#the monks gave them this memory in lovers walk

[desicat-writer]

Dawn: so you're missing Drusilla.

Spike: what makes you say that?

Joyce: We found you in the park throwing rocks at couples.

Spike: WHY SHOULD THEY BE HAPPY

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : The Forbidden Apple       Chapter 15

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Story Summary: Father Carden begins to notice how his Weeping Monk starts to question all he was raised to believe in. In an effort to distract him, he has his Red Brothers bring him a 'gift.' The Monk is skeptical when he hears of this, Father never just gave him gifts. But when the Monk enters his tent in the evening he understood what Father had meant by 'gift'. You, a fey girl, were the gift.

Chapter Title: Wild Hearts.

Notes: Sorry it took so long again.

Warnings: There's a list of warnings for this story: Stockholm syndrome (?), lima syndrom (?). Rape threats, sexual assault, murder and violence. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor's guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Mention of menstruation.

Other warnings: ! Smut ! Jealousy. Enemies to lovers (?). Romance. Pining. Thigh grinding.

Word count of this fic: +140K

Chapter:  15 / 27

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After what felt like hours, and probably were, the cold rain was starting to soak through your cloak.

After feeling like you had lost your way in the forest, finally you regained some hope. The willow tree that had been struck by lightning marked that the village was not far off anymore.

Continuing your path ahead, you tried to remember the path the Monk had taken with you that night. It wasn’t simple, admittedly you had been somewhat distracted by him sitting behind you that night.

Part of you still hoped that he would come to the village, but you knew things had changed and that it was no longer safe. Father Carden had given the order, not even he could protect you now.

Still…

Leaving behind one of your people, someone who clearly cared for you, broke your heart.

Where would you even go now ? And alone…

It would be safer to find a place in the village until dawn, strolling around in the forest without someone who knew how to not get lost or eaten by wolves wasn’t the best idea.

You tied the reins of the horse to the same hitching post from last time, not a moment later you had to find cover.

Paladins were walking around and you hid in alleyways, behind low walls and wagons.

During one of those moments, as you navigated through the village, you bumped into someone.

The woman from the shop…

Both of you were quite startled to see each other again, especially with how you were sneaking around the place.

Two paladins walked by and you saw it dawn on her, until now she had not realized that you were Fey…

You pleaded with her, knowing that Manbloods were expected to report any Fey sightings “Please, don’t call for them…”

This woman took hold of your arm, seeing the shaken state you were in “Come with me. They’ll find you out here, love.”

She led you through the village with ease, as if she herself had often sneaked around the place avoiding people. And she had. Thelma, the butcher’s wife, was a terribly nosy person…

She led you into her shop, ushering you through a door in the back which led into the rest of her house.

The woman took hold of your cloak briefly, feeling how the rain had drenched it “Poor thing, your clothes are soaked. Hold on, I’ll get you something to dress into while they dry by the fire.”

“Wait !” You called out to her before she could walk into her shop again “I don’t even know your name yet…”

With a motion of her hand, she blamed it on her often distracted memory “It’s Suzanne.”

You introduced yourself as well “I’m Y/n.”

Suzanne smiled warmly “Wait there, I’ll be right back.”

  You did as told, moments later she had brought you a dress to change into until your own clothes were dry again. Then she offered to let you stay at her house for the night, something you tried to refuse but the woman was far more stubborn and perhaps she did not get many visitors.

When she started cooking dinner, you helped her.

As you helped her cut the vegetables, she held up a couple of carrots for you to see “That fellow you were with, the uh… monk ?” she saw you nod “Generous one. Made me able to get some more diversity in my soups. Have you worn the dresses yet ?”

Truthfully you replied “I was saving them for when I would need them most.”

The room filled itself with the incredible smell of what she was cooking and you handed her the potatoes you had cut.

She put them in the pot as well “The man had good taste.”

A rather big bowl of soup was placed in front of your nose a while later.

Suzanne sat opposite you at the table, reminiscing about how things had changed “Before the Red Paladins came, all those years ago, our village traded with Fey kind. Vegetables, fruits, herbs… The Faun Folk were incredible hunters. We had no trouble getting a meal on the table during those days.”

Taking a sip of the warm soup, it tasted even better than it smelled “Thank you, this is delicious.”

Suzanne smiled and began to drink her soup as well “I will prepare some necessities that you can take with you when you leave again tomorrow. I fear I cannot offer more, too many of those paladins are walking around the place these days.”

This woman was far too kind to a stranger “You have done more than enough, Suzanne. I doubt many people would let a Fey, let alone a stranger, stay in their house.”

Just as you said that, you recalled that it was exactly what the Monk had done. You were a stranger to him, an enemy of the Church and he had let you stay…

Your attention wandered away from her.

How will he have responded to the news that you were sentenced to death and had fled after attacking his red brothers ?

She pulled your attention back to the present when placing a hand on your own across the table “Fey or not, a person in need should be helped.”

This woman was giving you shelter and a meal while having barely enough for herself…

The Church’s mission and Uther’s negligence towards it were pushing more and more people into poverty.

Taking her hands in yours, you expressed your gratitude for the help she was giving “I will not forget what you have done for me, if I can ever repay you, I will.”

Suzanne drew her hands back and waved that away “Nonsense, I do not expect anything in return. You have enough to worry about as is. Come on, I’ll show you were you can sleep.”

After you finished your soup, she led you to were a fireplace was situated and handed you a blanket and a pillow.

