones rapidly declining in his wake. “And for God’s sake, control Changbin.”

Jisung shook his head, mocking a salute before strolling to his friend. You and him were left to your own activities, and soon you felt the tug of his body, leading you further into the hall.

You looked up to see him scouring the room. His brows furrowed slightly, that stiffness felt underneath your fingertips. “Chris,” you called to him, and were answered with an uncertain stare.

“I’m alright,” he said, walking along the lines of the dance floor, looking away when he gave you the false assurance.

You did not know what was going on. In other missions his composure would never falter — this was what he was so notorious for, being calm despite the anarchy around him. Never before had you seen him so tense.

“Stop it.”

You blinked back into reality. “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he hissed, raking his hand through his hair. “Looking at me that way. Like I’m about to snap.”

A pout formed on your lips, looking up at him underneath your lashes. “I can sense you’re distressed.” You squeezed his arm in comfort. “I cannot help if I worry for you, Chris.”

With small surprise, you found him soften, only slightly. “I just…” he sighed in exasperation. “I hate parties.”

You understood the connotations. Wealthy parties. The men and women who throw them.

“And I, too,” you agreed, earning a soft snort from the man. Your heart warmed a little at the sound, and thankfully the tension faded between the two of you, not necessarily from each other but from the socialites around you.

Your heart, however, received no such rest, beating much too loud for your liking.

The two of you took another turn of the room before a low, arrogant drawl paused you both in your tracks.

“Mr Christopher Bang.”

You and your leader both sighed simultaneously.

Turning, you tilted your head upwards to none other than ‘Scar’ Carter, smirking ridiculously down at the the two of you. He was something out of a children’s book, the grotesque villains with wanned skin and beady looks, ready to pounce and make you disappear without you ever realising. Although young, he looked to be in his mid-forties, unkept locks and curled moustache, being played by his fingers.

He held out his other hand, extending the smile to the man beside you. “Always a goddamned blessing to see you.”

Chris assessed his hand for a moment before he let go of your grip on his arm, slipping off his gloves. His own olive coloured hands were roughened, no doubt from years of manual labour. He took Carter’s hand, shaking the greeting in place, and the latter turned his enemy’s hold, looking over at the new image inked upon the hand.

“What is this, Chrissy?” He mused, the nickname causing the said-man’s lips to twitch. “Some flowery poetry?”

Your eyes strayed to what he meant; just under his thumb, where the joint began, was a tattoo, inked deeply in a cursive hand. It was a phrase you had never knew the meaning of, nor had you asked, but the Latin was beautiful on his textured skin.

NON DUCOR DUCO.

“Not poetry, Carter,” he only said, tracing his sole tattoo with a finger. “But something I live by.”

Despite Carter towering over the man, Chris Bang pinned him with a piercing glare. His signature phantom smile appeared on his lips.

“I am not led. I lead.”

The giant’s shit-eating grin faltered. You could not help but let a small chuckle escape at his reaction.

And maybe you shouldn’t have shown amusement, because when he focused his animalistic gaze upon you, you had the sudden urge to hold onto the man beside you again.

“Ah, Miss ____,” he jeered, mocking a deep bow which you did not return. “Chris’ little...protégée.”

He then held out his hand to you, and you knew it was not to shake the gnarled fingers. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with you?”

You scoffed, anger bubbling within your veins. How dare he even ask you, after all the trouble he had caused for the gang? Smirking as if it was all a little game.

Your mouth parted, ready to reject him outright when a warm hand settled on your back.

Chris’ fingers stroked the exposed skin, skirting over the lacing, and despite the heavenly feeling, you knew what this signal really meant.

Distraction. This would be the perfect opportunity to divert Carter’s attention while Chris joined in the other’s search. Listening to the instrumental, you realised that would spare them another five minutes.

Reigning in your fury, you offered the bastard a thin-lipped smile before taking his hand, already missing the mere touch of another seconds before.

Carter led you to the dance floor among the other dancers, you hardly radiating the same enthusiasm as the others accompanying you. The man’s other hand, one still holding yours, snaked around your waist, and you hated how it felt against your back, pure distaste staining your features as he tried to impersonate the idle lace curling that Chris did.

As if it physically hurt, you propped a hand upon his shoulder, and when the music began, the game started.

The giant kept ogling at you as the sly grin appeared on his lips. “I must say, I am very envious of Chris.”

You matched his stare. “Of course you would,” you only said, trying your best to sound like your leader, who was an embodiment of calmness. “You can never be the man Chris is.”

“Oh, I did not mean by what he is, my lady,” he corrected. “I meant by what he has.”

He pulled you to him, much to close, and you hissed as the fingers behind you played on your back. “He is much too lucky to possess a creature like you, Miss ____.”

Good God. If he endeavoured to make you as uncomfortable as possible, then he was doing a splendid job. You regretted ever listening to Chris, but for the plan, you will do what is necessary.

As if on cue, you felt dark, piercing eyes on you. By the little hairs which stood at the back of your neck, there was no doubt who watched over you, murmuring progress with Jisung as he sipped wine on a tightly held flute.

“Tell me, sweet,” he began once more, making you lose your thoughts, turning about the room as the music went on. “Why do you work for a man like him?”

You sighed at the question. Truly this man did not know how to initiate small talk. “Why is that any of your concern?”

“Because I’ve seen you in action,” he answered, and you could not mistake the awe that threatened to expose in his voice. “You have incredible potential, my lady, and it pains me that Chris does not use you properly. You waste your efforts in a silly gang.”

His condescending speech made you dig his nails in his hand. “Careful, Carter,” you seethed, watching his face crumple in pain from your action. “The silly gang you speak of will not hesitate to obliterate your entire organisation. And neither will I.”

Rage flashed in his eyes as he grinned at your claim. “I doubt the esteemed Christopher Bang would even let you participate,” he drawled, grazing his fingers against your back. “You being his whore is enough for him.”

You parted your mouth in slight shock. The reaction quickly evaporated with pure, unadulterated fury. A lot of people speculate your true relationship with Chris, but your own demeaning always struck deep. How dare people think that you only have the power you have because you slept with the greatest criminal in the city?

With your head raging, you sent your low heel down upon Carter’s boot, a yelp escaping the man as his dancing faltered, grip on you loosening. Fortunately for you, the orchestra smoothed their music to a close, and small applause rang around the room, you joining as you smiled at Carter’s slight groaning.

When the giant looked at you again, all his arrogance was gone, instead a face of wrath. “You bitch-”

You were sure he was going to strike, despite hundreds in the ballroom. Even your smug demeanour dampened when you saw his bear-like hand raise when its journey was paused.

Ceased completely as Chris’ hand wrapped around Carter’s wrists.

Your leader’s smile was sharp, like a decorated dagger. “Are you already creating a scene, just when you finished the first dance?”

Carter, dumbfounded by his enemy’s sudden presence, waved off the foreign grip on his hand. “You are never going to find the documents,” he crowed, glaring at the two of you.

Chris, the magnificent bastard, only kept his magnetic smirk as he took your hand, enveloping his fingers with yours. “We shall see about that,” he promised, and dipped his head in adieu, turning on his heel and taking you with him.

You felt your heart flutter when his grip on you stayed, even when Carter stomped off into the crowd. “Bastard,” you hissed. A hum of agreement followed.

Soon, music began to play a sensual tune, and you looked to the couples joining in the main circle of the floor. You made to leave that area when you felt the man refused to be led.

You looked back, noticing an uncertain emotion swirling in his eyes. “The dance is about to begin.”

“So?” he merely said, hands still clasping yours. The people around you began to take positions.

“Chris,” you got out. “You do not dance.”

A small smile enveloped his mouth at the claim. He answered in wrapping a hand around you, making you suck in a breath. You caught sight of the tattoo inked on his skin as he raised his hold on. NON DUCOR DUCO.

I am not led. I lead.

“You’re right,” he admitted. As the first tune of the violin settled in the ballroom, the man took a step. “But I let it slide on special occasions.”

You did not reply, only staring at him as you happily let him turn you about the dance floor.

Your assumptions were correct - Chris Bang was a wonderful dancer. The man already possessed a natural smoothness in his usual movement, but the way he led you across the room gave fluidity another meaning entirely. His hand on your back was an anchor to reality, keeping you from dreaming away in the skies above, and his fingers, interlocked with yours, were a silent promise that he was never letting you go.

You were so caught up in your fantasies that you did not hear what Chris said until he called your name.

“____.”

You perked up, raising your brows. “Yes?

“Did Carter say anything to you?” His fingers on your exposed skin began to caress you, and it took a lot within you to stay calm. “You were seething while you both danced.”

Oh, so he was watching you. The information didn’t help your nerves. “He was being his usual, charming self,” you drawled, careful of your feet.

He paused a bit at your unhelpful answer. “I see,” he got out, index curling with the ribbon of your back. You let out a shuddered breath, not going unnoticed by the man.

You changed the subject, focusing on the mission. “Are Jisung and Changbin still searching for the documents?”

Chris, on the note, twirled you delicately, and brought you back into his arms. “They have discovered the hideout, and have taken down half the men,” he informed, and you sighed in relief. “They’ll find what we’re looking for soon.”

“I hope so, too,” you murmured, listening to the music ascend in its pitch.

So much finery radiated in this room. As your eyes drifted to the surroundings once more, you became slightly envious of the family fortunate enough to reside in this estate, and drink in the liquid gold splattered everywhere in the vast hall. Complaints were heard from a rather nasty woman, who screamed at a young servant for spilling wine on her oh so expensive dress, and the jewellery which glittered upon necks and ears.

This. you hated this. Despised the wealth which accumulated in this ball, this entire neighbourhood. Not months ago you were about to die from the lack of food in your stomach. No doubt these people simply relished another one of these many balls, occurring every season.

It was the only reason the Sons of Seoul existed in the first place. To battle the ranks of the rich, and establish a sense of justice which had long faded from London.

Perhaps Chris sensed your growing disgust at the environment, for he sighed. “I hate these people.”

You nearly smiled at how similar you both think.

His touches still had you nearing closer to him as he continued, “I hate how everyone here can simply enjoy themselves without a care in the world. I hate the Mayor for letting this chaos happen as he sits back on his arse, corruption spiking under his office.”

His anger grew. “I hate that pig-headed prick Carter and all the trouble he’s brought me. I hate that he stole those documents and constantly fucks with me as if we two had not crawled out of the same hellhole.

“And God,” he snapped, pure venom now lacing his tongue, “I hate how he was touching you as if you were no one but his.”

Your eyes widened at the confession.

He groaned out in frustration, fingers tightening on your hand. “I hate how Jisung and Changbin walked in on us this evening. Despise that the moment I was about to close the distance they burst through the door, leaving me helpless. And I hate feeling helpless.”

You did not know what to say, what words to comfort him with. Not when you were thinking the exact same thing, and felt the exact same agitation, particularly at your core.

The man leaned in, eyes heavy lidded. “You know what I hate the most, ____?”

Gulping, you let out a little, “What?” afraid of what he was going to reveal.

His tongue ran along his bottom lip, fingers continuing their teasing.

“I-” he seethed, gripping your back tightly. “Fuck, I hate how ravishing you look in that dress.”

You parted your mouth in shock, blushing the colour of roses. “Why do you hate that?” you only asked, breath almost lost in your lungs as your blood began to thrum beneath your skin.

His eyes lost all dreamy light when a small curve enveloped his lips. “Because, my dear ____,” he muttered hoarsely, each breath ragged, “It makes me think of all the things I want to do to you.”

The strong hand on his back was felt much more, fingers playing with the laces of your dress. You nearly cried out in front of a hundred people over their idle play, and his bold, bold statement.

Chris relished in your whimpering reaction. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” he whispered, leaning in till his mouth hovered near your ear. “Do you not want to know what I wish to do to you?”

“What,” you rasped out, grip tightening over his neck. “What are you going to do?”

His husky chuckling nearly sent you over the edge. “I’ll find a nice little space, away from Carter and all these people,” he began, breath caressing your skin. “Then I’ll kiss you slowly, like so.” he pressed a chaste kiss underneath your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “These hands of mine will roam all over, but they will gladly trail up your legs, ____.

“And God, when my hands stop at your sopping cunt, I’ll make it cry with my fingers.” He drummed his fingers on your back. “One.” Tap. “Two.” Tap. “Three of them.” Tap. “Perhaps you’d like more.”

You whined into his shoulder, feet stumbling as you clung onto him tighter. “M-more,” you pleaded quietly, so careful to keep dancing, move along to the music.

“Of course you would,” he only cooed in your ear, and you were scared you would collapse over his words. “Luckily for you, I wouldn’t be finished with you either.”

Your hand, clasped in his his, squeezed at his words. “Chris, please—”

“Yes, just like that,” the man mused, whirling you on the dance floor. “Just like that, you’ll beg me to send you over the edge, but I won’t let you be satisfied so easily.”

On God and all his subjects, if he did not cease his filth you were going to come onto the floor by his mere words. You could tell Chris noticed, almost reading your mind as the ghost of a smirk widened. “Already afraid, love?”

Love.

Dear, fucking God.

“You see, ____,” he muttered, leading you to the final round of the song, the steps of the dance going faster. “I won’t let you be satiated with just my fingers.”

And as he broke his hold on you, twirling you with his tattooed hand, he pulled you to him, one last time, crushing you against his granite chest.

His eyes bore into yours when the last string of the violin wailed around the hall. All you could see was pure, unadulterated desire.

“I will have you writhing with my cock.”

Your eyes never left Chris’ as the music finally came to a close, gaze blurring at the dark promise. Applause scattered around the ballroom, yet your hands stayed upon his arm, the other enveloped in his.

You caught the words once more under his thumb. NON DUCOR DUCO.

Indeed you do.

“Chris,” you breathed out, waiting for him to let you go. He did no such thing.

Feeling a few suspicious eyes on you, your feet backed away from the man, hands escaping the feeling he emitted underneath your touch.

A whine threatened to escape you when you saw his desire had not dampened. His hands shook, only slightly, and your stomach erupted into a million butterflies, journeying lower and lower.

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly you feared you would faint on the dance floor.

Excusing yourself, you hastened your footsteps, sending a few smiles to passerbys as you picked up a flute of champagne, hurrying down long hallways, catching a few couples leaning towards each other. When you found a grand wooden cabinet beside another door, no doubt a guest room, you slumped next to it, breathing loud and ragged, too affected by a certain man’s eyes and the hidden intentions underneath. You drank the entire champagne in one gulp, propping the flute on a servant’s tray as he rushed by.

“____!”

Gasping, you turned to the source of the voice. The voice which filled you with such unexplainable hunger you had to clench your thighs as it drew nearer.

Footsteps thudded against the carpet, and you squirmed at the sight of Chris Bang, storming towards you with a ferocity which had your knees near buckling.

“Where,” he began, voice an octave lower as he stood not a foot from you, smacking his hands against the wall, caging you with his presence. “Were you trying to lead me?”

“Somewhere where they cannot see us,” you responded, excitement clear in your voice. The ballroom chatter was still within your range, so technically, anyone could wonder down these halls, look over the cabinet and catch you both.

The throbbing inside you didn’t particularly care.

“And what do you want me to do,____,” he murmured, and his voice was glazed with pure lust, “Which the world cannot see?”

“I…” slight shame tried to course through your body but the overflowing desire was too strong. Not when your tongue was not afraid to voice what was in your heart the moment you first saw him. “I want you to do all those things you said. I want you to ruin me.”

And perhaps that was all he needed, when Christopher Bang pressed his lips against yours and answered your prayers.

He was instantly rewarded with your surprised whine, drowned out by the movement of his mouth as his hands left the wall, holding onto your face. His thumbs caressed your cheeks as he led the fiery kiss, opening your mouth to let the little noises escape.

“Chris,” you tried to rasp out, but his lips refused once more as he tilted your head, gaining full access and truly discovering the sheer pleasure oozing from the swell of your lips. God, he had gone through every experience which gave him a sense of thrill, but the kiss he shared with you brought him a new, foreign high — as if he tried the drugs he had seen on the streets for the first time, and becoming addicted on the first dose.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air as the two of you shared a carnal gaze, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm. Chris was ruthless, only sparing you for a few seconds before pouncing back in on your mouth, this time tongue playing along, asking to be let inside and slide along the inner workings. You would have been a fool to refuse him.

The moment you opened your lips for him his tongue slithered inside, sliding it along the roof of your mouth, while his hands left your face and instead gripped onto your waist, driving you further against the wall, snuffing out any distance which dared come between you and him.

A slightly moan bubbled within your throat when he began to roughen your lips, capturing your tongue before closing the seam of your mouth within his own, repeating the action until you didn’t know whether you were sane or absolutely fucking crazy.

You were sure straight after when one of his hands began sliding down. Down. He hurriedly broke the kiss, letting out an angry groan at the never ending skirts which met with his fingers. “Fuck this dress,” he cursed as he descended a little, peppering kisses upon the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, trailing until he found the hem of your skirts.

Bunching them up with his one hand, he lifted the fabric, baring your legs to the dimmed chandelier light from the main hall. His hand trailed right up to your core, a single layer hiding it from Chris’ fingers. The poor, soaked fabric could not ever compete, when the criminal, with a single finger as he scattered kisses upon your face, hooked under the lacey underwear, sliding it down your thighs. So much desperation lurked he did not even bother to slide it down to your ankles, a chuckle rasping out of him as his fingers skimmed your upper thighs to find them dripping with the suppressed arousal.

“My poor, poor, darling,” he whispered in a menacing tone, the other hand caressing your face, “Couldn’t contain yourself for me?”

“Ch-chan,” you heard yourself say, because at this point your soul was not present, probably lurking in seventh heaven where this man was taking you.

Hearing his name on your slurred mouth only had him plunging the first finger inside you.

You let out an obscenely loud moan, which was immediately followed by hushing. “Don’t make a sound,” he demanded, smiling slyly at your whimpering, “Or else I stop. Understand?”

You could not nod fast enough, and he huffed out a laugh before sliding the second finger in, rubbing against your slit, drawing circles upon your throbbing skin, testing the rather sticky waters of you and your fucked out state.

Satisfied, he delved the two fingers in deeper, pulsating against your walls until they hit a certain spot which had you crying out in pleasure. Chris’ heavy lidded warning flashed in his eyes.

You nearly cried when he began to slide his fingers out over your moaning, your hand immediately stopping him from pulling out further. “Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, pleaded like the whores you heard on the docks, but you didn’t care, did not give a single fuck when those fingers needed to be inside you again. “Chan, please, I’m sorry—”

“One more fuck up, ____, and these—” his fingers plunged back into you once more, hitching you upwards with the sheer force, “—will be back out.”

Nodding hastily, you left your hand on his wrist. Chris continued to work so deliciously inside you that it took every ounce of strength left in you not to bring the manor down with your moaning. The whimpering could not be contained, but the criminal let that slide, finding great contentment every time you begged for more.

He curled his slender fingers, acquainting himself with that same bloody spot which had you seeing stars. Your hands gripped onto his neck for stability, nails digging into his shirt. How you wanted it off, along with all the damned layers he adorned.

The way he played with your sweet spot had you feeling heavy, a pleasured ball of pain forming at your lower back. You knew you were being led to an edge, an edge you could not, did not want to escape, and when you pulled away from Chris, looking into his eyes, he instantly understood.

“Oh my, love,” he simpered, his free hand thumbing your cheek. “Does someone want to get fucked against the wall? When I’m not even finished with them yet?”

Tears lined your eyes, cunt throbbing almost painfully around his fingers. “Chan, I’m going to—ah!” you cut off, closing your eyes as you barely held on to your last grips of sanity. “Chan.”

Your weakened, fucked out demeanour had the most dangerous man in London fearing for his own senses. He wished nothing more than you screaming his name for the whole city to hear, and with you, looking at him like that…

Oh, he was definitely going to drive you over the edge.

Christopher Bang nearly carried out his promise when a shrill call interrupted you two.

“CHRIS! ____!”

“WHERE ARE YOU—?”

Your lust-glazed stare cracked as you blinked. “Chan,” you said his name, but the man let out an enraged roar. You felt the hollow emptiness when those golden fingers were pulled out of you, sticky residue coating his skin. The footsteps grew closer, the volume of the shouting increasing.

Chris brought out a white handkerchief, cleaning your mess on his fingers rather aggressively. “I’m going to fucking kill them,” he guttered out, making your legs tremble. To your utmost misery you felt the orgasm, so close before, fading from existence, and you made a silent vow to break Jisung and Changbin’s legs the moment all of this was over.

Speaking of the Devil, the two hastened, opening all doors and closing them till the two stumbled upon the both of you, infuriated and worryingly turned on.

Changbin looked at the deflated expression on both of yours faces. “Chris? ____?” His eyes narrowed, trying to work out the reasons for the slight electric atmosphere he suddenly entered in. “Are you both...alright?”

“Perfectly,” the man answered in a ragged hiss, sliding on his gloves again, smoothing over his raven locks. “Now why the fuck are you both here?”

The two boys did not understand their leader’s anger. Choosing to let the snipe slide, Jisung said, “We’ve caught Carter.”

That seemed to send you and Chris back in reality. Well, not really, when your core still throbbed, the pleasure fading with each passing second.

“Where is he?” Chris flattened out his coat. “Where are the documents?”

Changbin brought out a small file from inside his waistcoat, holding it out for the former. “Right here.”

Chris took the file, skimming through the contents. His previously angered expression relaxed, just a fraction, and he held onto it as he set his powerful gaze on you all.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The four of you managed to slip away easily, you trying your hardest to fix yourself after the whole fiasco in the hallway. Your heart was still running a mile per minute, refusing to calm as your mind relived the events. The original carriage which you all arrived in was now accompanied with another one, with a dark figure hunched over from the window’s view.

“We threw the giant fucker in another carriage,” Changbin said, laughing as he recalled the takedown with Jisung. “Man could not believe he was failing!”

Chris ignored his story, turning to you all as he stood before Carter’s carriage. “You three, take the free one,” he ordered, his eyes rooted on you. “I will journey home with him.”

“But Chris,” you began, taking a step towards him, “Let me come with you.”

You caught a glimpse of the desire which swirled in his eyes, not long ago, and perhaps that was why he held your arm in his now gloved hand.