She helped you make an improvised bed on the floor, it wasn’t much but you were used to worse conditions to sleep in.

When she tucked you in, you couldn’t help but wonder why she was alone in this rather large house “Are you married ? Do you have children ?”

Her expression changed immediately, sorrow filled her eyes “I was. And I had. A son, he would have been your age.”

It was clear that her child was no longer among the living “May I ask what happened ?”

She threw a block of wood into the heart of the fireplace so it would continue to burn throughout the night “When the paladins first started their mission all those years ago, he was playing with his friends, Fey kind. There used to be houses of the Fey not far from here, they made no exceptions for children back then.”

Gods…

The silence went on for a while after that, her son had died because he was friends with the Fey who had lived there…

But something she had said had caught your interest “The Church doesn’t make exceptions for children now either…”

Suzanne turned to you, stepping closer “I heard stories, the last decade or more the Fey children are being spared, often one stumbles upon this village. If the Church doesn’t make exceptions, then how come these children are alive ?”

Again you fell silent.

A decade or more… he would have been old enough…

His impact had already started years ago, sparing and protecting the Fey children from suffering the same fate as the adults.

A whole generation of your people spared because he took the risk.

When you answered, you avoided looking at her “Maybe somebody is having mercy on the children.”

Suzanne was quiet for a brief moment.

“That man you were here with previously, he was a man of the Church but he did not look like one of the Red Paladins. He had a rather distinct appearance.”

It was impossible to miss how she was fishing for the story on how the notorious Weeping Monk ended up in her shop with a Fey girl.

And she was right about his appearance, not even you had seen one of the Ash Folk before.

You kept silent, not wishing to share his secret with Manbloods.

She got the hint and did not press on “Those drapes they wear would not have suited him, I know, it is my work to know.”

For the first time in a while you laughed “I believe I told him something of the likes once. Grey suited him.”

The curious old woman did not miss how your tone changed on that last part, along with that quiet sigh coming from you, she put some pieces together “A dark blue would too. Then again, it is hard to make something beautiful ugly.” she added begrudgingly “It’s always the handsome ones that end up being married or monks or-”

You were looking at her with interest and she shook the memory away of all the times she had misjudged a situation before she found her late husband.

She patted you on the shoulder and picked up the lantern she had placed down to light her way “Anyhow. I should let you rest, try to sleep. I will wake you in the morning.”

While sending her a small smile, you thanked her again “Thank you, Suzanne. And good night.”

She strolled out of the room, lantern held out in front of her “Goodnight, y/n. Don’t worry too much.”

As she walked away, the only light now came from the small fireplace.

There you were, laying down in the darkness alone for the first time again in weeks.

Soon tears started to brim in your eyes, it was starting to sink in…

Now that you did not have to worry about not having shelter for the night, all the others emotions you had buried reached the surface.

Left alone with your thoughts in the darkness, perhaps one of the most dangerous things there was…

Would he be punished for your escape ? Would he be send to find you ? Would you ever even see him again ?

You turned on your side, facing the flames of the fire, this time no one was there to hold or comfort you if a nightmare would haunt your dreams.

It felt like a part of you had been ripped away, for someone to be that important to you…and then gone.

Shutting your eyes, you hoped you’d fall asleep soon.

Tonight he had wanted to take you to the village, you would have been here together…

There was something he had not wished to tell you. Why was he so persistent to come here again ?

Why had that conversation felt like a ‘goodbye’ ?

So many questions did not stop troubling you until you eventually fell asleep.

   The next morning you said your goodbyes to Suzanne, giving her a hug of gratitude when she handed you some food and useful items for your journey. At least you would not starve for the next few days, all you could do was hope to find a safe place soon.

She put some final things in the saddlebag of your horse “Be careful, dear. Stick to the forest, avoid the roads. The butcher’s wife said that a group of Trinity Guards was seen traveling our direction.”

Great, your journey was off to a good start. The Church’s most fearsome murderers were getting close.

You mounted your horse “I will be. Thank you, Suzanne, for everything you have done for me.”

Again she waved it away, like it was a normal thing to be so kind to a stranger “Aw, don’t be silly. I enjoyed having some company over. The house has been too quiet for so long.”

That was something you could relate to.

You requested only one more thing “The man I was with the last time. If you see him again, could you tell him I was here ? Only him.”

Suzanne smiled up at you “I shall. Good luck, y/n.”

You spurred the horse on into a walking pace “Thank you. Stay safe and healthy, Suzanne.”

She watched you ride out off the village and head into the forest, taking her advice to heart to avoid the roads.

  oOoOoOOoOoOoOoOoO

  Miles from where you were, the Ash Man was still riding at a calm pace with the Fey child sitting in front.

He had learned the boy’s name after some gentle pushing.

Percival. Not ‘Squirrel’ as the boy had first claimed.

“Where are we going ?” The child in front of him asked for the fifth time.

Both breathing and speaking hurt, still he would not ignore the boy, the last time he did that it ended with the child cussing him out for close to an hour before he ran out of breath WHILE WALKING “To the forest up ahead.”

Percival was growing grumpy fast, not used to sitting still for so long “You said we were going to the river and we’ve passed that. Then you said we were going past the rocks and we passed that as well. Make up your mind.”

He winced, both at the boy’s rude way of speaking and how the child was calling him out on his own failure to think of where to go.

And let that be what the boy pointed out next “You don’t know where you are going, don’t you ?”

He held his tongue or risked alarming the boy.

Percival rolled his eyes and decided to take charge considering that the man steering the horse had taken enough hits to the head to make them circle the world two times aimlessly “Go left past that big tree over there.”

His eyes slid to the boy’s face, noting a slightly frustrated tone of voice “What is left ?”

The boy held up his left hand and looked at him as if he was thick in the head “Did you forget what left and right is ?”

How was this boy so bold and brash ?

Slowly he spoke and explained what he had meant “I meant, why are we going left ? What is there to find if we head left ?”

Percival wasn’t very keen on sharing that information yet “You’ll see when we head left.”

Was there even a point in trying to get the boy to share where he would ride to ? This child could tell him to ride straight into hell and he was left but no other option then to actually do so.

And currently it felt like one way or another, he would end up there with these injuries “If I lose consciousness. Take my horse, his name is Goliath, leave me and find your people. Take my short sword, you will wield it better than the long one.”

The boy turned his head to face him “You’re not dying are you ?”

That sudden concerned look on the otherwise brave young boy’s face surprised him, he had not expected his health to be the subject of the child’s concern.

His chances on survival were slim to none if he did not find a place to receive treatment. And the villages nearby would be being searched by members of the Church soon enough. Abbot Wicklow would not let this humiliation pass by unpunished. He was a wanted man, if his wounds did not kill him in a few days, the Church would. A traitor would be shown no mercy.

His only concern now was to bring the boy to a safe place far away from the camp.

And maybe find a place to die in peace, alone.

Would he lie to keep him calm ? Or tell the truth and hope the boy would continue to act brave ?

Without mentioning the state he was in, he explained why he had told him this “They will be looking for me, Percival. Do not risk your life for me again.”

Percival was having none of that “You risked yours for me. And a knight of the Fey helps people.”

He frowned at that “Knight ?”

The boy got quiet “The Green Knight… he made me a knight…I saw soldiers take him away from the camp.”

It was not until he was faced by the boy’s impending torture that Father had commanded, that he had fully decided to turn against those who had taught him everything. And so much of it had been lies…

If he had been stronger of will, perhaps he could have saved the Green Knight from the hands of his red brothers…

He bowed his head in shame “My words might mean nothing to you, Percival. But I want you to know that I regret ever bringing the Green Knight to Father.”

Of course the boy still held a grudge for it, but he knew that if the Weeping Monk had not turned against the paladins, he would not be alive to see this day “Do you think he is alive ?”

There was no point in lying “I fear not, but we cannot be certain until we hear news of it. I am sorry, Percival.”

The boy pouted, then spoke somewhere between pleading and demanding, a rather impressive thing not many people were capable of “You have to stay alive, alright ? We need people who can fight.”

Currently, all he was capable off now was fighting to stay alive. If he had to fight in this condition, he would surely perish.

He reached over and wiped some blood from the boy’s temple “Do not worry about me. Tell me where I need to ride to next.”

Percival was baffled by the tall Fey’s caring nature, but went ahead and pointed him to the next direction.

When they took a brief stop to give Goliath some rest and for him to wash off some of the blood, the boy had rummaged through the saddlebag in search for food.

And he had found some, the food he had packed for you for when he would have brought you to the inn in the village…

The boy chewed on some bread, offering some of it to the weakened Ash Man too “Why do you have dresses with you ?”

His appetite left him right away, feeling how his throat tightened again “They were from a friend.”

Percival continued his questioning, unaware of the sorrow inside his new friend “Where is your friend ? Maybe they will helps us.”

His voice cracked, eyes dropping to the grass “They’re gone.”

Obliviously the child asked “Gone where ?” the look in the Ash Man’s eyes gave the answer “Oh, I’m sorry.”

With a sigh he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered him back towards the horse “It is alright. You remind me of her with all your questions. Come on, we should head out again. Find a place far enough to build a fire before it gets dark again.”

  oooOOooOoOOOooOooo

  You had just started to set up camp in a spot you considered appropriate when footsteps sounded from nearby.

A group…

Rising from the ground, you had just enough time to grab your bag as they stepped into view. Three women and three men, dressed in raider attire, stared in your direction. One of them had freckles spread all over her face. It was she that shouted after you when you started to run for the horse “Wait ! Why are you running ?”

What halted you was how it had sounded like she found it absolutely ridiculous that you would be running from them.

That was…odd.

The girl stepped forward when she saw you stop near your horse “Are you hurt ?”

When you saw that the others stayed at a distance, you replied “No. I’m not.”

She stopped only a few steps away “Sky Folk ? Like me.”

There was a nod from you that confirmed her guess.

“There’s blood on your clothes.” She pointed out while physically pointing at your skirt.

Your eyes widened and flickered down to see that she was right, little specks of dried blood were staining it. You had not noticed them when putting your own dress on again at Suzanne’s house. It’s a miracle that no one else had commented on it yet.

“It’s not my blood.” You blurted out before realizing how bad that would sound to her.

The girl took a large step back but kept facing you “Alright…”

Oh dear gods…

You tried to reassure her that you were not some homicidal maniac wandering around in the woods “Oh, no ! Listen, I… I just escaped a paladin camp. This is paladin blood.”

“I like her !” One of the raiders shouted.

The girl seized you up for a moment, then held out her hand “I’m Pym.”

Well, she was a rather interesting character…

You shook her hand, introducing yourself “Nice to meet you. I’m y/n.”

With a shrug of her shoulders she casually asked “Well then, y/n. Want to tag along ?”

You couldn’t believe someone would let you travel along so easily “Tag along ?”