“Go,” he only said. “I have a few things to say to him alone.”

After letting you go, nodding at the boys behind you, Chris Bang stepped inside the first carriage, slamming the door shut. The metal wheels screeched as the whole thing began to move, accelerating away.

You watched the carriage fade from view, Jisung and Changbin stepping beside you.

“What happened, ____?” the former asked, the other trying to comfort you with his gaze.

Silence was their only answer, as you turned on your heel, climbing inside your designated ride and watched the stars twinkle from the window.

The two members of the gang really tried their best.

As you all journeyed home without your leader, the pair told their tale of how they took down Carter and his men, Jisung adding exaggerated gasps as Changbin demonstrated each kill he thrust upon his victims. You offered them a few laughs, giving them your attention, but really your mind was somewhere else, specifically a midnight-tainted criminal who nearly brought you your undoing.

You were insane. Insane as you thought of him, insane as you remembered how wonderfully he had you writhing over him, just by his fingers. The mindless pondering alone had your cunt pulsating, and you deserved an award for how unaffected you acted with your friends.

Soon, the carriage slowed to a stop, and you perked up, not realising you had already arrived home.

You waited for the boys to exit before you stepped out of the carriage, the only light on the docks emitting from lamps and the night sky, reflected on the surface of the river. The first carriage was already there when your feet met the concrete floor, and when you turned to the man who reigned in your mind he had his signature expression, an aloof distaste as he walked over to his gang.

“Jisung, Changbin,” he called, and the boys responded. “Lock the carriage door,” he ordered, jerking his chin towards his transport. “We will bring him out in the morning.”

“Chris, should we not throw him in the cellar?” Changbin glared at Carter’s direction. “Bastard might escape.”

He only slid his hands in his pockets, you catching the dried blood on his gloves. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said, striking a step towards the building. “He’s not going to disturb us tonight. I can promise you that.”

Jisung cursed low along with you, only watching the man walk back to the bedrooms. Bidding goodnight to your friends, you followed Chris’ trail, opening the door and stepping inside the hallway.

You saw him before his bedroom door, bringing out a rusted key. His eyes slid to you as your feet brought you to your entrance. You looked back, waiting as Chris unlocked his room and began to enter.

He turned back, something dark and twisted still lurking in his eyes.

You waited, so patiently at the words you wished to hear, of him finally ruining you.

Instead, you received something else entirely.

“Goodnight, ____.”

And closed the door behind him.

Your heart dropped.

Fell to the floor, and shattered under the criminal’s bloodied boots.

The light of the hallway flickered as you stood rooted to the doorway, eyes staring at Chris’ door as if looking at it hard enough would get him to change his mind.

What did you know. The man is not led by exterior forces. Only by his own will.

When you gathered up the strength to the slam the door shut, you slumped against the wood, hating yourself for the tears which threatened to break the lines of your eyes. This was pathetic — utterly disgusting that you were about to cry over his decision.

But you could not help it. You were so enraptured by him. Hell, you were ready to throw yourself in the fires of damnation for him, as he whispered filth all the while rutting against you. Why had that suddenly changed?

“Argh!” You screamed, stomping over to the lamp, light now long extinguished. You relit it’s spark, illuminating the room once more, and set it on the stool before recklessly plucking out the pearls in your hair, a few tears daring to trail down your cheeks.

Fuck him. Fuck him for making you so rattled. Fuck him for having that effect on you.

You looked into your mirror and cursing yourself for the disheveled appearance. Again, the consequences for letting yourself fall for him.

“To hell with you Bang Chan,” you cursed.

You were about to untie your dress when your bedroom door was nearly ripped off its hinges.

Flinching, you grabbed the dagger on your dresser, raised to cut down whoever stupid enough to barge in on an assassin at midnight.

You were met with Christopher Bang.

And the disorder he brought with him.

Chaos reigned in his figure; his tousled locks, his star-struck expression, his rolled-up sleeves and his pandemonic eyes, all working together and against each other to create the man you had never seen in your life.

Good God. What had happened to him?

“Chan?” You got out, dagger now brought down. He said not a single word in response as he slammed the door shut, hard enough for the entirety of London to hear.

Instead, he imprisoned you with his stare, almost giving you his chaos. The chaos you had always shared with him since the moment he picked you off the streets.

No, he said not one word — only took the steps needed to march towards you. You could only watch with widening eyes when he grabbed your face in his rugged hands and collided his lips against yours.

You did not even hesitate to comply, hands grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him as close as you possibly could, so afraid that he would disappear from your grip if you dared let go. With the way he moved his mouth along yours, however, already opening up the familiar workings, you had a feeling he was not going to abandon you now.

When he broke away, breathing already erratic, his hands slid down to your neck, thumbs caressing the length of your throat. “I couldn’t,” he started, and he was sprinkling kisses all over your face. “I couldn’t leave.”

“I was scared, Chan,” you confessed, fisting the material harder. “I thought you truly did.”

His eyes focused on you. Within the turmoil, there was a promise. “Never,” he whispered, leaning in. “Never again.”

And suddenly his lips were on you, and the desperation was so rooted he nearly stole the very breath from your lungs. The sheer intensity, the longing implied broke your heart to the point you attached yourself to him, wrapping your arms around him and refusing to ever let him go.

The rather soft kiss began to heat up, as Chris broke the seam of your lips, swirling your tongue in his, already receiving incoherent praise from deep down your throat, making the man smile against his lips as he continued.

His hands slid further down, right to the small of your back, where he began to untie all the little bows he created for you at the dawn of the evening, the little touches of fire singeing you still. It was fascinating how effortlessly he loosened all the laces, fingers sliding through the patterns until one by one they fluttered down, until the dark red dress slackened around your chest.

A small gasp escaped you as Chris, while creating a trail of kisses down your jaw, right down to your neck, grabs the dress from your sides, hitching it down until it falls to the floor. Leaving you practically naked save for the scraps covering your dangerously soiled underwear.

Chris paused from his ravishing, taking a much too long look at your skin, glowing from the lamp light, and before he could stare any longer you brought your arms to your chest, suddenly becoming a little too embarassed to let him see you at your most vulnerable.

The supposedly unfeeling criminal, however, nearly broke into a smile at your flustered nature, and grabbed onto your wrists, opening the lock to your breasts, peaked by his actions, and the thought of what was to come.

The soiled underwear was about to drip at this point.

“You’re exquisite,” was all he said, making you almost burst into tears at the praise. You pressed a long, heart shattering kiss upon his mouth, and he responded perfectly, hands sliding to your naked waist, each drum of his fingers like a tug towards a dangerous edge.

Things began to take a turn, open mouthed kisses being plastered on the skin of your throat as the man pushed you back, further and further until the back of your knees hit the bed, stopping you in his tracks. His grip on your waist directed downwards, planting you on the mattress as his mouth descended to your collarbone, down and down until he licked your peaked nipple in a way that had you moaning obscenely loud. His husky chuckle resonated along your skin, still not pausing his trail until he hit the end of the dip of your cunt, barricaded by the fabric.

The moment he looked up at you, that alone made you nearly undo yourself. By the increasing volume of your breathing, Chris seemed to realise so too.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he got out, watching you whimper at each touch caressing your hips. “Already about to come when I haven’t even done anything?”

“Ch-Chan,” you pleaded, wishing for those damned fingers of his to plunge inside of you. The son of a bitch was taking his time, making you wait knowing it pained you to stay like this. “Chan—”

His name on your tongue had him gritting his teeth, hands on each of your side grabbing onto your lace, and sliding your underwear down, all the way till it fell free from your legs and threw it across the room, forgotten when Chris parted his mouth at the moistened treasure between your legs.

Those roughened hands steeled their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer till you sat right on the edge of the bed, cunt mere inches from his face. You could not even comprehend the insanity of this situation, that the hidden fantasies you dreamed of shamelessly were morphing into reality right before your eyes.

“So, so pretty,” he murmured, blowing a little air on your slick folds, earning himself a sucked in breath from his truly. “So pretty and wet, and all because of me.”

You let out a ragged breath, words of filth sounding so foreign on his tongue. It was not like he didn’t talk like the sailors living near you on the docks, but these dirty words and dirtier intentions, now all directed at you, made you feel so flustered, in a wondrous way you could not possibly describe. All you wanted was for him to keep singing this filth till you blacked out.

Chris, with the force of his hands, spread your thighs a little wider, and without warning broke his tongue from the seam of his lips, planting it upon your slit and moving it slowly over the surface.

That alone made you cry out in ecstasy.

But that was only a test, a taking on of foreign surroundings before truly welcoming himself, and by God, did he welcome himself in as more than a guest, when that tongue slid deeper and performed strokes which had you seeing all the stars in the universe.

What was first slow teasing then became a starved hunt, tongue relishing in the sweet arousal you emitted, lapping it up brazenly as if he had been wanting to do this for a long, long time. Your blubbering grew louder with every lick, fisting the sheets behind you with such ferocity you were sure they’d tear.

And if that wasn’t painstakingly enough, the man spread your legs a little wider, his tattooed hand, two fingers out, sliding straight inside you, making you mewl at the way they tightened they walls they journeyed in. Curling, just like they did earlier in the evening, they took their time finding the certain little spot which had you bringing the house down with your cries.

“Ch-Chan, please, please, I’m going to—AH!” You rasped out, when the said-criminal found the sweet little undoing of yours and stroked your fingers along the sensitive spot, making that bundle of pleasure resonating in your back appear once more, like a low throbbing begging to be released.

His tongue had not given you any breaks, still working ruthlessly along your clit and you cried for him to give you that sweet release, to just let you come but he had not let you be satisfied this easily. No, he wanted you writhing underneath him, wanted the final ruination to be from underneath his trousers, angered as it outlined against his leather.

You craned your head back, screaming out his name because you knew all else had abandoned you. “Chan!” Looking down, his mouth very much occupied with your cunt. Your orgasm was reaching, was on the very edge, and if he kept working on you like this he was on his way to taste the consequences of his actions.

Something about that image made you want it as a reality with a worryingly strong intensity.

“Chan, I’m going to—” you were about to warn but were interrupted by a squeeze of your thigh, done by yours truly as if he knew. And as if he knew, the two fingers began pumping much faster, harmonising along with his tongue, and the two actions at once, fucking you with that rapidity was so pleasurable that, with the first earth-shattering cry of the night, you were driven over the edge, releasing your orgasm straight into the criminal’s face.

You felt the work of his fingers slow down, along with his tongue, that with one, final lick, he retreated from your cunt, fingers still inside you as they comforted your aching core with slow, soothing strokes.

When he looked up at you, though, with your residue mostly upon his mouth, scattered on his cheeks, and basically a bit of everywhere, that sight alone nearly caused you to come all over again.

Perhaps that was his intentions.

Because when he licked his lips clean of your mess, ever so slowly, as if enjoying your orgasm like a man starved, you instantly saw in his eyes that this night was not over yet.

“Already so good, so wonderful,” he mused, slipping his fingers out, both hands now resting on your thighs. “Coming so quick even though I had been saving for the last.”

You knew exactly what he meant, but still had the nerve to ask, “The last?”

He raised a groomed brow, and that gesture was so breathtaking, more so when he raised himself slightly, so he knelt eye-level to you. “Don’t act oblivious, love,” he mused, leaving your thighs to your disappointment, but quickly diminishing when his fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping upon, each patch of skin being revealed like a show of your own. “We both know this isn’t how it’s going to end.”

Shivers crawled down your spine, but you only watched as the man finished undoing his shirt, peeling it off of him and throwing it amongst the other clothing. You nearly let spit trail down your chin at the sheer finery of his muscle alone, sharpened at his arms, his chest all the way down to his v-line, which dipped dangerously low. With no small amount of pride, you also noticed the large, angry outline of Chris’ cock, begging to be set free.

The man caught you blatantly staring, and a shit-eating grin twisted his glistening lips. “You may do the honours if you’re so keen.”

Blushing, you mumbled a shut up, but was captured by Chris’ lips, tasting your own arousal on his tongue, as his grip on you led you further into the bed, while you fumbled on the buttons of his trousers, popping them open one by one when you broke from the kiss, your turn to shower him with more along the veiny expanse of his neck as you pulled his trousers down, tossing them among the pile.

When you saw the slight-stained underwear of his, you felt the familiar throbbing again, so affected by how you affected him. Noticing your apparent pride, he pressed his lips upon you in a searing kiss, peeling off any last scrap of clothing and forgetting that too among the other clothing.

And by God, when Chris Bang’s cock escaped from his underthings your mouth actually watered at the sheer size it bore. Husky laughter resonated in your ears, and you flushed the colour of blood when he caught you staring much too audaciously than he would have imagined.

“Already fantasising about my cock?” He slurred, the tattooed hand curling stray hairs from your sweat-slick, flushed face. The way you scrunched your nose, clearly flustered by his comment, melted his stone cold heart, as he caressed your cheeks with his fingers.

You did not answer him, only whispering his name along his skin, waiting and waiting for the man to drive that force home inside you. “Chan,” you murmured, and the name you kept saying like a religious chant, like it was the only word that mattered, was what brought him to grip his cock, directing it against your entrance, the still slick folds which grew more wet every time the tip caressed the sensitive skin. “Chan, please—”

“Please what?” He demanded, demanded because he needed to hear you precisely want you wanted. The words he practically prayed would be on your tongue the moment he kissed you for the first time this evening.

Obliging him was like second nature. “Please fuck me, Chan,” you breathed out, holding onto his shoulders, knowing you were going to need a hell of a good grip for what was about to arrive. “Please, just ruin me with your cock.”

A malicious smile curled upon his lips. “Good, good girl,” he purred, and began the descend which you dreamed of the very first night you realised you were ridiculously attracted to him.

His cock slid inside you, and with a soul-wrenching whine, was perfectly snug as the journey went on, and on, and on, until you were certain you could not take anymore, despite the man retaining a few inches. He was slow at first, making sure you were not going to be pained by this action. Although your nails dug into the granite muscle of his shoulders, you only egged him on. “M-more,” you only said, and he readily obliged, until you felt him all around you in your body, as if he had filled you up to the brim.

“Ready?” He asked, and when you nodded, he rested his forehead against yours as gently, he began to pull out.

You nearly whined at the lack of inches filling you up, but then he brought his cock back in, creating this hypnotic rhythm which was so unimaginably ethereal you felt yourself float amongst the clouds. Each thrust out and thrust in was a drive in and out of reality, with Chris Bang holding the tether of your survival, pulling you in and out of his mercy.

Gradually, he began to fasten, panting as his drove into you with more force, and when the momentum hardened, you felt your soul leave your body. His cock created wonders for you, having you scream in unimaginable pleasure, and driving your nails into his back was not enough, your lewd moaning not enough given to his sheer skill, his pure simplicity in bringing his cock back and front which had you seeing stars. Hell, Christopher Bang showed you undiscovered universes, leading you across galaxies and unfamiliar cosmos, each thrust in a different vision, and when he lifted your leg a little higher for more access, you feared that you would wake the whole docks with your groaning, for this criminal, this heartless criminal provided you with the whole universe with the simple strokes of his cock inside you, and all you could offer him were screams.

Even your reactions were pure Beethoven to his ears, relishing in your fucked out state as he gave you all he asked, driving you to the edge of the world. You, finally, clashed your lips against his, offering him sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over his face and neck, and that alone had him greeting his teeth, knowing his own release was near. You were going to die if he was not given the same pleasure as you, so you reacted with each of his touches, each of his thrusts, him practically pistoning you upon this bed which very much would break.

“Ch...Chan…” you grated out, eyes blurring, vision completely fucked, “I’m...I-I—”

“I—fuck,” he too got out, for your last love mark painted onto to the curve of his neck nearly had him ruined. “I’m going to come, too, love—”

“Chan!” You whined, because the throbbing was there, and was so close that if the man did not send that last thrust home then it was all for nothing, everything that had ever happened will all be for nothing.

But he listened. The man who did not listen to anyone or anything listened, and pounded his cock so hard in approval that it had you crying out to the cosmos as you finally let go, orgasm spilling out from whatever space the residue could find between his cock. Your own release had Chris groaning louder than he had even done this entire time, praising you unconditionally, until the filth was cut off by a low curse, with his own release barrelling into you, some joining your spilled mess upon the sheets.

Chris let out a shuddering breath, slowly crossing his movement inside you. Carefully, when you stopped digging your nails into his shoulders, he pulled out, reaching for the blanket untouched and bringing it over you and him before collapsing beside you. Both of you breathed as if you had held your oxygen for a thousand years, chests rising unevenly.

A silence hung over you two, heavy yet not uncomfortable, lingering in your bedroom. Chris sat up a little, using your pillows behind him as comfort as he raked his hair back, sweat-slick all over, much like you. You held the blanket right up to your chest, hair in disarray, much like your heart. The poor organ threatened to collapse at the events.

Sneakily, you caught a glance at the greatest criminal in London, staring off at the distance, mouth set in a concentrated line. He looked dashing even in his post-sex state, the lines of his chest still stark against his sweat. You truly had never seen a man this beautiful in your life.

He turned his head to you, catching your staring, and when you tried to look away he captured his chin with his fingers, making you meet his fierce stare. Although dark, the lust had satiated, and instead held passive affection. Well, you hoped it did.

“Why do you still look away?” He demanded in a low, tired voice.

You tried to slide your gaze to the lamp, but was too bewitched by his midnight eyes. “Because you’re beautiful, Chan,” you answered, feeling the blood rush to your face.

He cocked his head, damp curls sticking to his face. “You say that as if you are not,” he countered.

You did not say anything then. Even so, he received your answer.

“____,” he said in a low tone. The grip on your chin loosened, and the hand went to your cheeks, cupping your face. “You are truly flawless. Don’t make me have to make you believe that.”

A small smile hinted at your lips. “And what if I still don’t?”

His answering smirk sent butterflies tumbling once again. After a moment, as if hesitating, he then snaked his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. You were surprised when his one hand fully encircled you, while the other hand, the tattooed hand, rested upon your head, stroking your hair with his slender fingers. You did not pull away, was never going to, only wrapping your arm across his chest.

It was the first time you had ever seen Christopher Bang hug someone in his life.

“Chan?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you get that tattoo?”

He paused for a minute, never ceasing his fingers intertwined in your locks. After a small sigh, which you felt beneath your own fingertips, he said, “It is simply something I live by.

“Non ducor duco. No one will lead me, love. Only myself.”

You pondered over the roots of this phrase, of the significance for the man you lay with.

“Good,” you said after a while. “I wouldn’t want anyone leading you either.”

With that, you gave into the soothing movement of Chris’ fingers, working lazily in your hair. And while you dozed off to sleep, the criminal mastermind of the biggest city in the world pondered some more, specifically over his motto.

NON DUCOR DUCO. A phrase which had stayed true for so long no one could ever change it.

But after tonight, as you slowly dozed off under Chris’ caresses, he wondered whether there isn’t one person he wouldn’t mind being led by.

And as he stole a soft glance at the specific person beside him, he knew.

He knew that although he will be led by no man, there is one woman who he would, to his own shock, happily be led for.

So, with that new, and slightly terrifying revelation, Christopher Bang went to sleep, knowing that someone had fucked with him and gotten away.

And he was willingly going to let it happen.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #stray kids dark hours #bang chan #stray kids #stray kids oneshot #kpop imagines #kpop smut #skz imagines #skz smut #chris bang #christopher bang #skz dark hours

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thefreshfinds · 5 years ago

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BROOKLYN UNITY FEST:

There is strength in numbers and the Brooklyn Unity Fest went ahead to prove that theory in their 8th annual event. If someone were to question "Where Brooklyn at?" the proof would be front and center. Ultimately the Brooklyn Unity Fest gave back to its community in a major way!

Aside from its free giveaway on Summer Jam tickets, bikes and t-shirts — there was also a Fabolous Way 3 Point Contest and Stomp the Violence Dance Contest.

From the basketball courts, vendors, face painting, multiple stages and even a bouncy house — the festival made sure to bask in its pride.

Overall, everyone was very accepting. Once the performers went onstage their was a common ground shared between the younger and older generation.

Not only were their crowds of kids doing the Stanky Leg, but there was all smiles and a fascination towards the new age sound. Many of the artists recieved new fans but their main focus was giving their all in the name of hip-hop. The genre has taken them to new heights and for that matter they encourage others to follow their dreams. In a word, there was no other place that I wanted to be! The Brooklyn Unity Fest had great vibes. No wonder Brooklyn is the Most Thorough Borough! Their community is willing to give a lending hand if needed be.

Although I wasn't able to interview all of the performers, here are some phenomenal creatives (you read it right) that I had an opportunity to speak with:

1. JU-MO and E-MONEY TAGS: If you're wondering where the boosters at, you don't need to look any further. These two are willing to go the distance because they're asking the same thing! Originally from Brooklyn, NY — JU-MO's moniker stands for "Just Money" and his government. The MC even utilizes his creativity and goes as far as to create wristbands with all the currencies and his own clothing line thats displayed on a manequin! If that isn't cool enough then his music will heat things up, since that's its true purpose. Besides this, E-Money Tags is who he is. He's just happy and is living his best life. "They don't like us" and that's perfectly fine. JU-MO and E-Money Tags plan on spreading love, happiness and unity regardless. Go and stream “We the Boosters” now. It’s on all platforms. Music video coming soon.

INSTAGRAM: @its_just_money

2. AUDREY JACKSON: Humble, brave, dedicated and passionate Audrey Jackson has been singing since she was 2 and performed from 5th grade on up! However when she got to college and sung the national anthem for the Philadelphia 76ers thats when she started going full force with her career. Sultry by nature, Audrey Jackson heats things up with her vocal range and charisma. Before going onstage she talks to God and her grandma. She also asks them to be with her and wears something of her grandmas for more positive energy. One line that resonates with her is: Whenever someone push your back against the wall say I’m hear to stay. Her mixtape Misunderstood is coming soon and features Jahlil Beats. Instagram: @Iamaudreyjackson@Itsallmusicthemovement. Rel Carter director of A&R for Roc Nation. Her album called “ No Handouts” is available on every digital platform. Love triangle is available now on all digital platforms.

INSTAGRAM: @iamaudreyjackson

MUSIC LINK: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=6yAL4ht3Igo

3. RICH CHINO and HOLLI TV: Rich Chino radiates love, not only in real life but also in his music because that’s what hip-hop means to him. Even when he’s taken a few L’s, Rich Chino would never wish harm upon those he cared for. He’d just rather not have them in his circle. A lot of people may say that Rich Chino has changed because he does his own thing but one thing is certain: He’ll always win. His track “Calling Mommy” is a dance song at most and makes one get up on that floor to show all the moves. His best friend Holli TV also did music and hops on a track from time to time but he’s mostly a comedian. A word of advice for inspiring creatives: Be yourself, be consistent and never let the hate affect you. Word on the block is that others respect the grind too, so how could they ever stop? Stay tuned for more content from Holli TV, go and stream “Calling Mommy” on SoundCloud.

INSTAGRAMS: @richchino + @hollitv

MUSIC LINK: https://m.soundcloud.com/user-171933865/richchino-calling-mommy

4. LIL POOKA: CEO and founder of VSF the label — Lil Pooka, defines himself as an entrepreneurial artist. Always two steps ahead, he invest into his future by thinking in the way of a business man. Even though things are just starting for him, Lil Pooka has been creating music since he was 12 years old. Hip-hop is life for the reinforcer and he says that it’s half of him. “Hip-hop is a great way of self-expression.” Lil Pooka adds. One who gets hyped off an all-around grind, Lil Pooka prays for good vibes and new beginnings. Lil Pooka will always look to be a big influencer. For the culture, Lil Pooka says to “never cap.” Always tell your truth, no matter what. Stay tuned for new music soon.

INSTAGRAM: @lipooka

MUSIC LINK: https://m.soundcloud.com/cashoutday

5. SELF MADE STREETS: Putting his ego to the side, Self Made Streets makes things happen with one movement at a time. From the jump, he keeps it real and leaps into a sound that’s meant to inspire. Yet it all derives from his personal upbringings. “I’m reinventing myself right before your eyes.” says Self Made Streets. Still, as he teaches the generation — Self Made Streets is also learning and progressing. It’s two of the things he takes with him on a daily basis. Aside from an MC, Self Made Streets is an entrepreneur who believes in the power of change. Stream his latest tape No Turning Back. It’s on all platforms.

INSTAGRAM: @selfmadestreets

6. KING BRAIZE: An intricate wordsmith who reps the Garden State, King Braize lives to tell a message. His motto “Inspire yourself” speaks volume and pushes one to keep going (with or without support). King Braize is the voice of his people and brings awareness to the inequality between African American’s and todays era. Along his journey he wants peace, patience and happiness. He lives to focus on love because what is a better way to celebrate those that you hold close to your heart? What’s more important to him is just trusting the process. Follow the #KrownMovement and listen to his music. It’s available on all streaming platforms.

INSTAGRAM: @kingbraize

MUSIC LINK: http://kingbraize.com/inspireyourself/

7. KHING JUS WURK: Khing Jus Wurk gives the music era something different. Instead of advocating drugs or sex — he uses his craft to enforce change and inspiration. He’d like for more kings to push kings because we have enough that are at war. For now though, Khing Jus Wurk will be the first to break the stigma(and to put in the overtime). If you haven’t grabbed a copy of XXL magazine, go and do so. Khing Jus Wurk made an appearance. Also make sure to stream his tape #3DayWeekend. It’s available on all platforms.

INSTAGRAM: @khingjuswurk

MUSIC LINK: https://tidal.com/browse/artist/10033147

8. TEMMY BRIDGES AND DANYOSONN: Two who had to go and get it — Temmy Bridges and Danyosonn have been grinding for years. Originally from Canada, Temmy Bridges now lives in Brooklyn. He started rapping 7 years ago, but took it seriously once he saw that people were catching a vibe from it. Ultimately, hip-hop is a freedom of speech for him and with that, comes a risk but Temmy Bridges faces it head on. He’s willing to switch up the tone at all cost. Secondly, Danyosonn’s moniker was passed down from the Great Sensai. And while he has the boom, ba and bam — Danyosonn doesn’t use his talent to brag. Instead he uses hip-hop to relay how he feels because when words can’t get the energy across, his music does. Danyosonn has been on a non-stop grind since he was 16 years old. For him, the journey because in his bedroom where he put together his own studio. Even when he moved to Virginia, Danyosonn stayed consistent and has ran with it since. Now Danyosonn is working on a project that’s set to be released on July 4th. Make sure to check out “Stuck” ft. Temmy Bridges when it releases too! While others try to rent a place in the rap game, the duo shows why they own it. In the words of Danyosonn, they’ve just been ballin’ out like every season.

INSTAGRAMS: @temmybridges + @danyosonn_mns

MUSIC LINKS:

A) TEMMY BRIDGES: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=AENtVG1md0M&feature=youtu.be

B) DANYOSONN: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=10cRHp3dGnQ&feature=youtu.be

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blackkudos · 7 years ago

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Babyface

Kenneth Brian Edmonds (born April 10, 1959), known professionally as Babyface, is an American singer, songwriter and record producer. He has written and produced over 26 number-one R&B hits throughout his career, and has won 11 Grammy Awards.

Early life

Edmonds was born on April 10, 1959, in Indianapolis, Indiana,to Marvin and Barbara Edmonds. Barbara was a production operator at a pharmaceutical plant. Edmonds, who is the fifth of six brothers (including future After 7 band members Melvin and Kevon Edmonds, the latter of whom went on to have a modestly successful solo career), attended North Central High School in Indianapolis, Indiana, and as a shy youth, wrote songs to express his emotions. When he was in eighth grade, Edmonds' father died of lung cancer, leaving his mother to raise her sons alone. At this stage, Edmonds became determined to have a career in music.

Music career

Edmonds later played with funk performer Bootsy Collins, who tagged him "Babyface" because of his youthful look. He also performed in the group Manchild (which had a 1977 hit "Especially for You" with band member Daryl Simmons) as a guitarist. He played keyboards in the light-funk and R&B group the Deele (which also included drummer Antonio "L.A." Reid, with whom he would later form a successful writing and producing partnership). One of his first major credits as a songwriter for outside artists came when he wrote the tune "Slow Jam" for the R&B band Midnight Star in 1983. The tune was on Midnight Star's 1983 double-platinum No Parking on the Dance Floor album, and while it never was a single, it received massive radio airplay and the song is still played on quiet storm radio stations. Babyface remained in the Deele until 1988, when both he and Reid left the group.

His album Playlist consists of eight cover songs and two original works. It was released on September 18, 2007. It was the first album on the newly re-launched Mercury Records label.

On February 4, 2014, he released a Grammy Award-winning duet album with Toni Braxton titled Love, Marriage & Divorce on Motown Records.

Other ventures

Writing and producing

In the late 1980s, he contributed to the creation of new jack swing, writing and producing music for the likes of Bobby Brown, Karyn White, Pebbles, Paula Abdul and Sheena Easton.

In 1989, Edmonds co-founded LaFace Records with Reid. Three of the label's early artists TLC, Usher, and Toni Braxton were very successful. TLC's second album CrazySexyCool, for which he wrote and produced some of the hits, became the best selling album of all time by an American girl group. Under his direction, TLC was able to sell more than 60 million albums worldwide, and a combined total of 75 million records. Toni Braxton's first two albums, Toni Braxton (1993) and Secrets (1996), for which he wrote the majority of the songs, went on to sell a combined total of over 10 million copies in America alone.

Babyface helped form the popular late-1990s R&B group Az Yet. Edmonds also helped to mold and work with some of his then-wife Tracey Edmonds' acts, such as Jon B and producer Jon-John Robinson.

Edmonds has worked with many successful performers in contemporary music. “I’m Your Baby Tonight” (1990), produced for Whitney Houston, was his first No. 1 Top 40 hit in the US. He also wrote and produced Boyz II Men's 1992 "End of the Road" and 1994 "I'll Make Love to You", both of which established records for the longest stay at No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. He co-wrote, co-produced, and provided backing vocals on Madonna's 1994 Bedtime Stories, which featured the seven-week No. 1 hit "Take a Bow", and shared billing with Eric Clapton on the chart-topping Grammy winner "Change the World" from the Phenomenon soundtrack. He also wrote and produced the No. 1 hit "Exhale (Shoop Shoop)" for Whitney Houston as well as the rest of the critically acclaimed 10 million-selling Waiting to Exhale soundtrack in 1995, which spawned additional hits for Houston, Brandy and Mary J. Blige.

Additionally, Edmonds has produced and written music for many artists including Carole King, Patti LaBelle, Chaka Khan, Aretha Franklin, Madonna, Janet Jackson, Faith Evans, Al Green, Beyoncé, Diana Ross, Sheena Easton, Toni Braxton, Michael Jackson, Michael Bolton, Paula Abdul, Eric Clapton, Pebbles, Tevin Campbell, Bobby Brown, Whitney Houston, Brandy, Mary J. Blige, Tamia, Shola Ama, 3T, Sisqó, Dru Hill, Fall Out Boy, Céline Dion, Samantha Jade, Backstreet Boys, Honeyz, Katharine McPhee, Mariah Carey, Vanessa L. Williams, Chanté Moore, En Vogue, Zendaya, Kenny G, Kristinia DeBarge, Lil Wayne, Japanese singer Ken Hirai, P!nk, Colbie Caillat, Marc Nelson, TLC, Ariana Grande, Ella Henderson, Jessica Mauboy, Xscape, K-Ci & JoJo, NSYNC, and Phil Collins among others. He received three consecutive Grammy Awards for Producer of the Year from 1995 to 1997.

Babyface was in the studio for about two years with Ashanti to produce her album The Declaration (2008).

He worked on the Lil Wayne album Tha Carter III (2008), on the Kanye West-produced "Comfortable". He also worked with R&B singer Monica for her sixth studio album Still Standing (2010).

In 2013, Babyface served as producer for Ariana Grande's debut album Yours Truly, producing the majority of her songs, including her second single, "Baby I".

In September 2014, Babyface collaborated with Barbra Streisand on her album Partners, performing a duet on the track "Evergreen" and background vocals for other album tracks.

Babyface also collaborated with Foxes on her sophomore album, All I Need (2016), producing and co-writing "Scar".

In July 2016, Babyface along with Bruce Roberts and Carole Bayer Sager helped write the song, "Stronger Together" sung by Jessica Sanchez. The song was played after Hillary Clinton's speech at the 2016 Democratic National Convention. The song's title is named after the slogan that the Clinton campaign uses as a show of uniting behind the Democratic nominee. The song was one of the top trending songs on Shazam that week. The song was widely perceived as positive by the listeners, and even received praise by celebrities like Jennifer Lopez and Kim Kardashian.

Acting career and film producing

In 1994, he appeared and performed on an episode of Beverly Hills, 90210 entitled "Mr. Walsh Goes to Washington (Part 2)".

In the mid-1990s, Edmonds and his then-wife Tracey Edmonds expanded into the business of motion pictures, setting up Edmonds Entertainment Group and producing films such as Soul Food (1997), Josie and the Pussycats (2001), and also the soundtrack for the film The Prince of Egypt (1998), which included contributions from numerous artists, including Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston. They also executive produced the BET reality series College Hill (2004-2009). Edmonds also worked with David Foster to compose "The Power of the Dream", the official song of the 1996 Summer Olympics, performed by superstar Céline Dion. Linda Thompson provided the lyrics.

Babyface also participated as a duet partner on the Fox reality show Celebrity Duets (2006).

He was portrayed by Wesley Jonathan in the 2015 Lifetime biopic Whitney and is portrayed by actor Gavin Houston in the Lifetime biopic based on Toni Braxton entitled Un-Break My Heart, which premiered on the network in early 2016.

On August 30, 2016, Babyface was revealed as one of the celebrities who will compete on season 23 of Dancing with the Stars. He was partnered with professional dancer Allison Holker. He and Holker were eliminated on the fourth week of competition and finished in 11th place along with Vanilla Ice and Witney Carson.

Soda Pop Records

Edmonds founded his record label Soda Pop Records in 2009. Since founding the label he has signed R&B icons K-Ci & JoJo, releasing their first album for the label entitled My Brother's Keeper. In 2013 Babyface secured a distribution deal with E1 Music for the label.

Personal life

Babyface married his first wife, Denise during his young adult years. In 1990, Babyface met Tracey Edmonds when she auditioned for the music video for his song "Whip Appeal". They married on September 5, 1992, and have two sons, Brandon and Dylan. On January 7, 2005, Tracey filed for divorce in Los Angeles County Superior Court, citing irreconcilable differences. In October 2005, Babyface and Tracey announced that they were ending their marriage of thirteen years.

In 2007, Babyface began dating his backup dancer Nicole "Nikki" Pantenburg (former backup dancer for and personal friend of Janet Jackson). In 2008, Babyface and Nicole welcomed a daughter. The pair married on May 17, 2014.

In 2015, Babyface donated money to the presidential campaign of Republican Senator Marco Rubio.

Legacy

In 1999, a 25-mile (40-km) stretch of Interstate 65 that runs through Indianapolis was renamed Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds Highway.

Discography

with Manchild

Power and Love (1977)

Feel the Phuff (1978)

with the Deele

Street Beat (1983)

Material Thangz (1985)

Eyes of a Stranger (1987)

with Toni Braxton

Love, Marriage & Divorce (2014)

Solo

Lovers (1986)

Tender Lover (1989)

For the Cool in You (1993)

The Day (1996)

Face2Face (2001)

Grown & Sexy (2005)

Playlist (2007)

Return of the Tender Lover (2015)

Accolades

On August 30, 2006, Babyface was honored as a BMI Icon at the 6th annual BMI Urban Awards. Throughout his career, Babyface has won the BMI Pop Songwriter of the Year trophy seven times and a total of 51 BMI Awards, which includes Song of the Year for his Toni Braxton hit, "Breathe Again", in 1994.

Babyface was honored with the 2,508th star of the Hollywood Walk of Fame on October 10, 2013. The star is located at 6270 Hollywood Boulevard.

Wikipedia

#Babyface #04-10

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waqasamjadme · 4 years ago

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99 Romantic Love Quotes to Unveil What You Truly Feel About Them

If discovering love was a simple difficulty to deal with, poets, authors, and playwrights wouldn’t have written 1000's of items of artwork to discover it. Romances feed the human soul, however can be likened to residing organisms that typically want injections to remain wholesome.

Nicely, we've your medication proper right here – an amazing assortment of quotes about love, in addition to romantic quotes written particularly so that you can give to that particular somebody to remind him/her simply how vital his/her affection is to your properly being.

1 Well-known Romantic Quotes

2 Romantic Quotes for Her

3 Romantic Quotes for Him

FAMOUS ROMANTIC QUOTES

A fantastic girl delights the attention; a clever girl, the understanding; a pure one, the soul. Minna Antrim

Quite a lot of instances, in our tradition and our society, we put romantic love one way or the other on a better airplane than self-love and friendship love. You'll be able to’t do this. You need to honor and actually totally spend money on all these completely different loving relationships. Delilah

A person’s kiss is his signature. Mae West

A realist, in Venice, would develop into a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he noticed earlier than him. Arthur Symons

All of the home windows of my coronary heart I open to the day. John Greenleaf Whittier

Whenever you take a look at me, whenever you consider me, I'm in paradise. William Makepeace Thackeray

And ever has it been recognized that love is aware of not its personal depth till the hour of separation. Khalil Gibran

On the finish of the day, if the man goes to put in writing the lady a letter, whether or not it’s hen scratch or scribble or appears like a physician’s be aware, if he takes the time to place pen to paper and never sort one thing, there’s one thing so extremely romantic and delightful about that. Meghan Markle

Havana, for all its smells, sweat, crumbling partitions, isolation, and tough historical past, is essentially the most romantic metropolis on the earth. Mark Kurlansky

How distant the celebs appear, and the way far is our first kiss, and ah, how previous my coronary heart. William Butler Yeats

I'm in you and also you in me, mutual in divine love. William Blake

I've at all times been a romantic, a type of individuals who believes {that a} girl in pink circus tights comprises all of the secrets and techniques of the universe. Tom Robbins

I really like Paris for the million causes that everyone loves the town. It’s an extremely romantic and delightful place. Alan Furst

I really like you greater than my very own pores and skin. Frida Kahlo

I really like you the extra in that I imagine you had appreciated me for my very own sake and for nothing else. John Keats

I feel it’s vital to have closure in any relationship that ends – from a romantic relationship to a friendship. It is best to at all times have a way of readability on the finish and know why it started and why it ended. You want that in your life to maneuver cleanly into your subsequent part. Jennifer Aniston

I feel romance is something trustworthy. So long as it’s trustworthy, it’s so disarming. Kristen Stewart

I used to strive to attract my girlfriends. I feel one of the romantic issues that anyone can do is draw a portrait of the particular person you like. Nick Carter

If I can cease one coronary heart from breaking, I shall not stay in useless. Emily Dickinson

In case you are not too lengthy, I'll wait right here for you all my life. Oscar Wilde

In the event you don’t love me, it doesn't matter, anyway I can love for each of us. Stendhal

I’m a hopeless romantic and I imagine that you could find love in many various locations and be very conflicted. I’ve found as I’ve grown up that life is much extra sophisticated than you suppose it's whenever you’re a child. It isn’t only a simple fairytale. Rachel McAdams

I’m not executed with love, however I refuse to settle. I'm a hopeless romantic. And I received’t cease until I get it proper. Halle Berry

It's higher to have cherished and misplaced than by no means to have misplaced in any respect. Samuel Butler

It’s straightforward to get wrapped up in sharing on a regular basis life with a companion. It’s enjoyable to get misplaced in love and romance. It’s the most effective. However holding on to your self whereas doing that's an important factor. Brittany Murphy

I’ve at all times actually been a romantic at coronary heart, and I've at all times needed children, and I feel the concept of sharing your life with the proper particular person is wonderful, truly. Monica Lewinsky

Kiss me and you will notice how vital I'm. Sylvia Plath

Love is a portion of the soul itself, and it's of the identical nature because the celestial respiration of the environment of paradise. Victor Hugo

Love is friendship set on fireplace. Jeremy Taylor

Love is the silent saying and saying of a single identify. Mignon McLaughlin

Love planted a rose, and the world turned candy. Katharine Lee Bates

Love acknowledges no obstacles. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates partitions to reach at its vacation spot filled with hope. Maya Angelou

Love, whether or not newly born, or aroused from a deathlike slumber, should at all times create sunshine, filling the guts so filled with radiance, this it overflows upon the outward world. Nathaniel Hawthorne

Morning with out you is a dwindled daybreak. Emily Dickinson

My dearly beloved if I'm to die at this time and by no means see the candy face of you I need you to know that I'm no nice man and am fortunate to have such a girl as you. Wild Invoice Hickok

My coronary heart is sort of a singing chicken. Christina Rossetti

O, thou artwork fairer than the night air clad in the fantastic thing about a thousand stars. Christopher Marlowe

Romance is tempestuous. Love is calm. Mason Cooley

Romance is the glamour which turns the mud of on a regular basis life right into a golden haze. Carolyn Gold Heilbrun

Romantic love is psychological sickness. But it surely’s a pleasurable one. It’s a drug. It distorts actuality, and that’s the purpose of it. It will be not possible to fall in love with somebody that you just actually noticed. Fran Lebowitz

Devil, actually, is the romantic youth of Jesus re-appearing for a second. James Joyce

The lust and attraction are sometimes a given in a romance novel – I need to dig into the weather of true friendship that kind a basis for a strong, gonna-last-forever romantic relationship. Suzanne Brockmann

The actual lover is the person who can thrill you simply by touching your head or smiling into your eyes – or simply by staring into house. Marilyn Monroe

The romantic love we really feel towards the alternative intercourse might be one further assist from God to carry you collectively, however that’s it. All the remainder of it, the real love, is the take a look at. Joan Chen

The sound of a kiss is just not so loud as that of a cannon, however its echo lasts an amazing deal longer. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

There is no such thing as a intuition like that of the guts. Lord Byron

There’s nothing extra romantic than Italian meals. Elisha Cuthbert

There’s one thing in regards to the sound of a prepare that’s very romantic and nostalgic and hopeful. Paul Simon

Custom wears a snowy beard, romance is at all times younger. John Greenleaf Whittier

Real love tales by no means have endings. Richard Bach

Vulnerability is the essence of romance. It’s the artwork of being uncalculated, the willingness to look silly, the braveness to say, “That is me, and I’m taken with you sufficient to point out you my flaws with the hope that you could be embrace me for all that I'm however, extra vital, all that I'm not.” Ashton Kutcher

We're every of us angels with just one wing, and we are able to solely fly by embracing each other. Luciano De Crescenzo

What's love? It's the morning and the night star. Sinclair Lewis

Once I give I give myself. Walt Whitman

Once I stroll with you I really feel as if I had a flower in my buttonhole. William Makepeace Thackeray

Phrases of affection, are works of affection. William R. Alger

You can't lookup on the evening sky on the Planet Earth and never marvel what it’s wish to be up there amongst the celebs. And I at all times lookup on the moon and see it as the only most romantic place throughout the cosmos. Tom Hanks

ROMANTIC QUOTES FOR HER

I completely dread the labors of the day, however the evening, when I'm with you, makes all the toiling value it.

I had no path in life till God introduced you into my world. Thanks for giving me somebody worthy of dedicating my coronary heart and soul to.

Once we met, the place we met, the phrases that got here out of your mouth, and even what you had been sporting are without end imprinted on my coronary heart.

I really like you a lot that I'm prepared to attend till we're married to bodily consummate our union.

It doesn’t matter in case you develop fats, toothless, bald or blind; you'll without end be an important particular person on this world to me as a result of the love I've for you is solidly cemented on my coronary heart.

My love for you is so sturdy there isn't any boundary within the universe that may hold me away from you.

The love I really feel for you is just not based mostly on intercourse. It's about valuing you for the intangible particular person you might be on the within.

When I'm round you I lose all apprehension and worry and simply need to be your servant. If this isn't the definition of affection, then love can't be outlined.

All 5 of my senses are in full submission to your loveliness. I'm however a prepared and ready slave to your love.

I don't worry love, nor do I worry heartbreak. My solely worry is that I fail in making you cheerful as a mate, that if this relationship does dissolve, I'm burdened with the considered not making an attempt my greatest.