She frowned before talking really slow “Yes. Do. You. Want. To. Come. With. Me ?” after a long pause without an answer she grew impatient “Well ?”

It was your instinct replying, it told you to trust her “Yes.”

Another shrug of her shoulders “Alright well, take your horse along, we’ll be riding back once I find the last plants I need.”

One of the raiders walked up to you, taking his helmet off and putting it on your head “For protection.”

Pym didn’t look impressed with it, shrugged her shoulders and started to walk to where they had been heading again.

  oooOOoooOoOoOOooOOOoOOoOo

  As this group seemingly strolled around the forest for over an hour, Pym picked many different herbs and flowers that she found.

She told you that she was the healer on a ship from Red Spear, a well known captain. Well known because every other captain on the seas feared crossing her path.

Some of these raiders went ahead and showed you the work Pym had done on them.

You heard the most bizarre stories from them, how they had obtained the kind of injuries one jokes about but never actually thinks is possible to get.

Finally they brought you back to a city still protected by a high wall and Faun archers.

There you saw a familiar face, the man you had met in the forest…

You caught his attention as well and he walked over to you “We’ve met before.”

He looked pleasantly surprised “That we have. Wow, I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Pym hadn’t expected that you would know the same Manblood “You know her ?”

The man started to explain it “This is the girl I talked about. The one I met in the forest. I was worried about you.”

“Oh.” Pym recalled that he had mentioned it once.

Thanks to his kind gesture, you were here now “Thank you for the knife you gave me, sir. I wouldn’t be alive today without it.”

With a slight tilt of his head he acknowledged it “You’re very welcome. And please, don’t call me sir.”

You smiled at him friendly “What should I call you then ?”

He held out his hand for you to shake “Call me Arthur.”

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[ghoulsister1]

🎃SpookTober 31 Days Prompts🎃:

Day 3: Apple Picking🍎

Edward Leeford x Wiccan GN!Reader. AU: Victorian Era. Autumn Witchy vibes. Cosy Autumn. In Wiccan the Autumn Equinox is known as "Mabon". Fluff. Monks is still a nervous wreck but a sweetheart. SpookTober Prompt: Apple Picking🍎

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☆●~Apples & Company~●☆

October is the perfect time to pick the apples in the orchard. Basket in hand, you go forth to the orchard with hope that the strange yet handsome you met last time in London would be there as he promised.

You awoke in the early hours of the morning to the fields and hills covered in fog, the ravens calling out in the trees accompanied by the occasional soft cooing of the wood pigeons that sat upon the tree in your garden.

The house was quite cold so you wrapped a shawl around you along with your dressing gown and lit a candle to light the way, it was early morning but with the Autumnal Equinox, the early hours of morning were getting darker slowly but surely. You made your way down the stairs to the hearth in the drawing room and you were so glad you stocked up a fresh pile of logs the day before.

Putting some logs into the hearth and grabbing a match, you lit up the logs and watched as the flames flickered to life and with the logs to feed it, it wasn't long before there was a good hearty fire. You lit up the stove in the kitchen and made yourself some breakfast.

After filling your belly with warm food, you set about cleaning your altar and prepare it for Mabon. You were Wiccan, though to narrow-minded buffoons you were considered a "witch". And not the "good kind" witch oh no, the "flying on broomsticks, cursing pretty girls, stealing babies and having tea with The Devil himself" witch.

You would sigh everytime you walked by the farmer's land and the farmer's daughter would give you a nasty look. The farmer and his wife though knew you weren't a witch, they just thought of you as a lover of nature. Or whenever you walked into town and passed by the church, the priest would stare after you coldly and with an air of disdain. It was quite infuriating if you were honest but should you retaliate, you'd only give them more fuel for the fire of their claims of you being a witch.

You cleaned up your altar and prepared it for Mabon. You smiled as you placed pinecones, leaves, your crystals and some candles on your altar.

"Perfect" You Said and you dressed in some warm wear, wrapped a small velvet hood and cloak around you and picking up your wicker basket, you headed out. You were heading to the apple orchard up the road.

The sun was breaking through the clouds, orange and pale blue filling the sky. The land was still covered in a misty blanket as you walked up the road to the orchard, the small birds singing and fretting about in the bushes made you smile as you inhaled the crisp, chilly autumn air.

"I wonder if he'll be there, as he promised" You Thought smiling softly. You were referring to the man you met the last time you visited London. He was a young man, quite pale with dark hair and the most extraordinary eyes you've ever seen for one was pale blue as the sky and the other a dark brown as autumn leaves. Edward Leeford was his name.

You recalled the moment you met, how shy he was at times, though at certain times he seemed to fret over some unknown worry with extremity. But the more you talked to him, the more he seemed to become calm and little more relaxed. You recalled the memory fondly.

You smiled and fiddled with the frilly lace on your sleeves.

"So how long will you be in London?" Asked Edward almost nervously. You looked at Edward and gave a soft smile.

"Oh not long, I live in the countryside you see. I come to London only a few times. There's a town where I live which has most of the essentials necessary for living in the countryside. I only come to London to browse and shop a little, just for things I can't get in the town" You Explained.

Your heart clenched a little upon seeing Edward frown, his eyes sad and he looked away out the window.

"Must be very peaceful, living out in the countryside" Remarked Edward in a low voice. You felt sorry for him, he seemed to really enjoy your company. Suddenly an idea sprung to mind.

"Mr. Leeford if you'd like, maybe you could come visit me? I'll be going apple picking soon, I would very much like you to come along with me that day, should you want to" You Suggested.