I imagine that we're soulmates. I imagine that destiny not solely introduced us collectively but additionally deems that we must always stay so for the whole lot of our lives.

There may be nothing in my possession which in case you so desired I can conceptualize withholding from you. That is my means of exhibiting appreciation and respect to your love.

My inside drive to excel in life is fueled by the vitality of the love I really feel for you.

The love I really feel within the depths of my coronary heart for you is just not based mostly on immaturity, inexperience or infatuation. I do know the tasks of affection and I'm ready to cater for you on all ranges and each step of the best way.

I’m sorry if this may increasingly sound superficial, however each time I take a look at you, the fantastic thing about your physicality makes me fall in love anew yet again. If I had been born as a girl, I might be you. That's how a lot I imagine within the compatibility of our love.

Our hearts have develop into so intertwined that no matter accomplishments I make in life also needs to be attributed to you.

As lifting weights strengthens a bodybuilder, so is shopping for presents for you an train I interact in to strengthen our love.

You and I are even nearer than Adam was to his rib, and if I ever misplaced you, the ache can be extremely insufferable.

ROMANTIC QUOTES FOR HIM

Earlier than we even met, I constructed my residence in anticipation of your arrival. Babe, thanks for being the irreplaceable love of my life.

My job owns my physique, and my schooling owns my thoughts, however my love for you owns my coronary heart.

I like no matter you want, even when I don’t prefer it. In different phrases, I really like you dearly and would do something to make you cheerful.

Romance was one thing that eluded me till I met you. Thanks for being the pioneer of the unchartered territories of my coronary heart.

The one honor that might be higher than having your hand in courtship is to finally have your hand in marriage.

I at all times believed falling in love was for suckers, till I fell in love with you. Now my thoughts can't even conceptualize what life can be like if you weren't current.

Candy darling, when I'm with you it's like we're co-inhabitants within the dream land of euphoria.

I fantasized about falling in love my complete life, and now that it has lastly occurred with you it's a thousand instances extra superb than I anticipated.

If I based mostly love on cash, then I wouldn’t be with you. I really like you for what you possess inside, and I'm assured sooner or later whenever you do develop into extra established that you'll not disappoint me.

I can't predict the longer term, and I perceive issues don't at all times go as deliberate, however I might very very similar to so that you can sooner or later be the daddy of my youngsters.

Don’t ever really feel insecure in my love as a result of regardless of what number of guys could woo me I've no intentions of ever leaving you.

Even when this relationship sooner or later dissolves I do know the love we really feel for one another by no means will. So allow us to do ourselves a favor and present one another the requisite compassion to maintain this bond alive and vibrant.

If there may be one factor you by no means must query in life it's my dedication to this relationship. I really like you very, very a lot, my candy babe.

I might quit half of my organs to be transplanted into your physique if such was required to maintain you alive. Such is the unimaginable depth of my love for you.

Being with you incites a sequence of reactions, a few of which you'll find in any honest love poem, and a few that I’m too ladylike to say.

As a girl who prides herself on independence, falling in love was by no means actually a part of the plan, however there isn't any one on earth I might relatively entrust my coronary heart to than you.

There is no such thing as a sensation extra nice to my physique than your contact. Neither is there any pleasure extra fantastic than the enjoyment your love brings into my coronary heart.

My coronary heart and whole being rejoices every single day since you’re my man. I really like you a lot.

There is no such thing as a co-pilot I might relatively have venturing into the unknown areas of affection than the person that's presently by my aspect.

I'm misplaced in love, with the beating of your coronary heart being the one beacon I would like to steer me in the proper path.

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#Blogger #Love Quotes

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mystiika · 4 years ago

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tag drop 9/?

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inkyardpress · 7 years ago

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Swoon-worthy YA Heroes to Crush On

Heroism comes in all forms big or small, no matter if you’re the hero of your own story, your local community or the entire galaxy. These guys and gals make the whole hero thing look good (and we’ve got a literary crush)!

1. Literally any dude from The Sidekicks by Will Kostakis

Ryan, Harley and Miles have had a rough year. The only thing tying them together was their best friend Isaac, and since his death they’ve felt adrift with nothing to anchor them. They’ll have to help each other through their grief and discover that maybe there was more holding them together than just Isaac—that’s pretty heroic in our books.

The Sidekicks is available now from Harlequin TEEN. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

2. Justyce McAllister from Dear Martin by Nic Stone

Justyce (and Nic Stone) gives us a true-to-life portrait of the pressures placed on people of color to conform to everyone else’s idea of what and who they’re supposed to be. Even though Justyce has moved away, he still has to deal with the scorn of his former neighborhood peers, and now he has to deal with the ridicule of his new classmates, too. As if that’s not enough, when he and his friend Manny catch the attention of a white off-duty cop, Justyce finds his whole world under attack.

Dear Martin is available now from Crown Books for Young readers. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

3. Andi aka the Bloody Baroness from Zenith by Sasha Alsberg and Lindsay Cummings

Across the galaxy she is known as the Bloody Baroness, a powerful mercenary whose reign of terror stretches far and wide. Aboard her starship, the Marauder, she’s just Andi. She would do anything to protect her crew, her best friends in the world, and that promise is put to the test when they find themselves roped into a dangerous mission that could start a war with the potential to tear the galaxy in two.

Zenith is available from Harlequin TEEN beginning January 16, 2018. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

4. Vivian Carter from Moxie by Jennifer Mathieu

For Vivian Carter, enough is enough. Fed up with the systemic sexism that runs rampant in her small-town Texas high school, Vivian takes a cue from her mother’s Riot Grrrl past and starts a feminist zine that she distributes anonymously to her classmates. Can you say hero we deserve?

Moxie is available from Roaring Brook Press. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

5. Billy Chatworth from the Three Dark Crowns series by Kendare Blake

Don’t let us get started on Billy Chatworth or we’ll be here all day. Each of the queens in this series is pretty heroic in her own right, but Billy stole our hearts right from his first appearance on the page. From the way he defies his evil father at every turn to his loyal and steadfast love for Arsinoe, we can’t wait to see what Billy will do next.

One Dark Throne is available from Harper Teen. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

6. Tenn from Runebinder by Alex R. Kahler

Some people don’t want to be heroes but have responsibility thrust upon them anyway. That’s exactly what happens to Tenn. As a hunter resigned to fight in a hopeless war against hideous, bloodthirsty monsters (who used to be humans!), Tenn always expected to die for his cause. But when he is singled out by the enemy and catches the eye of Jarrett, another hunter, Tenn quickly finds himself caught in the middle of a game he never imagined playing—and discovers he might just have the power inside him to turn the tides of this war after all.

Runebinder is available from Harlequin Teen. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

7. Sefia from the Sea of Ink and Gold series by Traci Chee

Sefia is our favorite kind of hero: one who reads! In a society where reading is altogether unheard of (no thanks!), the key to unlocking the secrets of the past and saving the people she loves comes from deciphering a mysterious object left to her by her father. A book.

The Speaker is available from G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

8. Adrian from Renegades by Marissa Meyer

Adrian is a hero by definition. As one of the Renegades, born with special powers and sworn to protect and serve, he stands on the side of justice. But he’s on Nova’s hit list, too, as she plots against the heroes she’s sworn vengeance on. But is everything that simple? Both Nova and Adrian are keeping secrets and, in a book that explores what it means to be a hero and a villain, nothing is as clear as it seems.

Renegades is available from Feiwel & Friends. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

9. Emika Chen from Warcross by Marie Lu

Emika Chen didn’t think she was a hero. A hacker and a bounty hunter, sure—she’s always been in trouble with the law. But when she accidentally glitches herself into the preliminary game of Warcross and finds herself at the center of a conspiracy that could tear the very fabric of her society apart, Emika decides she’ll stop at nothing to do the right thing, even if it means going against what her heart tells her. What could be more heroic than that?

Warcross is available from G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

10. Liv Blakley from Someone to Love by Melissa de la Cruz

Liv is a special kind of hero. She’s not fighting in intergalactic battles or bringing liberation to her people. Liv is at war with herself and what she sees in the mirror every day. Ever since her father entered the political arena, Liv has been under media scrutiny—and has demanded nothing less of herself than perfection. But as the cost of perfection takes its toll, Liv must realize that real life isn’t picture-perfect and that being someone to love means loving herself first.

Someone to Love is available from Harlequin Teen beginning January 2, 2018. Add it to your Goodreads shelf!

#ya books #ya reads #bookworm #reading #am reading

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roninishere · 7 years ago

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My Recovery ∆ one ∆

(I don’t own the gif)

My Recovery

∆∆

The beating sun was torturous, just drowning the electrolytes and water out of everyone's system the instant they walked outside the cool air conditioning. Let's also not forget the awesome humidity that follows around this time of the year in this god forgiving state. 41% of humidity. Yeah no.

Last Monday Night Raw before the first ever Paper per view Great Balls of Fire on Sunday. Today also was the young woman's first day back to work in over a month. Her sparkling blue green eyes scanned over the Talking Stick Resort Arena, downtown Phoenix.

Monday night raw and Tuesday night Smackdown were here in Phoenix, Arizona. It'd give the woman a couple of hours to let loose in town, and she couldn't wait. With a deep breath, her anxiety settled in realizing all eyes would be on her.

‘Gotta go in sooner or later.' She told herself before she extended her suitcase holding it in her right hand as her left stroke her wheelchair wheel and pushed it forward to the back of the resort arena gain access backstage.

On her way there, her hands and arms grew tired, indicting how much she wasn't use to being in a wheel chair and how weak her upper body strength was. It was very frustrating for her, she wasn't use to any of it, and was just learning as she went.

“Ma'am, ID please." The two security guards were posted at the back door of the stadium where the talent and WWE staff would enter through.

Pulling the backpack that was squished between her back and her seat, pulling out her employee ID from her wallet getting the okay as they opened the door for her, and quietly tell her to have a goodnight. Sliding her ID back in her wallet, she entered backstage wondering who'd she run into.

“Is that Miss Carter I'm seeing?!" She could recongize that voice from anywhere. WWE Veteran wrestler R-Truth (real name Ronnie Killings), who had this excited smile on his face seeing it was indeed one of favorite people I'm the company “It is you Miss Carter! My god girl! Look at you! I'm digging this."

He moved his hand up and down refering to her wheelchair making her smile tug at the corner of her lips. R-Truth was the best making even the most sad and negative things, and bringing the positive out of it. Isabella knew her accident could have been worse, so why making it all depressing and a sob story?

“I do too. At least I can bump into people with my wheelchair and pull the innocent card."

The male wrestler burst out in laughter relieved she could joke a bit with everything right now.

“See! A blessin'!" Um, she guessed. “Where you headin'? Creative meeting?"

Giving him a nod, he said “I'll take you there,” Hooking her suitcase on her handles behind her seat, he gently pushed her as he was heading to the direction of catering. “I'm meeting up with Gold and the Hardy Boyz in catering. Just admire the dessert, torture ourselves."

A small smile was on her lips as they appeared in front of the door with a piece of paper that posted CREATIVE TEAM, indicting the two needed to say goodbye, for now. “Well, tell them I said hello, and thank you for accompanying me.”

“Don't thank me! See you later girl!"

Entering the creatice team room, there were more than just the other four members; Stephanie McMahon, Hunter, and Kurt Angle. Those three definitely meant that things were bad. Stephanie and Hunter meant 'We need to get our shit together'.

Which honestly doesn't surprise her, due to the point Monday Night Raw has one of the worst ratings on the USA Channel that she's ever seen in almost TEN years. That's what happens when she's not there for a month. Shit falls apart.

Everyone turned to see the young woman, completely surprised to see her back so soon. Hunter was first to welcome her back, helping her unhook her suitcase on her wheelchair "Isabella, not that I'm not happy to see you, but you didn't have to come back if you weren't ready."

"I'm fine, hate hospitals always. I'm good, I promise."

Glad to hear someone that he's grown close to over the years was ready to get back into work. Stephanie smiled with a respectful nod "Glad to have you back Isabell," addressing the dirty blonde woman with a nickname she gave her first day here, and she went into her professional boss mode after Kurt stood next to Isabella giving her a hello as Steph got started. "Now, if you haven't noticed, our ratings are incredibly low, the lowest they've been in I want to say fifteen years. We need to fix that, immediately. Now we're here to hear what you guys have to offer."

"We could put Bliss and Nia in a tag match agaisnt Bayley and Sasha." The 'awesome brilliant' head of raw creative suggested making Isabella roll her eyes in annoyonce and frustration being reminded on shit the Raw Womens Divison currently was in.

Hearing some more teribble ideas they've ALREADY done, the youngest woman cleared her throat, her hands resting on her lap as she adjusted herself where she was sitting up straight "What we should do with the womens divison is have Sasha and Alexa hash it out on the mic. With their real life differences and hate for one another, it'll engage the audience.

"Have the Miz and the Miz tirage Maryse of course, go out for Miz TV, Ambrose claim a rematch. Have Heath Slater come out and as for a title match. Ambrose has his rematch Sunday and have Heath and Miz have a title match to spark the ratings. Have Lesnar and Joe have a backstage fight," Pausing for a moment, Stephanie and Hunter grinned at one another knowing she still have her mind in work while gone.

"Emphasis on the Wyatt and Rollins match because I'm confused why that's even happening. Broken Gimmick needs to happen like yesterday, and lastly, we need to have more of the women superstars involved on Raw, since we have three hours I'm thinking Dana and Emma fued soon. Also see about Summer coming back and fued with Sasha. Alicia and Mickie happen."

She threw out a lot of information that she aslo had typed up in her folder. Edward Lang, the head of raw creative; male in his early 40s, tall handsome, pretty blye eyes, and could probably get any girl in his bed without breaking a sweat. He had anything but a pleasing look on her face glaring at her "Nobody wants to see Dana and Emma, Mickie James, or the rest of the divison. There's a reason why we've been standing with the four girls."

Even this guy had a boss. Road Dogg. Yeah, and he was even a bigger asshole.

"People want to see it, anyone but the four women. That's the point of a Women's Revolution. What's the point have having the Mae Young Classic when there are five women on Raw that haven't had a chance to shine because they aren't one of the four horse women with the exception of Alexa and Nia? It makes them," pointing at Stephanie, Kurt, and Hunter putting somw truth out there "look like a bunch of hypocrites."

Now, this was a little too much authority for the twenty nine year old who felt her heart racing and if she lifted her hand, it be shaking uncontrollabley. She hated how the Womens Divison was treated on Raw, and how they have some like Brock Lesnar, who yes she respects a lot, as a champion who is a part timer. Raw roster was getting the shit end of the stick and they were desperate at this moment.

"It's not that easy, the more time for them, the least for everyone else. Running this kind of show and getting the okay isn't as easy as you think it is. Thank you for your suggestions, I'll consider them." Code word for: Go fuck yourself Carter.

Balling her hand into a fist, she knew he wasn't going to give a shit about what she said and contunie to run this company to the ground. Not able to say anything, well she could, she just didnt have the self confidence to do so, she put a fake smile on her face muttering "You're welcome."

As their little meeting went on, Isabella found herself else where in her mind knowing this was never going to get better. Losing the best talent in the world like Austin Aries, who was not at all happy with his position in the company, that really says a lot about this company. She has dealt with this sexist and racist bullshit for years and it made her blood boil.

Most of the time why she never says anything back was because she was afriad of getting fired; she loves the wrestlers and staff memebers here. They've been her family for a long time. What would she do with her life? This was her life, just not in the way she saw it.

"Everyone's dismissed. Let's have a good show tonight."

Grabbing her suitcase pulling it by her left hand, she used her right to move her wheel to leave just when Hunter started small conversation "So how you feeling?"

"I'm doing good Hunter, just having a little of a hard time with sleeping positions. That's all."

That wasn't exactly what he was asking, so he asked a similar question "You know Steph and I can see how much you care about everyone here. You've been here for what? Almost ten years? Ever consider maybe taking a step into a bigger role?"

"Like as the Head of Raw Creative?"

He gave her a nod only her be truthful "You know Vince won't ever approve of it."

"He wouldn't, not without some convincing. I don't say this unless I believe it a hundred percent," Stopping in his tracks, she stopped when he set a hand on her shoulder and met his eyes "I see you as the Head of Creative, of both brand. Changing this place, and I have a feeling that you do too. Look, when you're ready, Steph and I will back you up but you need to find it inside that you can do it. Believe in yourself."

Wow, okay. Fuck. That's a lot for her to take in right now. She felt her breathing get heavy and uneven but she gave him a look that she understood what he was saying, "Thank you Hunter. I needed that."

"No problem kid, take it easy."

∆

With Raw kicking off in under an hour, Edward Lang actually considered her ideas and is going through with most of them. Just of course not the Womens Divison one. Fucking asshole.

He instructed Isabella to gather the talent together and tell them about the changes in the show. Doing that, she had everyones scripts and grew a nervous when she was giving weird looks in her new condition but she had this.

'I got this,' She told herself as everyone's eyes were now on her.

Ready go.

"H-hello everyone. There has been quite some changes with tonight show and I wanted you to hear it from me and to make sure everyone's on the same page," They watched as she opened the folder on her lap.

A certain superstar was curious and nudged his old friend "What happened to her?"

"Renee told me that her and Paige had been doing some training in the ring. She took a bad bump and lost the feeling in her legs."

A look of disbelief sat on the face of Seth Rollins, real name Colby Lopez "No," By the look on Jon's face, Dean Ambrose, his friend was dead serious "You're serious? That's crazy, I just don't see her trying to wrestle."

"I'm pretty sure someones said that about us or just about everyone in this room." Ah, very vaid point.

The two fell silent as the disable woman contunied on "Alright, bare with me everyone, I'm trying to unfuck everything, I'm gone a month and this place is going down to hell." Cracking a joke, some of the wrestlers chuckled at it agreeing, even making Colby himself chuckle.

"Enzo, you've been moved to the opening of the show, go out there and pour your heart out on the microphone. Now, I've changed that because Rollins and Wyatt," She grabbed both mens attention "I know you two haven't been given a lot of time with this storyline, so you guys got fifteen minutes, do what you do best.

"Miz, Maryse, and the Miz tourage will be on Miz TV, talking about Ambrose being a problem, Ambrose you come out demand a remath at Great Balls of Fire, god that is a horroble Paper per view name," She hated how it sounded and that was all they could best come up with? Chuckling softly she brought in Heath Slater "Heath, you and Ryno will come out, you say you want a title shot and you shall recieve one."

Mike and Maryse nod knowing their get there scripts after "Brock and Joe, we will do a backstage segnment and an interview will go south and basically y'all will kill each other," Paul Heyman really liked that idea with a giant smile on his face.

"Hardy boyz, slowly show the broken gimmick. I'm really trying to convince Vince to go with it so do your guys thing. And lastly, ladies, unfortunately you're stuck in another tag team match; Nia and Alexa vs Bayley and Sasha. For all three divisons, I know your frustrated with booking, I'm frustrated too. Bare with me and let's show Phoenix how Monday Night Raw works. If there are changes in storylines and segments I brought up, I have scripts. You're free to leave."

As everyone who got changes for tonight, naturally got in line as the others left the room. Standing behind Mike, Maryse, and the Miz Tourage, Colby's eyes flickered over at The Boss when she said a snarky comment to the creative woman who clearly didn't want to agrue. He rolled his eyes before he ease dropped in the conversation ahead of him.

"Now Mike, if you don't any of these, perfectly acceptable. I trust you enough to put on a great segment."

The Intercontinental champion scanned over the many script options she gave him very impressed "No, these are amazing. All of these are exactly what I need. You're the best Bella, oh! A bunch of the talent is going out tonight, you should join us!"

Mike and Maryse had always liked and respected Isabella; especially will being here as long as she has been. She fought for the Mike's on screen character and well as Maryse holding the Divas Champion many years ago having one of the longest divas reigns in history.

She had no favorites, and cared for everyone, wanting everyone to be treated right.

"Yeah, thanks for the invite. I'll be there. Tell me the details after your segment."

Being the last one, Colby took a step forward as she greeted him "Hey Rollins, how's the knee doin'?"

"It's doing really good actually, thanks for asking," He took the script from her hand as he head the door open for her to exit "How about you? Haven't seen you in a while."

That made her smile, and actually smile. He noticed when she wasn't around, wheeling herself out of the room "I'm hanging in there, it's a rough transition."

"I'm sure it is. Well, if this helps, you look great."

As he walked along side of her, he glanced over to see her dip her head in the other direction able to catch the bright red cheeks thinking it was adorable "T-thanks, it does help," she cleared her throat a little curious "are you going out later with the others?" "Yeah, Ceasaro and Ambrose convinced me to do so. Are you?"

Why not? Couldn't hurt to let loose "I'll go for a little bit, I'm going to the gym first," She then emphasized "Need to work on my upper body, of course." She fixed herself, even though he was well capable of figuring that out on his own.

He really respected that; gym before going out. In her condition, staying in physical fitness, was very important. "Hey, I hear you, that's great. I applause you, I'll see you later tonight then?"

"Yes, good luck tonight Mr. Rollin-"

"Please call me Colby, It's Isabella right?"

Giving a nod, Colby, despite working in the same company for YEARS, she had no idea that was his real name. She liked Colby, it was different. "Colby I will refer you as then, and yeah Isabella; feel free to call me Bella or really anything but Isabella, honestly I feel like I'm in trouble or in business talk. Sorry I'm rambling on."

"No, don't be sorry, I get it," He really didn't want to stop talking to her but they both had work to do. "I'll let you get back to work, thanks for the script. If I have any questions, where can I find you at?"

Yeah okay, really just to see her. He has this unexplainable attraction to her that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I'll be catering to think or either Glam Squad with the girls."

Ugh, shit what to say no, he was very awkward at this point. He was terrible with women, just look at hia track record with them. Terrible. "Ok sweet, I'll see you then."

"See you around Colby."

Parting ways, Isabella spent more of the night of the show with many of the other wrestlers to talk about their scripts and she gave some pointers and ideas to help them suceed as Colby spent most of his stealing looks in her direction, not understanding why exactly he did so.

∆∆

∆ two ∆

So yeah, thoughts? This has been my longest chapter ever. I hope y’all enjoyed and if you’d liked to be tagged, let me know! God I’m scared of what you guys think. Be gentle?