Edward looked shocked.

"You...you want me to go apple picking with you?" Asked Edward, seeming unsure.

"Why yes!" You Replied.

"In the countryside? Just the two of us?" Asked Edward, eyeing you carefully.

"Yes of course! Why doubt my offer? You seem to enjoy talking with me and I'd hate to leave London knowing you'd probably be lonely. If you are still unsure, you can refuse. I won't hold it against you" You Explained.

"Oh no! I'd love to go apple picking with you Y/N! I was....I...no one's ever asked me to go apple picking with them.....or go to or do anything with" Replied Edward softly and sadly.

You frowned at hearing that.

"Well, I'm asking you and I'd be happy for you to join me" You Stated smiling. Edward gave you a soft smile at that.

You had kept in touch by letters and the last letter you got from him was that he'd meet there. You wonder if he meant in the orchard specifically or up the road. You weren't sure and you hoped he was there and wasn't lost.

Halfway up the road you heard the neigh of a horse. You continued onwards and soon you spotted a brown chestnut mare tied to the tree next to the entrance of the apple orchard. You smiled when you saw a man, pale and dark haired look up the road and see you. It was Edward Leeford!

"You're here!" You Cried smiling.

"Of course! Did you think I wouldn't come to the countryside?" Asked Edward smiling.

You shook your head, smiling as you made your way towards him.

"I thought you would've gotten lost. I was honestly worried when i thought that" You Admitted, approaching Edward.

"I thought I was going to get lost. Luckily, the countryside has some really helpful people here and I was able to get directions to this apple orchard" Explained Edward.

You gave a little giggle at that and smiled at him.

"Well, I'm glad you made here okay. That's a gorgeous horse. How long have you had her?" You Asked, walking over to the mare and stroking her forehead.

"Her? Oh not long. Just got her last week. She's a good horse though. Very patient if not a little finicky at times" Remarked Edward watching as you in wonder as you petted the mare and softly praised her. Usually the horse would be weary and reluctant, but with you the mare was practically melting under your touch and words.

"Does she have a name?" You Asked smiling.

"Oh uh.....Nutmeg" Answered Edward, thinking of the name just now.

You turned around and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Nutmeg?" You Reapeated.

"Is it a bad name?" Asked Edward.

"No. It's a lovely name. But when did you think of it?" You Asked knowingly.

Edward blushed under your gaze.

"Just now" Admitted Edward bashfully and you smiled at him, which made him smile back.

"Come, let's go pick some apples" You Suggested and with Edward, you both entered the orchard together.

The orchard was filled with rows of trees, all bearing the fresh apples ripe for picking. The fresh scent of the apples hung in the air, so sweet and strong.

"Are all these apples ripe?" Asked Edward.

"Should be yes. October is the perfect time for picking apples" You Answered.

"Would you get bad ones though?" Asked Edward.

"Hmmm. That depends really. I've had a few bad apples before but none from this orchard so this orchard must be very well cared for" You Explained. Edward listened to your explanation as he looked at all the apples in the trees.

"Let's start with this one" You Suggested and walked over to the tree, followed closely by Edward.

There was a low hanging branch that allowed you to reach up easily and pluck the apples from the tree. Occasionally you'd give them a little squeeze to feel how firm they are.

Edward watched as you plucked away, listening to you hum a little tune here and there. His heart felt warm strangely as he gazed upon you.

"Alright, let's move to the next one" You Announced, shaking Edward from his thoughts and he followed you to the next tree.

This tree's branch wasn't low hanging but you still had a good reach and you began plucking the apples.

"How long have you lived out here, in the countryside?" Asked Edward curiously.

"Oh, a long time really. I was born in the North actually" You Answered as you plucked an apple and dropped it into the basket.

"In Yorkshire? I see, well I could hear it actually in your accent. And the way you talk" Admitted Edward blushing.

"Oh yeah? Well, everyone says I never lost my accent no matter how long I lived here now. But yeah, I was born in the countryside in Yorkshire. You could say I really feel more at home surrounded by fields and hills" You Went On.

"Understandable I suppose" Remarked Edward.

"And you? Have lived in London long?" You Asked. Edward shifted nervously on the spot.

"Um, now I have yes. But I used to move around a lot, with my mother" Answered Edward looming away a bit.

"Move around?" You Reapeated.

"Well, me and mother had lots of money you see. From my father. And well, when the money runs out, we have to move and well it starts again" Explained Edward, embarrassed.

You frowned at hearing that.

"So, you moved around England a lot? That can't be easy I suppose" You Remarked.

"Oh no, not in England. I moved from London to France and France to Italy. I didn't like being in France. Nor Italy. But mother always forced me to go, even though I said no" Explained Edward.

"Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that Edward. You must be happy now to be back home now though" You Said.

"Oh yes! Very much" Assured Edward happily as he smiled at you. You smiled back and the two of you continued along the orchard. Edward even picked some apples himself and he seemed to enjoy it.

"Last tree here and you can come by my house for something warm to drink" You Said smiling.

"I'd like that" Replied Edward as you both came to the tree, it was a strong sturdy tree than the rest and it's branches were very high.

"Shouldn't there be a ladder or something?" Asked Edward looking about.

"Oh no, it's gone!" You Cried.

Edward frowned but suddenly he remembered something.

"Wait here Y/N, just be ready with the basket" Said Edward and you watched in awe as Edward climbed the tree with ease. You smiled as he made it up top and started plucking apples, dropping them into the waiting basket below.

"Alright! That's a good bunch Edward! You can come down now!" You Cried. Edward smiled and slowly made his way back down to you.

Basket filled, you both saddled up Nutmeg and headed back to your place. Edward hitched Nutmeg outside and entered into your home, warm and welcoming.

"I'll just leave the basket in the kitchen, make yourself at home" You Suggested and walked to the kitchen, basket in hand.

Edward looked around the cosy cottage and stumbled upon your altar. He looked at it and at first was very concerned, thinking he entered into the home of a witch. But upon closer inspection, he saw no bones nor evil symbols. Only pinecones, leaves and little crystals.

"Ah, that's my altar. All decorated for Mabon" You Spoke, startling Edward who jumped and turned around.

"I...uh..are...I...are you a.....?" Stammered Edward.

"Am I a witch?" You Asked, raising an eyebrow at Edward.

Edward nodded, blushing. He didn't mean nor wish to offend you.

"I practice Wicca but I'm no witch. So don't worry, I won't put a curse on you or turn you into a slimey toad" You Reassured Edward, smiling warmly.

"I mean no offence to you" Edward Stammered but you understood him.

"Don't worry Edward, I know you meant no harm in asking. Come and let's have some tea" You Said.

You both sat down that evening, tea in hand.

"I enjoyed apple picking with you today" Edward Said softly smiling.

"Me too Edward. I enjoyed it more with you there" You Admitted.

You both smiled and enjoyed each other's company that evening.

●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●

[valhallasubstitute]

Oh the Things I Would Do

Finan x reader

Prompt #13 & #19 - ‘there was only one bed’, ‘their friends make a bet about you’

The chemistry between you and Finan is palpable but your friends grow tired of it when you get a little handsy at the alehouse. A bet is made. Unable to relive your tension as you share a tiny, single bed with Finan you think about all the things you’re unable to do. Those thirty pieces of silver better be worth it…

A/N: Would recommend listening to Talk by Hozier while reading

WARNINGS: smutty but like not explicit

Wc: 1181

Tags: @flowers-in-your-hayr

You wanted Finan.

You had him there, within reach and dressed in next to nothing, body begging to be touched.

And yet, you couldn’t have him.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 The bet had been a simple one, its conception innocent and ale fueled just like any other bastard’s.

You and your friends had been sat in the alehouse in Winchester, laughter and shouts filling the air as the five of you filled your bellies with watered down alcohol. You sat next to Finan, his hand planted firmly on your thigh and through out the night it had climbed further and further North.

It really wasn’t your fault that Osferth noticed and credit to the baby monk, he didn’t out you immediately, simply rolled his eyes as Finan made you gasp. But that was enough for Uhtred’s interest to peak and your actions exposed. None of the men would risk getting kicked out of the alehouse, their only reprise in the constant war of politics. Finan was no different so his hand had only brushed against where you wanted him most, a silent promise of more.  

Not that any of your friends believed either of you. Jokes and jabs being thrown your way as you shook your head, light-hearted accusations of jealousy your only defence.

That was how it had started. You decided to leave then, the ale wasn’t to your liking and you were eager to rest after such a long day. You placed a lingering kiss on Finan’s lips and bid the others goodnight.

The bet had been made gradually, a few coins tossed here and there, promises of jugs of ale and more but ultimately it was Uhtred who said it outright.

‘I am willing to bet thirty pieces of silver that you can’t go one night without humping her.’

Finan had scoffed while the others had laughed but he took his Lord’s hand in his and shook it regardless. He had spent nights with you where all you had done was talked, laughed until you cried and then cried until you laughed. There had been nights where he held you flush to his chest, the touch of your skin soothing rather than exciting. He was convinced that the thirty pieces of silver were his as he walked back to your shared room.

That was until he saw you.

You heard him curse under his breath and the sound brought a smile to your lips.  You watched him rake is his eyes over you, his breaths becoming more frequent, deeper before he finally let out a loud sigh.

‘I’ve got thirty silver pieces for us.’ The look on his face gave him away, his inner conflict obvious as he fiddled with the cross around his neck. You sat up, pulling the sheets around your body and patting the space next to you.

‘Mmh, what’s the catch?’

‘We can’t have sex.’

Your stare became blank, watching as Finan’s look turn sheepish.

‘What?’

‘All we have to do is lay down next to each other and go to sleep. It’ll be easy.’ He walked around the small room, removing his boots and armour as he went.

‘You’ve been teasing me since the sun came up and now you want to share this tiny, single bed and just…sleep?’

The Irishman shrugged, ‘I want to prove them wrong.’ He blew out the candle with a grin and as the bed dipped you could feel his eyes on you once more. ‘And besides, think of tomorrow night.’

The two of you lay side by side in the darkness. The silence was heavy and only disturbed by soft breaths. The sound was comforting at first, but when it didn’t fade into gentle snores and twitching limbs it slowly drove you mad.

To you, Finan was like the flame that threatened to burn the whole house down, when you fell into bed with him you knew you’d be left as a wreck. You were hyperaware of the fact now; you could practically scream with want.

You could feel the heart of Finan’s body, and you were consumed by his scent and you knew that he just as conscious of you. You cursed at God and at the others, the thought of them angering you beyond justification.

As the heat of anger faded you focused on the breath of your lover and soon the memory of his hands burned everything else from existence.

Your mind drifted to the last time you had found yourself under Finan the Agile and heat spread across you body.

His lips had scorched your neck, open mouthed kisses and sharp teeth grazing your pulse.