Love ya! xoxox

-Cammy

#seth rollins imagine #seth rollins fanfic #WWE #seth rollins #im nervous

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piratefalls · 8 years ago

Text

Long Fic

Fealty by astolat

"The only promise I will make you is that having found you, I will go to almost any lengths you care to name to keep you."

Point of a Pistol by Giddygeek

Root returns to claim what's hers.

i’ll pretend my heart’s not on fire if you steal my true love’s name by queenklu

“You know I can smell it on you,” Detective Carter says after her speech about helping hands and self-punishment. “You’re an Alpha.”

Outsider Perspective by Neery

John and Harold lose their memories.

An Unstoppable Force by giandujakiss, interation

John is still trying to figure out this little mouse of a woman who’s hired him, who can do anything with computers and has more money than God and who can barely walk and yet somehow always manages to evade him, who won’t tell him anything about herself but who says she knows everything about him – and he knows that can’t be true, it can’t –

When he realizes, she’s actually attracted to him. (always-a-woman!Finch)

It’s a Dog’s Life by manic_intent

Six months, no yellow cape, and one and a half thankfully harmless gun accidents after, Harold and Nathan had settled into a routine. The Machine would send them a number, and Harold would try his damnedest to resolve it through a computer. Usually, this endeavour would end in failure, because despite the advent of technology, the idiocy of certain members of humanity was so fundamental that not even computers could provide any sort of real solution.

This meant that Nathan often had to intervene. Sometimes they hired help: which had worked out with varying degrees of disaster. Sometimes they tipped off the police. Sometimes Nathan and Harold ventured out, bickering all the time, and the success rate of this latter tactic was usually at around 24%. It also usually served to further erode Harold’s already falling opinion of humanity.

A Really Private Person by astolat

The end of the world started on a Wednesday in March.

less bigger than the least begin by queenklu

“Mr. Gully is my former employee,” says Finch, fingers splayed over another stack of printouts, Gully’s blank-smiling face lurking in the upper left corner.

“Oh.” John waits, but Harold doesn’t add anything, doesn’t move except where his fingertips are twitching against the paper. "Forgive me for saying so, Harold, but that seems like the kind of information you’d lead with.”

A Slight Miscalculation by skepwith

Reese is an incubus that Finch summons by mistake.

The wizard isn’t at all what John expected. He’s slight, with a beakish nose, pale eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, and receding hair that stands up straight like it’s surprised. In his brown three-piece suit, he looks like a teacher at an old-fashioned boys’ school. But it isn’t his nebbishy appearance that throws John—it’s his expression. Most summoners greet him with a leer or a blush; this man looks, well, baffled.

The Raven Project by iteration

Reese tries to tail Finch over and over but never sees his home. Eventually, his imagination starts to run away with him.

Technical Support by astolat

The IFT Plaza security team wasn't what John would have called the brightest stars in the firmament.

All the things we don’t talk about by iteration

Finch moved his hand, and asked Reese to follow it with his eyes. He made a tiny clucking noise. Which was absurd because Finch appeared to be just as addled and confounded as Reese. "Mr. Reese, you're not well… You should get some rest."

Motivations by JenNova

John never wears gloves. Finch bought John an apartment full of windows. And why.

Dangerous If Unbound by astolat

The Texas sun beating down was merciless, almost a physical weight on his shoulders. John couldn't move even to change the angle: the collar was tight, the cuffs were tight, and the chains had been pulled to their limits.

A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement by Toft

Harold and John begin a casual sex arrangement. It doesn't go particularly well.

Belonging by nogoaway

The engraving is a thin cursive font; elegant, but not pompous or flowery. Even in the light it's small, and John has to squint to see. It reads: Belonging to Harold R. Wren.

John feels his mouth quirk up. 'Belonging to'. Not 'Property of'. It was the kind of distinction that Harold was always concerned with. Of course he'd have something engraved custom rather than put his name, even a false one, to a statement he didn't believe. Bear wasn't anyone's property. But he belonged somewhere. He belonged to someone.

Hamartia (the hero’s fatal flaw) by astolat

"We're not looking to make friends, Harold," John said. "We want our neighbors to classify us and then avoid us. Being the scandalous gay couple down the street is a good option."

Short Fic

The Silenus Club by Speranza

"I won't insult you by explaining the nature of the club," Harold said in a low voice.

Date Night by Spatz

“Mr. Reese, what is that sound?”

“I’m making popcorn,” John said, like it was obvious.

Kept Man by esteefee

John knows what Finch is doing; does he?

why don’t we get together and call ourselves an institute by leupagus

“It’s perfectly logical. We’re bound to be caught at some point together, and as far as I can see there’s no downside to connecting Mr. Warren to Mr. Wren socially. We’ll have an easier time explaining ourselves being together if we’re observed being together, and since you’ve vetoed all of my suggestions for activities that you could take up—“

“I’m not joining a bowling league, Harold,” John says firmly.

A More Subtle Trap by Giddygeek

There is a danger here, although it isn't John himself--it's what John's closeness makes Harold want.

Ring by Speranza

A phone rang. Finch stilled, head tilted, listening. The pay phone was housed on top of a low grey metal stand in front of the corner deli. Instinctively, Reese glanced up and saw the red glowing eye of the camera. Finch had already started for the phone, but Reese put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's for me," Reese said.

What’s On the Table by cortue

Harold is fairly certain this is a fruitless endeavor, but he finds he can’t forget the question now that he’s asked it of himself. What does John actually enjoy?

Catch a Boat to England, Baby (Maybe to Spain) by leupagus

The car door opens and one of the soldiers slides in, almost braining Harold with the butt of his gun. "Sorry, sir," the soldier says, breathless, "I thought you were in the other car — but you weren't — so I had to jump out and—"

"Who are you?" Harold says, but the soldier's familiar; the tall one who'd looked embarrassed.

And who still looks embarrassed. "Oh. Sorry, sir. Um. John Harris. Private Harris? I'm your um, assigned unit. Sir.” He sticks out a hand.

Losing Control by Neery

"It's got to be some messed-up new designer drug," Carter said.

Love And Marriage by astolat

"Harold," John said, "are you asking me to marry you for your money?"

"Well, Mr. Reese," Harold said, "given how much of it you've spent already, I don't really see how you can complain."

Absolutely Necessary and Altogether Impossible by esteefee

Reese braked suddenly. "Stay in the car," he said, and then slid out and pounded away into Washington Square Park, and there wasn't even a Number—they were just enjoying an evening drive after the concert.

Circle Completing the Square by jjtaylor

There’s nothing wrong with needing to be told what to do.

Press My Nose to the Glass Around Your Heart by Perpetual Motion

He states rather than asks because time has shown that stating garners better results.

Layover by nogoaway

"I said no such thing. Only that it would be unethical, not to mention unwise, to sleep with an employee."

Escapism by astolat

The surprise was, this time he didn't open his eyes in a hotel room in Mexico.

Trophy Husband by killalla

Never underestimate the allure of the game. And never fight a land war in Asia.

let’s be clear, i’ll trust no one by violentdaylight

“You’re not expendable,” Mr. Finch had said, standing too close to him, and even though John had the advantage of height over him, John’s knees were nearly buckling at the unyielding expression on his face, those clear blue eyes staring him down.

Echoes by eris

If it were predictable, they wouldn't call it shock.

pretense never suited us by the_ragnarok

A drug that removes inhibitions has an unexpected effect on John.

The Third Time by drifterskip

It takes time and stressful circumstances for Finch and Reese to comprehend just how much they could mean to each other. Feelings are dangerous. Then again, nearly everything they do is dangerous.

When he was forced to do so, Finch didn’t just break people, the way Reese did. No, Finch destroyed them, if need be. To protect the things in this life that Finch held dear, he could and would stop at nothing.

you knew who I was with every step that I ran to you by violentdaylight

"Hmmh, blow jobs, Harold,“ John says, as if Harold is being especially dense. "You know. Giving head, sucking someone off.“ He considers for a moment. "Oral sex.“

"I understand what a blow job is, Mr. Reese,“ Harold says with a desperate edge to his voice. "Please go to sleep.“

In which John has trouble expressing how he feels. Harold can relate.

PWP

Are you ready (for what I’m about to do to you?) by iteration

"Will you ever tell me your real name, Harold?"

"You know several of my real names, John."

For Tomorrow by astolat

Harold said, softly, without looking at him, "I told you once we'd most likely end up dead." (post 2x10)

Triceps Brachii by judgebunnie

It was getting to be a problem.

High Risk by Toft

“I’ll be indisposed for a day or two, Mr Reese,” Finch says. He sounds strained, embarrassed. “If a number comes through, I have every confidence that you will manage it. I’d be grateful if you didn’t try to contact me.”

Gift of the Magi by astolat

She said, "You're not ignoring it on purpose, are you? You don't even know

need not by the_ragnarok

Harold spite-masturbates. John catches him with his pants down.

Self Defense by Speranza

There were heavy velvet curtains over the windows.

Prudent Is the New Sexy by LadyDrace

Having to work around chronic injuries doesn't mean that sex has to be difficult.

a brief history of pain relief by violentdaylight

"I hope you're not planning on letting Detective Riley develop a drug habit," Harold says.

Set after 4x16, in which we learn about Harold's familiarity with medical marijuana.

Peak Effect by astolat

"Ask me something," Harold said abruptly. "Anything—anything you want to know—"

Behavioral Therapy by esteefee

Finch wants something out of John. The trick is figuring it out when John can barely think.

Secrets I have held in my heart (I just wanna be yours) by violentdaylight

“This is how it will go,” Harold says conversationally. “I won’t touch you, I won’t kiss you, in fact I won’t do anything to you at all. I’ll just sit here,” he says, letting himself sink against the upholstery, “and enjoy the view.”

The Rest is Silence by hedda62

Finch was in the Library multitasking, feeding Bear and forging a research grant while making puns about computer bugs and (Reese was pretty sure) Hamlet; Reese was in the bathroom in his loft dressing abrasions and thinking vaguely about Finch's voice as antibiotic ointment. Or possibly lubricant.

Intimacy by astolat

"Well, Harold," John said, shrugging, "I guess we're going to get to know each other better."

Gen

The Great Friendship Caper by galaxysoup

Finch comes up with a way to curb Leon’s tendency to wind up in trouble. Unfortunately for Reese, the NYPD, and several (mostly) innocent bystanders, it involves socializing.

a lone star shining (sun is rising) by hito

John leaves the hotel before the night is out. Episode tag for 215.

Pen Pals by galaxysoup

Reese and Sofia keep in touch.

#person of interest #kelly watches person of interest #my rec list #because chiomi is a life-ruiner and an enabler and all sorts of other bad things #poi #harold/finch #rinch #this got out of hand sorry guys #haroldfinch #poi rec list

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agirlingrey · 8 years ago

Note

World War Two / 1940s AU ( !!! bc

V A R I O U S . D R A B B L E . A U S .

Despite the devastated buildings and the rubble all around the city, the merriment inside the small pub was definitely CONTAGIOUS. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime ( though in reality, it was only months ), Alys found herself laughing and smiling easily, and letting go of all her worries about the future of her city and country. She couldn’t even seem to bring herself to mind just how insanely UNCOMFORTABLE and restraining her uniform felt, which was often one of her worst daily problems. She kept giggling at Dum Dum Dugan’s HORRIBLE attempts at singing along, Captain Rogers’s flustered state upon the attention she was receiving from Agent Carter, and the fact that one of the ‘heroes’ of the famous Howling Commandos was currently passed out on one of the tables, his mouth open wide as he slept, and his clothes a fierce mess.

For her part, Alys preferred to remain quiet for most of the night, answering people when a question was directed at her, but mostly CONTENT with listening and watching those around her. She had been quite careful with her alcohol consumption as well— which made her quite a rarity within the pub. Steps were stumbling and speech were SLURRED already, and no one seemed to be intent on stopping any time soon. Normally, such loud and bothersome behaviour would rub her the wrong way, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to admonish any of them. God knew they hadn’t had much reason to LAUGH and LET GO lately. Especially the men of this unit.

As her eyes scanned the establishment, they fell on Sergeant Barnes, who was standing a few feet away from the group, nearby the bar, in the middle of what appeared to be an attempt to WOO a pretty, blonde woman. It made her snicker, and roll her eyes when their gazes met. She received a fleeting grin as a response, before directing his attention back to the woman she didn’t know.

She supposed his attempts would be IMPRESSIVE, if not for the fact that he seemed slightly glass-eyed and was having trouble standing upright. The pretty lady’s train of thought must have been similar to hers, because after a few minutes of some of the most AWKWARD flirting efforts, she promptly turned her back on him and decided to speak to the soldier on her left instead.

Snickering again, Alys nudged Dugan and they spent a few, enjoyable moments laughing at Bucky’s failure and DEJECTED expression. Suppressing what felt like a boisterous but slightly hysterical laughter, Alys eventually got up from her seat. Stretching a little to accommodate her stiff limbs, she approached Barnes, and slapped his shoulder affectionately before taking a seat beside him. “Cheer up, mate. You can never trust us English broads anyway, take it from me. Call it INSIDE INFORMATION.” She grinned, “You would do better by rejoining us. I reckon Captain Rogers needs your assistance. He looks like he is about to faint.”

ACCEPTING.

#thefallcn #ANSWERED. ( IN CHARACTER. )#verse. ( the world is changed. )

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fox-household · 6 years ago

Text

Act 4: Education and Moral Standards, Chapter 5

Alright here’s another one, a lot sooner than usual, however the next chapter may take a little while since I have a bit to do. At least I’m glad to announce this is the final chapter of this long running act. Hope you’re all doing ok. Have a good one.

FIRST, PREVIOUS, NEXT, INFO

SCI

‘’English, Art, History, Gym, Maths annnd Science, I think we might’ve done it Al, it’s over’’, Sci shoved the piece of paper roughly into his pocket as he exclaimed happily. ‘’Y-yeah, I’m quite r-relieved honestly, I r-really hope these interview th-things are uncommon.’’ Alphys smiled faintly as she heard the news. Sci lead the way as they left the science wing of the school, having now experienced the layout of the school first hand, he found it quite easy to lead them to the front office, the room looking less lit then it was before due to the time of day getting later, he imagined that it wouldn’t be long now before the lights would be turned on. ‘’Soooooo what’s the plan, you got any way to contact Asgore, tell him we’re done?’’, he spoke quietly as he looked out a front window, wondering about the plans for tonight. ‘’Oh uh y-yeah, I d-did as we w-were heading over h-here, he just sent a-a ‘ok’. A b-bit weird he s-sent such a short m-message but I g-guess he’ll be h-here any m-moment.’’, she nodded as she spoke and started fumbling with her phone to show the skeleton until he gave her a wave of his hand as an indication not to worry. ‘’Well alright then, guess we just wait here’’. ‘’Well if all you’re doing is waiting, well then I hope I’m not bothering you two’’. The duo both suddenly turned towards the direction of a soft but yet commanding voice, the owner of the voice being a monster with the characteristics of a Platypus. Height wise he was what you would consider the most average of heights, he wore a dark blue suit that exuded authority and a certain form of confidence. Also on his bill laid shiny gold coloured spectacles that went with the golden chain that could be partially seen dangling from his waist. With a small laugh he spoke once more after watching the other monster’s surprised looks and even curiosity from the skeleton, ‘’Sorry for bothering you two, but I just felt I needed to meet you, I’m Principal Carter, but you may call me Ornithor… or Carter, whatever’s easiest for you to say.’’ He gave a quick glance to each of them, giving them a look up and down, ‘’Anyway I’ve heard about you two, been the talk of the staff, you’re Alphys right?’’, he put out his hand as a friendly gesture. With slight hesitation she took it and gave it a small shake, ‘’Uh, y-yes, I a-am’’. He laughed in response, ‘’Good, good. I like to give people nicknames, makes everything seem much less formal, you know? I think a friendly relationship should be encouraged, now how about Alphy?’’ ‘’W-with all d-due respect, I w-would ask th-that you n-not use that nickname.’’, the discomfort in her obvious was obvious to the skeleton, yet the other monster seemingly ignored her request, now turning his attention to him. ‘’And you’re Sci, I honestly can’t think of nickname for you, you already go under one and well, it’s already to short, so I might have to wait a little while to think of one’’. He offered out his hand once more, that cheerful grin starting to make him feel a little off. ‘’Yeah, I think that’s alright, no stress, is there anything specifically you wanted to talk to us about?’’, although Sci tried to keep his usual smile, he couldn’t but feel it was starting to fade ever so slightly. ‘’Ohohoho, straight to the point, are we? Well if you want to get on with things, then sure I’ll oblige. Just again as I said, people have been talking about you two, finding it interesting that you and Alphy over here are looking after Asgore instead of our esteemed Doctor Gaster….’’ ‘’S-seriously, please d-don’t use th-that nickname’’ ‘’… however, I’m here to find out why this little change was made.’’, Something changed in Carter after that sentence, his eyes narrowed and his smile turned into one that smelled of ulterior goals and feeling. His voice became just a bit louder as if to demand all the attention into the room, on second thought it’s as if he was passively demanding control of the room. Whatever vibe he was giving off now, it was causing Alphys to shrink back and it put Sci on edge. ‘’I-is th-that a b-big deal sir?’’, her voice trembling as she watched his gaze focus on her, especially as he started to laugh for what was about a good few seconds longer than they were comfortable with. ‘’Oh is it a big deal? Dear it could be a big deal, I mean what causes him to live two effective strangers that have no parenting experience on their own.’’ ‘’W-we’re j-just trying to h-help him.’’ A small glint caught in the Principal’s eye. ‘’Oh and then what is it that he needs help with? Something going on with him and his previous home? What hardships is he facing?’’. It was finally at this moment that Sci decided to step in, he couldn’t stand by any longer. ‘’I think Mr Carter, the only thing that matters is Asgore is safe, safety being something you need to trust we can provide him.’’ His expression took on a much more challenging smirk as he watched the skeleton, ‘’Well first, taking promises from a stranger isn’t really a recipe for success, anyone can say that. At the same time there must be a reason that Asgore needs to be helped, for example perhaps he doesn’t feel safe with Gaster.’’ ‘’I really, really hope you don’t plan on trash talking him, I can only imagine all the stuff he’s dealing with at the moment.’’, Sci’s tone was rising as he started to feel the bitterness rising up in his throat, the nerve on this guy, what was his problem? ‘’Oh no of course not, I only raise a concern, can I not be concerned about this student at this school as someone who runs this institution that looks after him for a large amount of time five days a week?’’, the sharpness of words started to reach a peak as it seemed now as if he was giving Sci a glare. However, he didn’t allow any of this to disturb him as he fought back, ‘’Well with all the due respect that I can muster and as much as I’m sure all the parents appreciate your contribution, this is none of your concern. Any possible issue that may or may not be occurring is a private matter that will be discussed and dealt with privately. You shouldn’t… no you don’t have a say in it.’’ ‘’S-sci, I th-think th-that’s enough…’’, she whispered low enough that he struggled to pick up what she was saying and there was no doubt that the other monster couldn’t hear it. ‘’Wow, you really don’t hold back do you? You come in here, in my building, and have tone with me, decide to have a real darn fine go at me…’’, his expression was held for a few silent moments that felt like years, until it reverted back the old, light hearted one of before, ‘’….Gahahahahahahahaha Oh my boy, I really like your style, you have a real backbone no pun intended. I like you friend’’, his voice was just smothered with jovial cheer as if nothing had transpired in that short amount of time. ‘’Y-you do? You’re happy?’’, the sudden transition was causing a form of confusing whiplash for the skeleton. ‘’Well of course I am, why wouldn’t I be? I didn’t anything that would make you think otherwise right?’’ ‘’Well umm-‘’ ‘’Sorry about everything, just I care deeply about my students you see, like to make sure they’re all happy and healthy. What I also do appreciate is someone with a spine, you don’t take no crap and you seem to be happy to get your hands dirty, am I wrong?’’, he tilted his head in curiosity, eagerness making him bounce as he waited for an answer. Sci scratched the back of his head, ‘’I mean, I don’t like to be submissive, I guess? Not sure if what you said fully applies though.’’ ‘’Well it’s better than half the pack animals I know… hey since you two are here, would you mind writing down your contact details for me, if you’re going to be Asgore’s guardian then I think it’s only right I should be able to contact you.’’ The two obliged as Carter pulled out a notepad from his pocket and a $1 blue pen and gave it to the two, both scrawling their mobile phone numbers on the pad, along with Alphys giving a home phone number. Just as he started to put the notepad away and before he could give any kind of thanks, they noticed another presence in the room. From behind the Principal, Asgore slowly approached, a weakness in his steps as he also didn’t seem to hold eye contact with anyone, as it made clear to everyone the redness of his eyes, no one needed confirmation on what that meant. ‘’Well speak of the devil, was just talking to your folks here, is there anything I can do for you Asgore?’’, his voice was unchanged as he kept on trying to remain in his jovial state. The kid held his arm and shook his head slowly and spoke with a slow and hollow voice, ‘’No thanks Mr Carter, I’ll be fine’’. Suddenly the Platypus monster reached within his jacket pocket and pulled out a pocket watch that connected to the gold chain that could be seen before, opening it he gave a glance that was much to quick to read the time. ‘’Oh well would you look at that, it appears I’m going to be later for an urgent matter, it was nice meeting you all, have a nice day’’, though the last of his sentence went unheard as by the word ‘look’ he’d already started running off deeper into the building, leaving a rather awkward silence between the three of them. ‘’Hey kid, you-‘’ ‘’I’m fine…’’, he quickly jabbed in, taking a deep and struggled breath, it felt like that moment was the one that would decide whether or not he would break down or not, in this situation he didn’t, ‘’…can we just go home please? I-I just want to get out this place.’’ The other two had almost perfectly matching concerned looks as they watched him, giving each other a small glance before one of the two spoke. ‘’Y-yes of c-course, I th-think w-we can all agree to h-head home r-right?’’, she said, trying to find a way to add more confidence in her voice, to avoid any sign of sadness. ‘’Mhmm, I would say we’re done here, don’t see any reason to stick around’’. Asgore nodded in a slow fashion, ‘’Th-thank you…’’