You had moaned as he travelled south, the night being filled with sounds of pleasure and praise.

Your fingers had threaded through his hair and tugged – a plea silenced with a growl. He had nipped and sucked marks from your neck to your thighs, the purple only beginning to fade now.

His eyes had looked black, the usually warm brown spiralling into a whirl of blown out lust.

He had pushed into you with a call of your name and a bruising grip on your hips.

The thought of it had you pressing your hand to your mouth, muffling the gasp that slipped from your lips. Finan stirred next to you, your arm had brushed against his and you knew he felt the sparks too.

It took every fibre of your being not to look at him. To look at him would acknowledge everything you wanted you wanted to do to him in that moment, and oh the things you would do.

The image played out in your head as you lay perfectly still.

You would turn on your side, letting your fingers ghost over your Irishman’s forearm. You’d smile at his inhale of breath and let your touch linger, then spread.

You’d trail your hands over his chest, feel the beating of his heart and the rumble of protest, but the words would falter with the quickening of his pulse.  

You would turn to face him completely then, watch his eyes consume you and his jaw flex with restrain, with want.

‘You’ll do well to stop that Y/N.’ Your breath stopped, Finan’s voice was strained, filling the room with sound and doubling your desire.

‘Stop what?’ The words were whispered, and your voice sounded hoarse even to your own ears.

‘You know what, vixen.’

The linen of the bed was soft, you turned with a sigh and buried yourself further into the sheets. Sleep drifted away from you like ashes in the wind, the fire in your belly ever burning like the sun that seemingly refused to rise.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You awoke to the sounds of birds chirping yet the sky was still a grey blue. Finan’s hand was the next thing you became aware of was Finan’s hand, creeping slowly, just as it had done the night before, towards the apex of your thighs.

‘How badly do you want that silver?’ You could feel him smile into the crook of your neck.

‘Not half as badly as I want you.’

[mythicamagic]

Swimming in Silk: Chapter 23

Training in front of her, engaging her in conversation and now lending her his clothes…Kagome is starting to suspect that Sesshoumaru is trying to gain her attention.

Sesskag - Romance, Humour, Drama, Angst

Rated M - As always you can read this story on Ao3, fanfiction.net or Dokuga

Chapter One - here        Previous Chapter - here     Next Chapter - here

Kofi

AN: Dedicating this chapter to @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons, for their ko-fi donation and for being so lovely on tumblr. Thanks bud!

This is going through the events in Swimming in Silk and seeing them through Sesshoumaru's POV. These two chapters aren't totally necessary for the plot and you can skip them if you want, but I got requests for them and apparently some of you like to suffer. So enjoy~

Counting in Centuries pt.1

For about a month, things lapsed back into normalcy.

Sesshoumaru traversed the lands with his group, searching for any trace of the vile scourge that was Naraku. He didn't sense the miko or Inuyasha anywhere in the vicinity. Though left unmarked, his body did feel a strange...tugging sensation in his chest, prompting him to always be on the lookout, as though searching.

Since he could usually compartmentalise his feelings, he tucked these useless wants away where they belonged; Deep into the hollow of memory, to be hardly ever reflected upon. Father's image resided in that space too.

Really, he pat himself on the back for his handling of the situation. There he was, mated, and no one even suspected or sensed it. Just him, and he was handling everything just fine if you asked him-

Sesshoumaru stopped dead.

Distress, fear and helplessness. These emotions assaulted his senses like a battering ram, leaving him reeling. Pale lips parted and he took a steadying breath, lifting a hooded gaze to the tops of the trees.

"M-mi Lord?" Jaken padded closer, clutching Ah-Un's reins and blinking up at him owlishly.

"Jaken. Remain here with Rin," he uttered quietly. Not waiting for a reply, he launched forward, expelling youki to make him flow through the forest at inhuman speeds.

He followed the sensations until they mingled with the sharp scent of poisons. Finally, a hut in the middle of nowhere came into sight.

Frightened choking noises caught his ear. Various other jibberish was also being spouted out, but they came from a diminutive, stout man, so they did not command his attention.

What did, however, was the man's fingers wrapped around Kagome's throat. She knelt on the floor, eyes squeezed shut.

Sesshoumaru barely registered his claws impaling the stranger through the back, poison illuminating long fingers in a sickly green glow. He then jerked his arm, yanking the body to the floor, heedless of the man's cries.

The miko collected herself slowly, dazedly looking up at his towering figure. Blue eyes widened, drinking in his image with shock, staring.

He stared back.

And then Sesshoumaru knew things were not normal. And they probably never would be for him again.

His attention drifted further behind her, noting the collapsed Slayer and Monk. Since they all seemed incapable of moving, he figured they'd been paralysed. When the silence stretched on uninterrupted, it became apparent he had, in fact, come to their rescue. Kagome was looking at him like she wanted to say something, perhaps ask why.

He quickly scrambled for an excuse. "Where is Inuyasha?" He blurted.

Of course, she could not answer. Foolish. He inwardly took back his earlier pat on the back.

Killing the man who scented strongly of death without much trouble, Sesshoumaru sheathed Tenseiga, having stripped the man's flesh from his bones with a single strike.

"Kagome!"

Ah, fantastic. The half breed had chosen that point to show up, running over. He panted, lingering in the hut's entrance and gaping at the group's weakened state. He then rounded on Sesshoumaru, snarling. "What did you do to them?!"