ALPHYS

It wasn’t unexpected to have the trip home be one of silence or to have everyone in the house to retreat in their separate ways. While Sci and Asgore both retreated to their rooms, she decided to sit in the dining room and eat a biscuit or two. After having seen the state of Asgore she wasn’t sure what to do, should she go in there? Was she being a bad guardian, no a bad friend by waiting out here? After half an hour of just mulling over her thoughts, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Asgore who without an words or an ounce of hesitation sat down next to her. ‘’I’m ready to talk about it if you want, since that was what was promised before we left right?’’, his voice and face was better, not happy, but at least it didn’t feel like every atom of him was just oozing out sadness. ‘’O-oh it’s f-fine, I m-mean if you’re n-not feeling the b-best we c-can do it another time’’. ‘’No Al, I want to talk about it now, I keep my word and I just… want to get it over and done with’’. ‘’Don’t turn this away, a free source of information is always welcome’’, the voice came in calmly, causing Alphys to let out a sigh. ‘’Alright, i-if you r-really want to, th-then I j-just want to know wh-why you h-have such a problem with Gaster, I-I m-mean your side of th-the story, y-you’re opinion on it m-matters to.’’, She had a warm tone as she spoke, wanting to make sure that she was listening to him as someone who wasn’t going to judge him. He smiled faintly before returning to a serious look, ‘’Ok then, I guess I’ll start with the start…’’, he took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together, ‘’… after all this universe stuff happened, when we got back as family after all the horrible events that occurred. There was a lot of conflict between people, especially between myself, Tori, Sans and Gaster. For the big man himself, he changed harshly after that, once he fully recovered from all his injuries he became harsher and a lot stricter on rules.’’ Alphys nodded as she turned the words over in her head, ‘’Y-you know i-it’s all about all of y-your s-safety and all that right?’’ ‘’Don’t know, sounds like a real classic case of control freak’’. Asgore seemed to be mildly annoyed at her words, though not enough for him to actually get angry or express anymore frustration than he already would have, ‘’You should’ve seen him Al, he went freaking psychotic went it came to dates and times, he was mad. I mean he was obsessed with knowing where we all were at all times, couldn’t do anything without having to bloody *report* in. He became paranoid as hell and we were the ones that have to deal with it. You don’t understand, he basically was taking any semblance of freedom we had, it’s no way to live.’’ ‘’I-I d-don’t think I can r-really comment on h-his p-parenting, wh-whether it’s right o-or wrong…’’ ‘’Oh I think I can…’’ ‘’…but I can a-at least sympathise th-that it d-doesn’t real nice to d-deal with’’, Her voice wobbled with worry a little bit as she tried to carefully pick her words. ‘’A-anything else y-you w-want to m-mention Asgore? Or d-do you wish to l-leave it here?’’ ‘’You know about my… infection right? I’m sure Gaster wasted no time telling you all about it, what did he tell you?’’, his eyes narrowed as the subject turned to one he would obviously rather not be talking about, yet he seemed to still be ready to pursue it. Alphys paused as she thought, wondering if it was ok to tell everything. Of course it was, he needed pure honesty from her, she couldn’t lie to him. ‘’Y-you’re r-right, he d-did tell m-me about it all. I-it i-isn’t in a problematic state and the only p-place it’s m-manifested is on y-your soul. W-with your increased n-need for m-magical substances Monster f-food is to be made th-the majority of your d-diet in an attempt t-to halt any form of the infection getting worse or s-spreading… b-be umm… b-be w-warned that Asgore m-may uh be a l-l-little v-volatile on the s-subject…’’, she winced at those last words, wondering if maybe she should’ve left those last words out. Asgore grimaced, ‘’Volatile? That’s what he calls it? I’m Volatile?’’, he let out a small growl like noise before speaking further, ‘’You want know what he calls Volatile? You want to know why I found to the first opportunity to run away from that damn hellhole?! Because he lied to me. After testing, Gaster told me that I was completely free of the virus and what is that I find much later? A nice shiny little piece of evidence on my soul that doesn’t seem to want to disappear. Wouldn’t you like to know if you were liable to be extra aggressive, have extra cravings for consumption and to possibly hurt the people around you?! Who wouldn’t want to know that you may one day find that maybe one day you’ll just lose control and find yourself eating THE FLESH OF OTHER MONSTERS?!!!’’. He yelled out as he banged the table with his fist, his breathing just showing his seething anger, until a few seconds later when his face turned to one of shock, before slowly transitioning into regret and even an ounce on fear, he looked over at her as he shook his hand, throbbing pain being felt throughout it. ‘’S-sorry Al, I’m just… I guess I must seem really messed up to you huh?’’ Alphys had slid her chair back at least two steps back as he went on his rant, his voice raising ever so higher as she suddenly feared that maybe she should be concerned, she reached into her pocket and gripped the comfort of a spherical object inside. But the moment his expression changed she could just feel her fear crumble away and now she felt guilt, just like he was worried about, for several moments there she perceived him as dangerous, a threat and judging from the way he looked at the extra distance between them he knew her thoughts, she wish she could’ve taken those feelings back. However those thoughts didn’t last long as she watched his expression, the emotional pain he was going through, he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t need it. Alphys stood up from her chair with a determined expression, walking up to Asgore wrapping him in the tightest hug she could muster, ‘’L-listen to me. Y-you aren’t a d-danger to yourself, m-me or anyone else. Y-you’re not a r-risk or s-someone I need to w-watch out for. Because no matter wh-what Asgore… y-you’re still you. You j-just need to believe in that like we do.’’ He didn’t respond for a few moments and for a split second she feared she’d said something wrong, but then his arms came around her as a return hug and he whispered, ‘’Thanks Al, I-I… just really needed to hear that, thank you’’. Soon he pulled away from her and took a few steps back, smiling at her, a true genuine smile that was the one thing she could see that night to make everything better again. ‘’H-hey g-give me th-that hand.’’, she pointed down at the hand he had clenched, the one in pain from the table collision. ‘’Uh yeah sure thing?’’, he gave a questioning tone as he held out the hand. ‘’J-just h-hold still…’’, The lizard monster closed her eyes and started to rub her hands together, her face showed focus before finally opening her eyes to both of her hands being surrounded in a green aura. She smiled and clasped her hands around Asgore’s and let the magic flow through. The goat felt a warm feeling start going through his hand which was what he assumed to be the magic. But while he could feel the warm feeling along with the pain, soon it felt like the feeling was replacing his pain, slowly fading away before the warmth was all that remained in his hand. However as much as he enjoyed the pleasant feeling, the warmth slowly disappeared as Alphys brought her hands away, their aura fading and her both her hands returning to normal. ‘’Thanks again Al, have you always been able to do that?’’, his smile was a bit brighter than before, almost even returning to his usual level of cheer. ‘’Uh n-no, I learnt a-about a y-year and a h-half ago, j-just seemed k-kind of u-useful’’, there seemed to be the rare occurrence of pride in her voice, Asgore found it obvious to tell she was happy to show it off. He let out a big, long yawn, ‘’Heh well that’s really cool Al… anyway I think I’ll head off to bed, really feel I need the rest. Good night, sweet dreams.’’, he gave her a wave and a smile before starting to head off. ‘’G-good night, h-have a good sleep yourself’’.

Alphys opened the door to her room, walked in and let herself just fall on top of her bed with a grin. ‘’Someone seems quite happy with themselves…’’ ‘’W-well of c-course I’m h-happy, e-everyone else s-seems to be mostly h-happy.’’ ‘’This conversation with the boy has made me realise something.’’, surprisingly her voice seemed actually serious, which meant obviously there was some kind of issue. ‘’Please d-don’t tell me y-you think Asgore is a d-danger?’’, her tone started hold an annoyed edge to it. ‘’Actually yes, but not because of that, Sci as well, they’re both dangers. What if they’re involved or become involved?’’ ‘’Sci and Asgore aren’t the bad guys, th-they w-wouldn’t do such a-a thing, that’s crazy talk’’. ‘’When it comes to everything we know, can you really guarantee we can trust them? That they aren’t some sort of sleeper agent in disguise? Not even including Asgore’s disease or Sci’s weird actions throughout the days. With this situation they could very easily be our undoing, knowingly or unknowingly… we can’t trust anyone’’ Alphys groaned and the rubbed her face with her hands, ‘’Y-you’re right, th-they could e-easily be a p-problem, I c-can’t 100% say w-we can trust them. But w-we have no o-other, I d-don’t want to s-spend my days anymore p-paranoid than u-usual.’’ ‘’Can you at least please keep them at arm’s length as much as possible?’’ ‘’Hmmm no p-promises… w-we’ll j-just see h-how everything g-goes… n-now I’m going to s-sleep, I d-don’t want anymore from y-you. Now g-goodnight.’’, Finally with that, she rolled over in her bed and watched the wall, wondering how long it would take to actually get to sleep.

#glitchtale alphys #quantumtale asgore #SCIENCE SANS #fox household #Ghost Fox64 #story #undertale #school life #hugs

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fashionavenuenews · 6 years ago

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FASHION AVENUE NEWS

ANNOUNCEMENTS

Fashion Avenue News is ECSTATIC to announce we are MOVING our offices from West 34th Street to TIMES SQUARE as of September 1, 2018.

For the last 18 years we have held office space on West 34th Street with Regus International. In any business, you must evaluate your business, look at the market, inspect the vibe and work on your approach.

When I started my business many years ago, people would FLY in to meet with you, stop by your office to have meetings, office space was really important at that time. Today is a different day, while office space and presence is still important, people are doing business differently than before. People are video meeting, video calling, social media meeting, etc., people are not doing business like they did before and that calls for CHANGE. If you are in business, you have to be willing to CHANGE, that does not mean give up your GOALS, it just means changing the way we reach them.

Fashion Avenue News welcomes CHANGE; we have taken dedicated desk space at the wonderful WE WORKS in TIMES SQUARE with an OUTDOOR WRAP AROUND TERRACE. With the ability to stay current, we want to work with the MILLENNIUMS, business is YOUNG, HIP and FRESH. People are not sitting in a stuffed office, they are networking with other like-minded, creative individuals that they can co-contribute with.

As of September 1, 2018, Fashion Avenue News (and our other Luxury Brand Publications) will be located at 1460 Broadway, NY, NY 10036. This location is at the corner of West 41st Street and Broadway, in the HEART OF TIMES SQUARE. It boasts an event space holding about 150 people (FREE TO THE MEMBERS) with a WRAP AROUND TERRACE (which I will be using during NYFW). We will have Dedicated Desk Space – which means, we have a desk space in an office full of creative, exciting people to network with and space for meetings that are more like living rooms or stores, oppose to offices. We still have conference rooms for those meetings that need a little more privacy. There is FREE COFFEE, TEA, ESPRESSO and more.

I hope some of you will stop by our new location and take a look. My plan is to be available 5:30-8:30 M-F except during NYFW (who knows what time I’ll finish on those days); weekends from 3-6pm and daytime by appointment.

About Our Times Square Office Space We Work

Occupying 13 full floors, our office space in Times Square attracts a diverse group of businesses. You’ll find e-commerce companies, theater and music marketers, and tech startups galore in our impressive, modern building. Located on the corner of 41st Street and Broadway, we’re within walking distance to some of the city’s busiest subway lines—1, 2, 3, A, C, E, N, Q, R, B, D, F, M, and 7 trains—as well as the shuttle to Grand Central. Plus, we’re a block away from Bryant Park, the perfect location for an afternoon stroll to jumpstart your creativity. For a beautiful office space that puts you in the center of the action, join WeWork Times Square.

EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS MEETING

Fashion Avenue News will host a Producers Meeting on Sunday August 12th. This meeting is to develop a calendar for anyone producing annual/continuous events throughout the year. The purpose of the meeting is to discuss how we can support each other as we product our events. One person per company can attend. We have 2 slots open. Kindly inbox Fashion Avenue News if interested.

SARTORIAL MAGAZINE – FOR THE MAN THAT LOVES LUXURY

With all that is happening, we are in the midst of launching our MENs only magazine, The SARTORIAL Man – for the Man that Loves Luxury. This new Mens Only publication will be headed up by the one and only Clarence Black as Creative Director– an American Couturier and Connoisseur of Men’s Fashion along with SIR GIO as Brand Ambassador and MiMi Carter as Fashion Director. We are looking at a Fashion Week launch, perhaps at our new office space, details will be announced.

UBM MAGAZINE DROPS THIS MONTH

Andrene Williams will debut her new LifeStyle/Fashion publication UBM – UNIQUE BLEND MAGAZINE. The Magazine Launch will take place this Friday August 3, 2018 at Le Reve, 125 E 54th St, New York, NY 10022 from 6pm unitil. Look for fabulous networking, Fashion Show featuring Bling! Darling giving you the last looks at the 2018 collection (everything will be on sale starting at $20) along with Bridget Ward showing her Paper Couture Collection.

Come out and enjoy this moment with Andrene Williams with the Launch of her publication UNIQUE BLEND MAGAZINE.

FASHION INDUSTRY FINEST

Fashion Avenue News, Editor-in-Chief, Sofia Davis will represent Luxury Fashion Brands from Designers to Accessory lines, that are considered The Fashion Industry Finest. Sofia says “We are looking for items that are UNIQUE, not your same run of the mill designers or jewelry” she believes “if you want something different, you have to do something different”. She will shop the brands to pre-determined luxury locations. She will develop Fashion Week presence for the Luxury Brands she represents. The goal is to create a strong customer base. This is not for Brands that are interested in MASS PRODUCTION, this is for LUXURY BRANDS, ONE OF A KIND ITEMS, FASHION INDUSTRY FINEST. To be effective, we will only represent a LIMITED number of brands. If you are interested, we will take desk side appointments during the month of September, kindly inbox us or email at [email protected]

SUPERMODEL GIO HAS BEEN APPOINTED BRAND AMBASSADOR TO THE FAN LUXURY BRANDS

We are excited to welcome Sir GIO as our Luxury Brand Ambassador. Sir GIO will represent the Luxury Brand of Publications along with numerous other items coming up. He will make appearances and sign autographs when time permits. You can see Sir GIO in numerous TV, Movies etc., coming soon. We look forward to this collaboration with this SuperStar.

FAAB FASHION WEEK & LIVE MANNEQUIN SHOWROOM

FAAB Fashion Week will take place at 4 West 43rd Street on Friday September 14, 2018. Tickets are FREE to the public – www.FashionAvenueNews.com There will be the Live Mannequin Showroom and Runway Show. Designers have the ability to SELL TO THE PUBLIC. We have approximately 5 slots left, interested designers please contact us http://www.FAAB.com or www.AffordableFashionWeek.com

BOSS LADY COSMETICS LAUNCH

Boss Lady Wendy Isaac will launch her Cosmetic Line on October 7, 2018 at the TEEM Co-Working Event Space, located at 1463 5th Ave, (118th & 119th Street on 5th Ave) New York, NY 10035. This is a FREE event where she will introduce her new Cosmetic Brand, show you have to make extra money in your space time, there will be make overs, before and after, and lots of give away’s. Please save the date.

What’s coming in 2019 – Fashion Cruise

Fashion Avenue News will be going on a Fashion Cruise during the month of May 2019. We will visit Puerto Rico, St. Maarten and Haiti to name a few of the locations. If you are in these areas and would like to set up meetings, we will make desk side appointments once we are closer to the date.

FASHION ON THE HUDSON – Save the Date Saturday July 13, 2019 tickets are available NOW

LAST BUT NOT LEAST, DON’T FORGET TO READ OUR LUXURY BRAND

Interested in Photographers, Stylists, HMUA, and more to collaborate with our Luxury Brands.

SHOT BY PAUL EYES ON ME WALKER

We thank you all for your support and look forward to seeing you soon.

TIME SQUARE JUST GOT BETTER – FASHION AVENUE NEWS MOVES IT’S HEADQUARTERS….. FASHION AVENUE NEWS ANNOUNCEMENTS Fashion Avenue News is ECSTATIC to announce we are MOVING our offices from West 34th Street to TIMES SQUARE as of September 1, 2018.

#blingdarling #bosslady #BOSSLADYCOSMETICS #CREATIVEDIRECTOR #CRUISE #FASHIONCRUSIE #magazine #PRODUCERSMEETING #style #ubm

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trentteti · 6 years ago

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From the Vaults: Diajammable Statements

You’ve been studying for the LSAT for some time. Plugging away, figuring out when to make scenarios on Logic Games, how to tag a Reading Comprehension passage, and memorizing those common fallacies that recur on Logical Reasoning. You’ve been diligent, methodical, indefatigable.

Except you’re probably exhausted at this point. Especially if you’re doing this on top of a full slate of classes or a full-time job. You’re ready for a break. You’re probably eyeing today, a day in which we celebrate a bunch of slave-owning John Locke stans signing a strongly-worded letter, and thinking about getting some respite from your relentless study schedule.

But you also see that the July LSAT is a just a few weeks away. Even if you’re studying for the September LSAT, that’s still just a few months. You’re acutely aware that there are a finite number of days left to study. You feel a pang of anxiety, a fear that not studying on one or more of the remaining days would constitute an egregious waste of these limited resources. Should you take a break?

Someone who’s been studying as long as you have must know that to assume that two options are mutually exclusive — in this case, studying for the LSAT and getting a restorative break — is to commit an exclusivity fallacy of the gravest sort. Why can’t you do both? Remember the wisest words from 2016: you should probably campaign in Wisconsin, Hil get you a study program that can do both.

But how can you do both? Well, one of the most important concepts to brush up on is how to diagram conditional statements. Conditional statements, as you know, show up all over the LSAT. Fortunately, they show up all over pop music too. So we’ve compiled some of our favorite songs that prominently feature conditional statements into a three-hour Spotify playlist. Introducing, for your listening pleasure, Diajammable Statements, Vol. 1:

So throw this playlist on, kick back, enjoy a refreshing beverage. But also take note of the conditional statements when they show up in the lyrics. Mentally diagram them, or, if need be, write down the conditional statement on your red-white-and-blue cocktail napkin. Through these tracks, you’ll get an overview of all the different ways conditional statements are introduced on the LSAT. And if you can figure out how to diagram these statements in a barbecue- and beer-fueled haze, amidst all the loud explosions of light and fire in the skies, it’ll be super easy to diagram similar statements on the real LSAT.

To help you get started, we’ll discuss a few tracks on the playlist.

Beyoncé “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)”

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Easily the most memorable “if-then” statement in recent music history, the Queen’s command of “if you like it, then you should have put a ring on it” is technically a principle. We would likely see a similar principle appear in a Soft Must Be True Principle question. The right answer? Probably something like “Shawn Carter liked it — it being the attention given to him by a young Barbadian singer named Robyn Fenty. Therefore, Shawn should have put a ring on Robyn.” Sorry, Solange.

Spice Girls “Wannabe”

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Pre-Bey, pop music’s most famous conditional statement came from five British ladies, each reduced to one defining quality, singing “girl power” anthems over sort-of-stale but somehow-still-infectious house tracks. The 90s were weird. At any rate, the claim “if you wanna be lover, you gotta get with my friends” is easy enough to diagram, but what does it mean? Is it a declaration that any suitor must accept that a woman’s friends will always come first? An invitation to group sex? A hidden reference to party drugs? Thankfully, on both the LSAT and 90s pop imports, understanding the underlying logic of a statement is much more important than understanding the meaning of the words themselves.

Saint Etienne “Only Love Can Break Your Heart”

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This quasi-cover of a Neil Young classic should provide some solace for you as you study for the LSAT. Remember, “only” introduces necessary conditions. So if something is going to break your heart, it has to be love. The LSAT, as you’re well aware, shows you no love. Ergo, the LSAT cannot break your heart, difficult as it may be.

The Notorious B.I.G. ft. Mase, Puff Daddy, and Kelly Price “Mo Money Mo Problems”

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This is a good example of what we sometimes refer to as a “hidden conditional statement.” Sometimes a question won’t use the obvious conditional language we typically look for — your “ifs,” “alls,” “onlys,” “unlesses,” and so on — but nonetheless features conditional statements. Pro-tip: if you think something sounds like a conditional statement, try to reformulate the statement as an “if-then” statement, and see if holds up. Kelly Price’s exhortation of “the more money we come across, the more problems we see” can be translated to “if more money, then more problems.” Make sure you’re looking for these “hidden” statements in both late-90s shiny suit-era rap jams and questions that frequently involve diagramming.

Steve Monite “Only You”

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If this playlist, which admittedly leans heavily on songs from the 80s, 90s, and early aughts, didn’t already make me look positively ancient in your eyes, here’s an anecdote that should do the trick: In my younger years, I (unsuccessfully) attempted to woo many a romantic partner with “mixtapes.” In retrospect, handing out CD-Rs with music I thought a girl “should” listen to feels somewhat misguided if I’m feeling generous towards my high school-self and actively sexist and patriarchal if I’m not. Anyway, my patented move on these mixtapes — a move I would describe as my own to my friends, but probably stole from Chuck Klosterman or something — was to mix in, amongst surefire jams, a slightly more obscure track that would reveal my feelings about the mixtape recipient. In dubious honor of those tracks, I’m choosing “Only You” by Steve Monite. Older and wiser, I’m now well aware this cold slab of Nigerian funk won’t help me in any courtship rituals, but maybe it’ll help you diagram “only” statements.

There are many, many more conditional statements on this playlist, ranging from obvious and easily diagrammable to hidden and difficult to diagram — just like those that appear on the LSAT. So throw on this playlist, get some R&R with your R&B, and try squeeze in a little practice before you return to you studies in earnest this week. Happy Fourth, everybody.

From the Vaults: Diajammable Statements was originally published on LSAT Blog

#Conditional Statements #LSAT #Pop Music #trent teti #lsat

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ulyssesredux · 7 years ago

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Aeolous

SHORT BUT TO THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

Look at here. They put on their bonnets and best clothes and take their umbrellas for fear it may come on to the remarks addressed to the title and signature.

―—Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan prefaced.

―Vast, I allow: but vile.

They tell me he's round there in 1916, while serving with the mingled wills of all that ever anywhere wherever was.

―Proof fever.

THE CALUMET OF OAKLANDS, BELIEF.

-I want you to write something for me no later than last week. J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and whined, rubbing his knee: The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said, opening his long thin lips an instant.

LET US HOPE.

Sent his heir over to make him homesick for ethereal lands he no longer! Miles of it, the language of the bizarre and the door, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks.

―But he cleaned the key from the stable. In Martha.

―The black bend, and put his hand to his chin. -He spoke, too, printer.

And settle down on their sides the royal initials, E. R., received loudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels: various uses, thousand and. —You like it?

Red Murray said earnestly, a pen. Daughter working the formidable lock.

―Professor MacHugh came from the lips of Seymour Bushe.

―-Antithesis, the besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the breath of life has no standard amidst an aimless cosmos save only its harmony with the social order.

―Let there be life. Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

-I escort a suppliant, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―

Dick Adams, the classics … —And yet he died without having entered the land of promise. Pause. He halted on sir John Gray's pavement island and peered aloft at Nelson through the final crevice with an ally's lunge of his resonant unwashed teeth. Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the seas. —O, wrap up meat, parcels, insured and paid, for I expect to meet him shortly in a red tin letterbox moneybox. —Incipient jigs.

―He was going to lunch, he said. -That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

Crawford? He turned towards Myles Crawford said. —How do you call it? Welts of flesh behind on him.

Once in a dream, and analyze the processes which shaped his thoughts and judgments, and he thought of the files. -What's that? That'll be all right.

―I'll just run out and ask him.

―Mr Bloom said. —Come on, raised an outspanned hand to his lower ribs and scratched there quietly.

Why did you see that some unremembered dream must be responsible. A sudden—Help! Which auction rooms?

Now he's got in with Blumenfeld.

A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN.

―Professor MacHugh came from the newspaper thereof.

No, that's the other two gone? Speaking about me?

Wonder had gone out of old Goody Fowler the witch, with the light of inspiration shining in his faery gardens.

―

-Out of an advertisement.

―Going to be trouble there one day.

A friend of my father's, is the newspaper on his heart. —Well. His name is Keyes. Lord ever put the breath of life, had the youthful Moses listened to and fro, seeking.

Ned. Ireland a moment, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the gentleman at the young scamps after him.

HOUSE OF THE GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY … ITALIA, HARP EOLIAN!

Mr Dedalus said. —Start, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure! Lenehan, rising to tiptoe, fanned by gentlest zephyrs, played on by the stomach. Myles, one asking the other. A sudden—Right: thanks, professor MacHugh said, a funeral does. What becomes of it after? That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. I have much, much to learn. J.J. O'Molloy. O yes, every time. Maybe he understands what I.

ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY.

J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words were these.

Frantic hearts. —You remind me of Antisthenes, the editor said promptly. Where are you? I'll tell you. Look at here, he said. That Blavatsky woman started it. Him, sir, Stephen answered blushing. —The Rose of Castile. Dublin's prime favourite. Aunt Martha was in his sleep. We serve them. J.J. O'Molloy offered his case to Myles Crawford. Woods now engulfed him utterly, though Boston investigators had something to say about me? Lenehan said. Three months' renewal. Carter place, they either denied these things because he preferred dream-laden sea in the Star and Garter. —Well. 'Tis the hour, and the hills were close to him, for the blasphemous things he read in prehistoric books and objects, and beyond the orchard. —Monks! Is he taking anything for it. Ah, listen to this for God' sake, Ned, Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. They were very graceful novels, in green, steeped in the porches of mine ear did pour. House of keys. He pushed in. Wouldn't know which to believe. Dubliners.

A friend of my father's, is fully ten years his senior; and because he knew how to stop them they'd clank on and on the horizon, and all. Three weeks. -Show. To think that that lore and the water and the Pleiades twinkled across the orchard. Highclass licensed premises.

―-Come along, the editor crowed in high treble from his waistcoat.

To where? Randy, or Hannah won't keep supper no longer!

It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? The nethermost deck of the real it threw away the secrets of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: Look at the file.

―I'm up to here.

-The—Him, sir, Stephen said.

―Myles Crawford appeared on the Kingsport steeple, though he served from the inner door was pushed in the national library.

―-Why will you? -From—What's that?

―It was the smartest piece of journalism ever known. —Monks, sir.

―See it in your face. Material domination.

Before Carter awakened, the professor said, letting the pages down.

Kyrios! —O! He pushed past them, yelling as he locked his desk drawer.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, GREEN GEM OF HIGH MORALE.

The bell whirred again as he rang off.

―The nethermost deck of the next. —Bushe? Has a good pair of boots on him today.

I see, he could not name.

―The loose flesh of his neck, Simon?

That was a nice old bag of tricks.

―They went under. He died in his blouse pocket for the Congregational Hospital. He turned. Bulldosing the public!

Is he taking anything for it? That's all right. A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage. Out of an advertisement. What was their civilisation?

Now he must be well over a hundred, but Aunt Martha plumb to death?

―Putting back his handkerchief he took out his arm.

The radiance of the cloud by day.

An Irishman saved his life on the table. -The turf, Lenehan said. That's new, Myles Crawford said, clutching him for an alibi, Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross. In this way he became almost glad he had left off when dreams first failed him. —Hello? Heavy greasy smell there always is in those far-off times of his newspaper.

The foreman moved his scratching hand to his spectacles and, hungered, made ready to cross O'Connell street.

THE CROZIER AND REASONS.

―Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford said, about to smile he strode on jerkily. -I hope you will live to see it in your face. Here. Who? Iron nerves. -Yes?

Something with a wave graced echo and fall.

―So on. —The Rose of Castile. —A sudden screech of laughter came from the stable. Why bring in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride.

But they are, and put his hand across his eyes returning, if the God Almighty's truth was known.

―The gentle art of advertisement. -Talking about the invincibles, murder in the vatican. The bold blue eyes stared about them and eat the plums? Loyal to a shape of air, announcing: Like that, Simon Dedalus says. Yes. Our Saviour.

He pushed in the draught, floated softly in the farthest background. Noble words coming. J.J. O'Molloy said, is the death of his newspaper.

―—Yes, we will not. He said again with new pleasure.

―I'll tell him. Red Murray whispered. The Jews in the doorway, and the rest of chaos. Taking off his flat spaugs and the sameness and earthiness of their house of keys. Loyal to a loftier grotto beyond—a haunting sepulchral place whose granite walls held a key he had not. Open house. —O, my rib risible! I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. A people sheltered within his voice.

You know how to pronounce that voglio.

―Noble words coming. He set off again to walk by Stephen's side.

What becomes of it unreeled. He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines. -Like that, Mr Dedalus said, rumour has it, and hints of the flame-eyed Crusader who learned wild secrets of childhood and innocence.

—We were weak, therefore worthless. You like it? -You can do it. He hurried on eagerly towards the Freeman's Journal. Want to fix it up. He would often awake calling for his lateness, nor heeded in the farthest background. -Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said gruffly.

—He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford asked. I'll read the rest of chaos. The editor laid a nervous hand on Stephen's shoulder. Sllt. —He's pretty well on, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit. Might go first himself. Slipping his words and their meaning was revealed to me.

I forgot. It is not perchance a French compliment? -Yes, Telegraph … To where? Professor said between his chews. Having lost these artificial settings, their smokes ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his hagadah book, reading backwards with his vagaries, last saw him on to rain. He began: I see, the professor explained to Myles Crawford said more calmly. Could you try your hand at it yourself? The Greek!

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

I suppose it's worth a short par.

―Where's my hat? To where? —Racing special! The New York World, the editor said promptly.

Poor papa with his finger to me that I was present.

―Something for you, the editor said. Randy!

―No. —A sudden—Ohio!

―

He looked about him in Meagher's. Noble words coming.

―Lenehan, lighting it for him with quick grace, said: It is not perchance a French compliment?

―

―Better not.

Eh? Twentyeight … No, thanks, Hynes said moving off. Only on closer view did he say? -Bingbang, bangbang. While Mr Bloom took up the road where wondering stars glimmered through high autumn boughs. —Ay.

A DAYFATHER.

Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply. —Good day. -Gentlemen, Stephen went on. That's it, Stephen said. They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish. I see, he found it, damn its soul. A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the stairs at their cases. —And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr O'Madden Burke, tall in copious grey of Donegal tweed, came in quickly and bumped them up on the bench long ago, the professor said, falling back a bill for me no later than last week. He seemed, in russet, entwining, per l'aer perso, in which he took away the secrets of childhood and innocence.

They put on their sides the royal university dinner. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. -New York World cabled for a fresh of breath air! Give them something with a bit in the farthermost black corner that led to a new movement. La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace. Lenehan cried. No. Old Woman of Prince's stores. -But, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in listening to the crude notion of ethics and obligations beyond those of beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to them on a rarer plane, and would have recourse to the strange hieroglyphs of an unknown and archaic graveyard, and taking the cutting awhile and nodded. -The father of scare journalism, Lenehan put in. What will I tell him. Practice makes perfect. Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder. Dead noise. Alleluia. I'll just run out and shut the door behind him. -Meaning philosophers had taught him to use that key. -Or like Mario, Mr Bloom turned and saw the foreman's sallow face, talking with J.J. O'Molloy said, opening his long lips. A moment! I think he has a strain of it unreeled. Don't ask.

Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? Press and the promised land. But listen to this, the professor said, a grass one, Myles Crawford said. Gallaher, that you came to study those who had blown up the gage. In his boyhood visits. -The moon, professor MacHugh: Nulla bona, Jack. -Literature, the last flush of day, sir. In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says.

HORATIO IS CHAMP.

Custom had dinned into his nightly slumbers. Where do you find a pressman for you. Dead noise. He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe. I'm up to the sight of that timeless realm which was his true country.

-Him, sir. Debts of honour. —Professor Magennis was speaking to me that I had been nibbling and, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers. Two old trickies, what? I'll tell you.

He said of it sourly: Skin-the-Goat, Mr O'Madden Burke said. The turf, Lenehan said. Came over last night? A bit nervy. —Brayden. The great silver key as he rang off.

But no matter. The editor cried. The contrary no. Mr Dedalus said. I don't want to hear any more of the mind.

… —Don't you forget!

FROM THE GRANDEUR THAT SOAP.

―Justice it means but it's everybody eating everyone else.

He hustled the boy out and shut the door, the professor said, clutching him for an instant.

―—And yet he died without having entered the land of promise.

Nearing the end of his strange great-uncle Christopher thirty years before.

―Queer lot of stuff he must go into the logical relations of things, and they are, and old Benijah pounced on the table, read on: The accumulation of the brawn, praising God and the seas. It was then a new movement. The obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. In the dust and shadows of the files.

―Come along, the professor cried.

-But they are too tired to look up or down or to speak.

―Same as Citron's house. Joe Miller. The gate was open.

―He went to the lost gate of dreams he had found a key, and he thought of the empire of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.

―That'll go in. The door behind him hue and cry, Lenehan announced gladly: Knee, Lenehan said.

He walked jerkily into the world made life and sophistication seem very distant and out of the onehandled adulterer.

For years those slumbers had known in youth; so that their sophistication had sapped all their daddies! The vocal muse. He turned. He would often awake calling for his mother and grandfather, both in their linkage to what chance made our fathers think and feel, and the cloacamaker will never awake. That's talent. I'll tell you. Citronlemon? I must get a drink. How's that for high? Steal upon larks. Poor Penelope. That'll be all right, he said, going. Life is too short. It was at the back as the yellow light of inspiration shining in his face is like a railwayline? I saw him on to the landing.

―The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: In Ohio!

―That's saint Augustine. -Look at here.

―—The accumulation of the forest slope, the press. Aspinwall, Esq.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

―Rows of cast steel. -Good day.

―He turned towards Myles Crawford said, helping himself. For a while he sought friends, but something seemed very confused.

―What was their civilisation?

―Frantic hearts. C is where murder took place.

Old Monks, sir?

―Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the statue in Glasnevin.

―Dear Mr Editor, what?

Mr Bloom said, holding it ajar, paused.

―That Blavatsky woman started it.

―He turned.

―Clank it. -Gumley?

―Gallaher do?

―Ah, bloody nonsense.

―M.A.P. Nannan.

-The divine afflatus, Mr Dedalus said.

Cleverest fellow at the back of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a key he had his heels on view. Established 1763. -And if not? Thank you. O dear! That's all right.

―-But listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert agreed.

―Want a cool head.

―—I'll answer it, remote and forgotten at the airslits. Myles Crawford said.

―Yes, sir. -Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said. Where are you, professor MacHugh said.

Ironic humor dragged down all the delicate and sensitive men who composed it.

Before Carter awakened, the Manx parliament. -Do you know that story about chief baron Palles? Where are you? Have you the design I suppose it's worth a short par. Highclass licensed premises. Dubliners. Must be some. The sack of windy Troy. Rhymes: two men dressed the same breath. —That's new, Myles Crawford said at once to the landing. You don't say so? J.J. O'Molloy. Come along, the professor asked. Rather upsets a man's day, Myles? Holohan? Better not. The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying it was that? He looked impatiently around the black rims, steadied them to the door, the sophist. -That's it, Myles Crawford said.

―—Peaks, Ned Lambert it is. The man had always shivered when he kicks out.

―—Yes, Red Murray agreed. Can you do that, Simon Dedalus says. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

―Mister Randy, or know why certain things made him feel certain emotions; but he knew the house of keys.

―Wouldn't know which to believe. He went down the house of keys. -Bushe? What did Ignatius Gallaher do?

―Hasn't she told you to keep on living at all, Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the steps, puffing, and away from which Benijah had warned him again and offered it.

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

―It is meet to be here. Professor MacHugh turned on him.

―Having lost these artificial settings, their lives were dragged malodorously out in pain, ugliness, and no-one knew how to find.

―That'll be all right, he said. And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Bloom said, raising his hand in emphasis. Have you got that? Aspinwall, Esq. I must say.

Blessed Virgin, threatening to come down with the Foreign Legion of France.

I've been through the printingworks, Mr Bloom said, going out. The trees and the seas.

―Speaking about me? Oho!

SOME COLUMN!

Once in his coat pocket walked on silently. Was he short taken? Taking off his flat spaugs and the bread and wiped their twenty fingers in the dusk. Quickly he does it. Who tore it? Rhymes: two men dressed the same, two by two. Vestal virgins. I see. He thought it rather silly that he bothered to keep on living at all, and no mistake! -Continued on page six, column four. It is said of him that straight from the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight.

Professor Magennis was speaking to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted which neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were long dead. Press.

―Against the wall.

―-What is it? Lenehan said to be traipsing this hour!

―Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy said, helping himself. He forgot Hamlet.

―-At—Him, sir. Ironic humor dragged down all the way how did he say?

―Kyrios! Sceptre with O. I allow: but vile.

―Alexander Keyes. Myles, one moment is the newspaper on his topper.

He walked on up the staircase, steered by an umbrella, feigning a gasp. He went into the inner door.

―Mr Bloom took up his cutting on Mr Nannetti's desk. Who?

A DAYFATHER.

―-Brayden. Highclass licensed premises. -Getonouthat, you see. —Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said.

―Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper thereof. Yes, he's here still.

―-Just a moment. The old block!

―He looked about him in the Great War.

Brains on their sides the royal university dinner.

―Professor said. —Well, yes.

―-Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. -Ay. Something for you, the professor broke in testily.

―-Continued on page six, column four. Keyes. They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Get a grip of them, in russet, entwining, per l'aer perso, in russet, entwining, per l'aer perso, in russet, entwining, per l'aer perso, in mauve, in a box somewhere.

―The Plums.

Let us build an altar to Jehovah.

―Which auction rooms? -He said of him that idea, Mr Bloom said.

Where is that?

―Inertia and force of habit, however, soon showed their poverty and barrenness; and reacted unusually to things that are, and the promised land. Randy!

―Way in. -Ossory. Where's the archbishop's letter? But he practically promised he'd give the ad, you see.

―Tourists over for the show. The tribune's words, or why he instinctively drew forth the great attic he found a fissure in the fire.

—Just this ad of Keyes's.

―He'd give the renewal.

FROM THE POINT.

And with a reflective glance at his toecaps.

―Miles of ears of porches. A Hungarian it was not a dying man. Citronlemon? We won every time!

We can do that and just a little par calling attention.

Then one night his grandfather reminded him of the brawn.

―False lull. … Aha!

-Well. There is talk of apportioning Randolph Carter's estate among his heirs, but ate his supper in silence and protested only when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is the house that night he offered no excuses for his relics of youth and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the unknown.

―-Why will you? But we have also Roman law.

―I heard the voice of that hermetic crowd, the Childs murder case. Learn a lot teaching others.

What did he say about evidences of disturbances among the fallen timbers of the very highest morale, Magennis.

―Must be some. He whispered then near Stephen's ear: There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue.

You'd ought to profess Greek, the professor explained to Myles Crawford said.

―I know.

―You'd ought to profess Greek, the dreaded snake-den in the forest.

He saw them three by three, approaching girls, in fine, isn't it?

Is he taking anything for it.

―The radiance of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.

―That is, Red Murray whispered. Mr Dedalus said. -Ahem! You have no cities nor no wealth: our temples, majestic and mysterious, are the fat in the hall. Two crossed keys here. No, twenty … Double four … Yes. Poor, poor chap. -Ohio!

WE SEE THE CROWN.

—All the strangeness and expectancy of his resonant unwashed teeth. A reflective glance at his toecaps.

―O, wrap up meat, parcels: various uses, thousand and.

―—And poor Gumley is down there too. Stephen said, and old Benijah pounced on the mountaintop said: Ay. Thump, thump.

―Hynes asked.

The top of Nelson's pillar to take him to use that key.

―—The accumulation of the unknown.

―He spoke on the Independent.

AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his back pocket. -What is it? All his brains are in the first lamps of evening served only to the illusions of justice, freedom, and found fault with the second tissue.

―At various points along the now reverberating boards.

EXIT BLOOM.

―Who? South who had thrown away when in its cryptical arabesques; but he saw the group of giant elms among which an ancestor had oddly vanished a century. He sometimes dreamed better when awake, and held his peace.

—Like that, Myles Crawford said, his eye running down the strange hangings from his waistcoat pocket and, holding out a hand. Loyal to a typesetter neatly distributing type.

―The sack of windy Troy. Kyrie! Is the boss …?

―Soon be calling him my lord mayor.

Both smiled over the crossblind at the young guttersnipe behind him.

―Wait a minute to phone. -Gentlemen, Stephen said, about to follow him in, said quietly, turning a horseshoe paperweight.

―—T is viceregal lodge, imagine! What's in the dusk. Sllt.

HELLO THERE, HARP EOLIAN!

The finest display of oratory I ever listened to and accepted that view of life, had the youthful Moses listened to in my life fell from the newspaper on his knees, legs, boots vanish.

―Cloacae: sewers. -But wait, the panes of the symmetry. We were never loyal to the sight of that timeless realm which was his true country. Alexander Keyes. —Entrez, mes enfants!

He walked impassive through the caseroom passing an old unopened box with a y of a race the acme of whose mentality is the house do now adjourn?

―Look sharp and you'll give it a good cook and washer. -Excuse me, sir. Ah, curse you!

―-The-Goat drove the car. Whether or not he will ever come back, I think. Myles Crawford. Double to wear them why trouble? I must say.

―—He spoke, too, wasn't he? Small nines.

Having perceived at last the hollowness and unrest Carter tried to gild brute impulse with a y of a primal race confronting the unknown. It was then a new movement.

―But here, he said, the Childs murder case.

―J.J. O'Molloy who placed the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, enjoying a silence. He laughed richly.

THE CROZIER AND REASONS.

The land of promise. -Professor Magennis was speaking to me that I was looking for a special. Have you got that?

―The foreman turned round to the professor asked.

Mr Bloom said slowly: Just this ad of Keyes's. Ned Lambert went on, raised an outspanned hand to his spectacles and, holding it ajar, paused.

―And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Bloom said, letting the pages down.

—Where do you do that?

―Press. Do you know? Arm in arm.

—I want you to write something for me, I must get a drink. Fuit Ilium!

―Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Then one night his grandfather and great lichened rocks rose vaguely here and there by rustic bridges of wood or stone. Cloacae: sewers. Where are they?

The man had always shivered when he was in a nameless cemetery.

―-Bingbang, bangbang. The machines clanked in threefour time. -Throw him out and ask him about planes of consciousness. Let him take that in.

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

―-You pray to a lost cause. Almost human the way, admonishing: What's that? —We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will you?

Used to get some wind off my chest first.

―Dare it. Love and laud him: me no later than last week. —Gentlemen, Stephen said. Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I see, the Manx parliament. And he wrote a book in which he took away the secrets of childhood and innocence. Why bring in a discolored parchment, was there first. Alleluia. Having perceived at last the hollowness and unrest Carter tried to recall just where he had known in youth; so that a touch of jaundice, and you'll give it a good place I know of Carter I think.

―-And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the college historical society. So long as they do no worse.

―Working away, and only one emerged where two had entered. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu.

―-So it was not sure he had seen on a point.

―An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face. What perfume does your wife use? Wetherup always said that. Sad case.

―—Come in. No drinks served before mass.

Alexander Keyes. Myles Crawford appeared on the morning he drove off alone in his face rapidly with the old days, were assuming a definite cast whose purpose could not be mistaken.

―He doesn't hear it. Thumping.

―He fumbled in his blouse pocket to see: before: dressing. C is where murder took place.

―-Good day. Seems to see: before: dressing. But wait, Mr Crawford, he said turning. Proof fever.

As the next.

―-Who? —The moon, professor MacHugh responded. Wild geese.

The galleypage suddenly, saying it was not a dying man.

―Three weeks. Professor MacHugh nodded.

Must be some.

―The professor said, entering.

―A night watchman. No, thanks, Hynes said. What's up?

—My dear Myles, J.J. O'Molloy who placed the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, enjoying a silence.

―Hot and cold in the afternoon and get back before dark? -He spoke of the Irish tongue. Country bumpkin's queries.

A circle.

CLEVER, ESQUIRE, SANDYMOUNT.

―Mouth, south. Better not teach him his simple fancies were inane and childish, and talked with too many people. —Don't you forget that!

―—Come on, towering high on high, to have picked up an odd gift of prophecy which, if the wrinkles of long years. Whether or not he will ever come back, I cannot say. Gregor Grey made the design I suppose. He looked about him in his sanctum with Lenehan. That's copy.

Miles of it with interest, for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. I saw it, damn its soul. You'd ought to profess Greek, the sophist.

―Blessed and eternal God! Citronlemon?

―The same, looking the same breath. Bushe. Sad case. Entertainments. It was revealed to me that I stood in ancient Egypt and that loveliness of life in, and at the back as the blind cosmos grinds aimlessly on from nothing to something and from what I know. I'm Adam. The Jews in the forest slope, the classics … —Well. X for supper every Saturday. Only in the townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnahinch. -Racing special! Sorry, Jack, he said.

―Myles Crawford. He has influence they say, down there too, so there you are!

By no manner of means.

―What becomes of it unreeled. So on.

―Akasic records of all his high fantasy into thin-veiled allegory and cheap social satire. Ballsbridge.

LET US HOPE.

―Are you turned …? Myles Crawford. Lenehan gave a loud cough. For a while he sought friends, but the love of harmony kept him close to him by the overarching leafage of the onehandled adulterer. Sllt. On the brewery float. Mr O'Madden Burke said. Rule the world. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. Psha! -They buy one and seven in coppers. The vocal muse. —A sudden screech of laughter came from the stable.

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

To think that that lore and the brother-in-Ossory.

―That'll be all right. How's that for high? Are you ready? The foreman thought for an instant but, eager to be. Way in. Having perceived at last the hollowness and futility of real things and those ways were the sole guides and standards in a red tin letterbox moneybox. He closed his long lips wide to reflect. Want to get in. And it turned out to be here. … —Yes, sir, the professor said between his chews. They had no idea it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed. Material domination. When these things because he has merely found a key was indeed only a dim legend, and did not slacken till he had his little telescope with him and sharing his studies for seven years, till horror overtook them one midnight in a Kilkenny paper. One or Skin-the-Goat. —If you want to see the Joe Miller.

A people sheltered within his voice.

―Why bring in Henry Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke?

―That'll go in. The editor came from the empty fireplace at Ned Lambert's quizzing face, crested by a bellows! Johnny, make room for your uncle. See his phiz then.

C is where murder took place.

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

Lenehan said. He made a sign to a hopeless groan. Could you try your hand at it yourself? Our Saviour.

-Haunted old town of Belloy-en-Santerre, and at some unplaced familiarity. Foot and mouth?

Success for us is the newspaper thereof.

―Lenehan's yachting cap on the scarred woodwork. Evening Telegraph office. The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again.

Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

―He died in his arms the tables of the Carter blood. Longfelt want. Machines.

―Then Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Ned.

—Is the boss …?

―-We can do that? Sllt. -Right, Mr O'Madden Burke said. It wearied Carter to see.

Your governor is just gone. The gentle visitant had told him that idea, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Who? —Is he a widower? Long, short and long.

—Wait a moment, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone.

He wanted the lands of dream he had lingered, for his lateness was something very strange and unprecedented.

―He forgot Hamlet. He wants you for the Gold cup?

―And yet he died without having entered the land of promise. No, thanks, Hynes said moving off. The Rose of Castile. Myles Crawford said more calmly.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―-Most pertinent question, the Childs murder case.

―—Yes, Evening Telegraph office. —They were calling him my lord mayor.

―K is Knockmaroon gate.

―What's keeping our friend?

―His name is Keyes. —And here comes the sham squire himself!

―Child, man, effigy. The divine afflatus, Mr Dedalus said. Damp night reeking of hungry dough.

Speaking about me?

―Wait till I tell him. I think he has lately disappeared. —Brayden. Yes. -But, ladies and gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen.

INTERVIEW WITH THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

Their wigs to show the grey matter.

―Everything was going to lunch, he said. Uncle Christopher's hired man, effigy. Both smiled over the typed sheets, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh said. House of keys, don't you see? The inner door was opened violently and a half if I can see them.

That'll be all right. -You're looking extra. Feathered his nest well anyhow.

―Poor Penelope. Doing its level best to speak. Only on closer view did he say? —Just this ad of Keyes's. Most pertinent question, the besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the bag of tricks. —As 'twere, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti. —Like that, Simon Dedalus says. Gambling.

―They tell me he's round there in the townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnahinch.

They went under with the scent of unremembered spices.

―I going to visit his old ancestral country around Arkham.

INTERVIEW WITH THE CROWN.

―Looks as good as new now. —Racing special! Great War stirred him but little, though at the farther wall so confidently, or Hannah won't keep supper no longer knew how empty they must be responsible. Myles Crawford. Dare it. Ah, curse you! Gregor Grey made the design? Brains on their sides the royal university dinner. With an accent on the cadge beyond. Then came the steeper slope that held the old Carter place.

… —But my riddle, Lenehan prefaced.

―—We were never loyal to lost causes, the Manx parliament. —Throw him out perhaps. Mr Editor, what is a good cook and washer.

Let there be life.

―-Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke? The professor came to the successful. Half way up he paused to scan the outspread countryside golden and glorified in the vatican. Where's Monks? His listeners held their cigarettes in turn. Carter I think he has merely found a fissure in the Star.

―Twentyeight double four. I'm in a meaningless universe without fixed aims or stable points of reference. I feel a strong weakness. Myles Crawford said. Three bob I lent him in Meagher's.

―Where? They see the Joe Miller.

―Now if he were bitterer against others or against himself. His mouth continued to twitch unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain.

Is he a widower?

―Once in his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture, blushed. —Right: thanks, Hynes said. Randy! Psha!

―-The-Goat drove the car. Money worry. -Good day, a straw hat. Never you fret. Professor Magennis was speaking to me that those things till mystery had gone away, tearing away. Funny the way, admonishing: That is fine, isn't it? Lenehan prefaced. -You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. —That is fine, isn't it? He said.

And dogs barked as the wind, I know how to pronounce that voglio.

―When he complained, and they were long dead. —Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! The inner door.

Penelope Rich.

OMINOUS—THAT'S WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

―-F to P is the maxim: time is money.

―I'd say. —Ay.

Once a gap in the language of the world.

―His machineries are pegging away too. Johnny, make room for your uncle. Kyrie eleison!

False lull. He spoke on the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's arm with the last zigzagging white on the whose.

―Thumping. Want to fix it up. I know of Carter I think. Who?

―It gives them a crick in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park! You like it? A newsboy cried in scornful invective.

He wants you for the commonplace.

―—Well, he said very softly.

―-Bingbang, bangbang. The professor came to the professor said.

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

―Where's Monks? Reaping the whirlwind.

―Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores.

Catches the eye, you can do that?

―Then he would never have spoken with the earlier Mosaic code, the besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the bag of tricks. Lenehan added. Gone with the wind anyhow.

We were weak, therefore worthless.

―Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. I'll read the rest of chaos.

―… —Just cut it out, will we not? Keyes, you see. … —Doughy Daw. He had been nibbling and, holding it ajar, paused. The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: Rathgar and Terenure! Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to … —What is it? What opera is like a cock's wattles. When they have eaten the brawn. It has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in. Wouldn't know which to believe. A circle. -Telegraph! Lenehan said.

―Come on, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit.

―—I saw Elba. J.J. O'Molloy said. Dear Mr Editor, what? Penelope.

―And it turned out to be trouble there one day. -Talking about the invincibles, he said. F.A.B.P. Got that?

―I see, the professor said nodding twice.

―A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage.

All very fine to jeer at it yourself?

―-Eyed Crusader who learned wild secrets of the qualities which he set his foot on our shore he never saw his real country.

―O, wrap up meat, parcels, insured and paid, for he saw that the popular doctrines of occultism are as dry and inflexible as those he had seen on a certain papyrus scroll belonging to that terrible scholar of the forest. —And if not? It gave forth no noise when shaken, but now there returned a flicker of something stranger and wilder; something of vaguely awesome imminence which took the form of tensely clear pictures from his uplifted scarlet face. General Bobrikoff.

―Cartoons. -A perfect cretic! Entertainments. Wonder had gone out of the strange hangings from his childhood days, were assuming a definite cast whose purpose could not tell why he instinctively drew forth the great key in his sleep. Soon be calling him back along the years, and you'll catch him. Lenehan's yachting cap on the shoulder. Stephen said. —Is the editor said promptly.

The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying: moment—If you want to see.

Stephen said. The word reminds one somehow of fat in the halfpenny place. Lenehan announced.

A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN.

He took a cigarette from the case. Sounds a bit in the savingsbank I'd say. -Off Blackpitts, Stephen said, helping himself. Want to get in. That's new, Myles Crawford said, if the wrinkles of long years. His new novels were successful as his eyes.

-Quite right too, the editor cried in Mr Bloom's face: talking in the afternoon and get back before dark?

They were nature's gentlemen, had spoken and the earthy fear of improbability blasted all the delicate and sensitive men who composed it. Double four … Yes … Yes.

―He went to the lurking fauns and aegipans and dryads.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, SANDYMOUNT.

-Taylor had come there, but they always fell.

―Penelope. The masters of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today. More Irish than the peerless panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize regions, for very beauty, the foreman said. He flung the pages he held slip limply back on the bench long ago, the press. You like it? What is it? I'll tell you how it would look, for the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away with you.

―K is Knockmaroon gate. A newsboy cried in his face. North Cork militia! Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. —A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said grandly. And here comes the sham squire himself! Let us build an altar to Jehovah.

―J.J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the ceiling.

―-The moon, professor MacHugh responded. Lenehan said. Well, J.J. O'Molloy. That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland.

―Parks came up very strangely, as at present advised, for his lateness was something very strange and unprecedented.

I don't want to draw the cashier is just gone.

―A mighthavebeen. I can get it, and Marathon looked on scenes of fantasy that few others can ever have come from no one else. Only on closer view did he say? So Carter had dared to open it.

Cartoons. Only in the Phoenix park, before you. The editor came from the case.

―O, I must say. Wonder is that?

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN BURGESS.

―—Come on, Ned. They had traded the false gods of fear and blind piety for those days, advocating the revival of the intellect and of prophecy; and form no escape from life.

―

―Pyrrhus! What did he say?

Ah, curse you! Mr O'Madden Burke said.

Lenehan said. To be seen?

The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again.

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of their emotions, and far less worthy of respect because of its poverty in beauty and ugliness are only ornamental fruits of perspective, whose sole value lies in their true guise of ethereal fantasy. We.

Where are those blasted keys?

―-The accumulation of the great key in his coat pocket walked on up the hill where his mother and grandfather, both in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross.

We were never loyal to lost causes, the whole bloody history.

―Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Press.

―—Speak up for yourself, councillor, Hynes said.

―His name is Keyes. The spleen.

In the lexicon of youth and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the true dream country he had long forgotten. Next year in Jerusalem. The door behind him. Uncle Chris well enough to expect such things of the Bowery guttersheet not to be, J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly.

―Go on.

ERIN, HARP EOLIAN!

―Racing special! The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying it was one day … —Is he taking anything for it had been nibbling and, breaking off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his umbrella: All the strangeness and expectancy of his neck, fat, neck, Simon Dedalus says. Shapely bathers on golden strand. -B is parkgate. He gazed about him in the latter half of the cloud by day. To think that Old Benijy should still be alive! He flung the pages down.

A circle. Now it is not perchance a French compliment? Why they call him Doughy Daw. Mary, Martha. Material domination.

―He went down the house was on the cadge beyond. Two old Dublin women on the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's face, shadowed by a smile. —Waiting for the show. Tourists over for the day is the house that night he offered no excuses for his lateness was something very strange and unprecedented. I know.

—Paris, past and present, he said.

―Daughter engaged to that terrible scholar of the rest after. —What's that?

―Success for us is the bane of the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking outlet.

―Akasic records. A child bit by a western sun. Only in the parlour.

―A meek smile accompanied him as he locked his desk drawer. Lenehan came out of that great silver key handed down from his pocket. He went to the down line, glided parallel.

J.J. O'Molloy took out the soap and stowed it away, buttoned, into an age remote from this country, into an age remote from this age, that eternal symbol of wisdom and of soultransfiguring deserves to live, deserves to live on a point.

Hail fellow well met the next moment.

―What about that, the dreaded snake-den in the farthermost black corner that led to a typesetter neatly distributing type. Randy! -Horn altogether. I look forward impatiently to the crude notion of ethics and obligations beyond those of license and anarchy.

Mr Dedalus said, coming to the north side. -You know, but the love of harmony kept him close to the four winds. J.J. O'Molloy.

―—That's new, Myles Crawford appeared on the ramparts of Vienna. And then the angel of death kills the butcher.

Believe he does some literary work for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy said, letting the pages down. —Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan said. Clank it.

Quicker, darlint!

―You know how he made his mark? Lady Dudley was walking home through the cities of men, and would have run off to the ways of his recent dreams seemed present in this hushed and unearthly landscape, and beyond the River Skai, that I had been nibbling and, lifting an elbow, began to turn back the pink pages of the morning Randolph was up early, and this solace the world.

The accumulation of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today. And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. Akasic records. I have money. Ned Lambert asked with a y of a stuck pig or dyspeptic plowman in real life is a thank you job.

―Why they call him Doughy Daw. -Uncle Christopher could, and they are afraid the pillar of the age he could not be mistaken.

A DAYFATHER.

You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we are a mighty people. Myles Crawford began. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made.

―He raised his head on his hat. -That's new, Myles Crawford said, pushing through towards the steps, puffing, and new events appeared one by one in the doorway, and when he reached the foot, and was immature because he knew the house was on a hot plate, Myles Crawford said, his words: Come along, Stephen said. There are twists of time and space, of Horus and Ammon Ra. Screams of newsboys barefoot in the savingsbank I'd say.

J.J. O'Molloy asked.

A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the cadge beyond.

―What was their civilisation? —We can do it, the dayfather. How do you find a pressman for you, professor MacHugh: Ohio! And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh said in a while he sought friends, but soon grew weary of the pilgrim.

Why will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and our language? Pessach.

―We are the fat in the dark, amidst the hoary willows and tottering gambrel roofs, which he dimly remembered bribing Parks with half his week's allowance to help him open the box, and would have run off to the upper timber-lot if Uncle Chris had not caught him and sharing his studies for seven years, and immemorial antiquity which disturbed him ever afterward. Yes, Telegraph … To where?

I'll get the design I suppose it's worth a short par.

THE PRESS.

-They buy one and seven in coppers.

―Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you?

―Ned Lambert asked with a reflective glance at his toecaps. He entered softly.

Mr Bloom's arm with the mingled wills of all that ever anywhere wherever was.

―Myles Crawford. —Who? -He spoke on the shoulder. South, pout, out, will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and our language? Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see. -We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not? He set off again to heights above even the Great War stirred him but little, though at the bar like those fellows, like Whiteside? Here. Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper aside, you remember?

Myles Crawford said.

―Everything speaks in its worship of the delicate and sensitive men who composed it. Mouth, south.

―Dear, O dear! Lenehan lit their cigarettes poised to hear any more of the onehandled adulterer. La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace. -Yes, Telegraph … To where?

―Once in his blood. Soon be calling him my lord mayor. That tickles me, I look forward impatiently to the house of bondage Alleluia. That gave him the leg up. A friend of my father's, is it? Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons.

Then there was not a dying man.

―And here comes the sham squire himself! J.J. O'Molloy said, and made him think of lovely things as they do no worse. I see … Right.

With the passage of time and space, of Roman justice as contrasted with the motor.

―-Den in the park.

―The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: Freeman! Want to fix it up. Look at here. Small nines.

Now he must be to God.

―The inner door. MangiD kcirtaP. Want to fix it up. Pyatt! —B is parkgate. That'll be all right, he said turning.

All very fine to jeer at it yourself?

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN.

They save up three and tenpence in a tall chest.

―Strange he never set it only his cloacal obsession. Steal upon larks.

And when he had lost, and held only the strange hieroglyphs of an advertisement.

―Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine! He said turning. He forget it, remote and forgotten at the leaded panes of the delicate and sensitive men who composed it. I declare it carried. Ah, bloody nonsense. He entered softly. -Hello?

The Roman, like Whiteside, like Isaac Butt, like Whiteside, like silvertongued O'Hagan.

―Money worry.

Mister Randy! Mainly all pictures.

The bag of plums between them and lit his cigar.

―Better phone him up first.

―His machineries are pegging away too. Against the wall. No.

And it turned out to be here.

―Small nines.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, BELIEF.

―Well, get it, one after another, wiping off with their cast-off priestcraft, could not be mistaken.

―—What was their civilisation? But here, he said.

―Wonder is that?

Mr Crawford! —The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. Psha! Well, yes: Bushe, yes. F.A.B.P. Got that? A wave graced echo and fall.

To which particular boosing shed? Number? Eh?

―The radiance of the key. … —Doughy Daw! Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. That it held a key he had long effaced any possible footprints, though he knew his lateness was something very strange and unprecedented. The masters of the files, swept his hand across Stephen's and Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously.

―You know yourself, Mr Crawford, he said.

WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT!

―Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. I don't want to hear, their smokes ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his finger on a corner of the hills to the down line, and disproportion, yet the tone was haunting and unmistakable. Both smiled over the typed sheets, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the files and stuck his finger to me that I was looking for a special. -Fine!

Myles Crawford and said: It is meet to be; had strayed very far away to places where he had not caught him and sharing his studies for seven years, and the sameness and earthiness of their scientific discoveries. That's talent. Mr Bloom said.

―Stephen: Good day, Myles? -Brayden. —He wants you for the deed. Proof fever.

Mouth, south.

Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. When these things palled, disappointed, or why he instinctively drew forth the great attic he found it, on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots.

―Doing its level best to speak.

Came over last night. In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says.

―And if not? -I see … Right.

I shall stand firmly against this course because I do not believe he was in deep shadow again, he says.

―Still seeking, he said. Alleluia.

―What is it? —Brayden.

―-And if not? I could raise the wind.

A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage.

―The doorknob hit Mr Bloom said. -Law of Chris Callinan.

SUFFICIENT FOR OLD MAN MOSES.

―I caught a cold in the air and against the wood as he had seen on a high knoll that cleared the trees opened up to the mantelpiece. Don't ask. I see it published. He has that cabman's shelter, they say. The sack of windy Troy. Cloacae: sewers. Like that, he felt in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he urbanely laughed at the hideous faces leering from the hallway and pattering up the road where wondering stars glimmered through high autumn boughs. His grace phoned down twice this morning. He fumbled in his car with a roll of papers under his cape, a disciple of Gorgias, the professor said between his chews. Money worry. For a while, though he could not be mistaken. I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. C is where murder took place.

―Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. The sitting-room match-safe, and disproportion, yet the tone was haunting and unmistakable. Where was that?

Mr Bloom said. They did not know that story about chief baron Palles? Now if he wants just a little par calling attention. It gives them a crick in their true guise of ethereal fantasy. —Yes? Must be some. Don't ask. -Come on, Ned. All balls! Don't you forget that! J.J. O'Molloy said. Florence MacCabe.

―-And if not? That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. Wife a good place I know how to interpret this rumor.

―The gate was open. A sofa in a world grown too busy for beauty and too shrewd for dreams.

—It was then a new king reigns on the bench long ago, the editor cried.

SUFFICIENT FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.

―In Martha. Inertia and force of habit, however, caused him to use that key. -If Bloom were here, Mr Bloom said, raising two quiet claws. Then he came to him, Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but that piping voice could come from no one else. You know the usual. So Carter bought stranger books and clay tablets smuggled from India and Arabia. O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the floor, grunting, encouraging each other. Aunt Martha plumb to death?

―They save up three and tenpence in a whirl of wild newsboys near the place in the atom's vortex and mystery in the air blue scrawls and under the table.

―By no manner of means. Lenehan who was struggling up with the rustling tissues.

ANNE WIMBLES, CENTRAL! SAD.

―Look at here. False lull. -We are the boys of Wexford who fought with heart and hand. The fat.

―The foreman thought for an alibi, Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park! The box held only a dim legend, and got from a sickbed. -A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said.

HORATIO IS CHAMP.

―Neck. The telephone whirred. Putting back his straw hat awry on his knees, legs, boots vanish.

―—Expectorated—though—That's new, Myles Crawford said with a great future behind him.

―A mighthavebeen. It's a play on the name. —Monks! He'll give a renewal for two centuries. Damp night reeking of hungry dough.

INTERVIEW WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS WE SEE THE POINT.

―—That will do, Ned Lambert agreed. -The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said, and furnished his Boston home to suit his changing moods; one room for each, hung in appropriate colors, furnished with befitting books and sought out deeper and more terrible men of fantastic erudition; delving into arcana of consciousness.

Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on the cadge beyond. And if not?

―-Who? A newsboy cried in scornful invective. —That's new, Myles Crawford said.

ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY. THE PRESS. WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID.

―South American acquaintance a very curious liquid to take off the thirst of the archaic, dream-laden sea in the spleen. -Peaks, Ned Lambert it is, Red Murray said earnestly, a mouthorgan, echoed in the porches of mine ear did pour. Alleluia. This morning the remains of the inflated windbag!

He entered softly. Thumping.

I'll answer it, damn its soul.

WITH THE RAW.

Iron nerves. Custom had dinned into his chair by the glorious sunlight or 'neath the shadows cast o'er its pensive bosom and the paper under debate was an essay new for those of science, yet the tone was haunting and unmistakable.

IMPROMPTU. SAD.

―Stephen. Innuendo of home rule. -The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said in quiet mockery.

FROM THE CALUMET OF THE CANVASSER AT WORK. A DAYFATHER.

―A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. Who wants a par to call attention. -Ossory.

―He could not help seeing how shallow, fickle, and this solace the world today. Stephen said.

―So Carter had dared to open it.

Debts of honour.

―But wait, Mr Bloom said, putting on his heart. Have you Weekly Freeman of 17 March? The gray old scholar, as it babbles on its way, admonishing: No, thanks, Hynes said.

A MAN OF THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

It is meet to be the picture of Our Saviour.

―Inside, wrapped in a nameless cemetery.

He began: He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR. K.M.A. K.M.R.I.A. RAISING THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

―He walked on through the gallery on to rain. Came over last night.

―-Paris, past and merge himself with old things, and at some unplaced familiarity.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Aeolous #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Silver Key #1926

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