The Daiyoukai's hand twitched, long fingers curling into the side of his thigh slightly. Sesshoumaru looked at him steadily, an icy snap lacing the frost-bitten words on the tip of his tongue. Where were you? This is your failure, not mine. The desire to fight crawled insidiously through his veins, fangs aching.

"No...Inu...yasha..." a weak voice croaked.

Both of them glanced down at the woman, who had managed to drag herself half-way out of the hut on her stomach. She stared at the half-breed pleadingly. "You've...g-got it wrong. Sesshoumaru saved us."

When that damning gaze of hers pinned him in place once more, Sesshoumaru swiftly glanced away. "No, I did not save you." He muttered flatly. "He could not answer my question, so I got rid of him."

Even to him, the excuse sounded shallow, so he began firing new questions at Inuyasha about Naraku. Yes, good. Revenge was safer to think about, not priestesses currently lying on the floor, obviously in need of care and attention and why hadn't Inuyasha picked her up yet-

Sesshoumaru turned sharply, padding away with a straight posture. Frayed senses collected until instincts began to roar, raising the hair on the back of his neck. They urged him to take her. Rip Kagome away from the half-breed and press his nose into the hollow of her shoulder. Maybe nibble on her ear. She'd liked that, he recalled. It would be so easy...

Yet, he walked on. Nothing hinted at the depth of feeling warring behind his placid, indifferent mask.

And so it continued in that way.

The Daiyoukai came to her rescue a few times more, regained his missing arm, obtained Bakusaiga, and silently committed to saving her Monk and Slayer friends while fighting the last battle in the depths of Naraku.

When his revenge had been completed though, the first roadblock he had not anticipated disrupted his path.

Kagome was stolen away, but not by him. Sent back to her original Time.

Sesshoumaru heard a loud rattling coming from that compartment he'd stored Kagome in, deep within himself. It leaked out at odd intervals during passive days, when battle drew further and further away into memory.

Seated within his quarters at the Western Keep, Sesshoumaru poured over scrolls. Alone and left in relative peace, the phantom feel of her touch played over pale skin. A kind, melodious voice whispered playfully in his ear. Though he repressed such things over and over, eventually his tactic had become inefficient, worn down after two years of waiting.

He needed an outlet. Practising swordplay did nothing. This was a different kind of urge and need.

Summoning a courtesan to his quarters, Sesshoumaru glanced up when she arrived with a rustle of cloth, sliding back the door. Long, straight straights of dark hair slid over creamy, bared shoulders, hanging forward as she bowed.

"My Lord, it is an honour."

Golden eyes narrowed, before falling shut. Rising, he gestured to lay down on the furs, loosening his clothing.

"May I help you disrobe, my Lord?"

"No," he uttered quietly.

Arousal fanned into the air from the demoness as she stripped and lay down on her stomach, presenting her rear. No fore-play needed. No illusions that this meant something. So why?

Sesshoumaru stared at the glistening sex of the female, wondering at the disgust and revolution that itched under his skin like a rash he couldn't reach. In his mind, he could give form to the lashing, roaring instincts in the shape of a silver inuyoukai, snarling with raised hackles. You disgrace us, it hissed. This is not the female we want.

Long fingers reached, sliding his palm up the woman's spine. Straying underneath her, Sesshoumaru grit his teeth, stomach twisting. When she moaned from the mere touch of his palm on her breast, he stilled.

Wrong. All wrong. Though his body responded like a male, bile had risen in his throat, burning like acid. Muscles had locked, and even baser, bestial wants hardening his cock screamed out for the scent of citrus and holy powers. Deadly claws clenched, and Sesshoumaru tore himself away- seconds from ripping the imposter's throat out.

"Go," he uttered.

"My Lord?"

"GO!" Sesshoumaru snarled, eyes flashing red.

The courtesan picked up her clothes, hurrying to leave. Sesshoumaru clamped his mouth shut to stop from panting, taking a sharp intake of air through his nose and blinking hard and fast. But the scent of the stranger remained in his dwelling, so he padded outside, bursting into flight.

----

"Is it impossible for a mated pair to take other lovers?"

The tree's eyelids fell shut, slowly prying open in a languid blink. Sesshoumaru stood in the clearing, hair still damp from his purging dip in a cold pool.

"Why ask?"

"Mere curiosity. My Mother was only superficially mated to Father, so it stands to reason this is why he could stray. But a true mating, can it prevent the pair from straying?"

"Hmnn..." Bokusenō gave a dusty sounding sigh that hinted at the true depths of his age. "No."

Golden eyes widened. He stared as the tree youkai continued at an unhurried pace. "Though a mating bond is powerful and binds souls together, it cannot impose on free-will."

"But...in all your years, surely you have heard the symptoms of what happens to the pair if such a thing happens?" He demanded sharply, unsettled but unwilling to show it, face impassive as ever.

"Indeed. It brutally harms the bond of trust."

"That is all?"

The tree chuckled. "Expecting something else?"

"Hn," Sesshoumaru glanced away. He loathed how perceptive the tree could be sometimes, yet he continually refused to completely confide in him. Father had kept council with this youkai and it had not done him any favours in the end. "For example; The cheating male could feel impossibly strong revulsion and sickness, the likes of which render him nearly human in uselessness, preventing him from taking a lover."

The weathered face in the bark appeared mildly amused, voice a deep rumble. "That sounds more like a crisis of conscience."

There's an ache in his chest, specific and concentrated, that has turned into a painful burning by now. But such things were ridiculous for demons. A conscience? For beings who delighted in the thrill of cruel, dark things? How laughable.

He levelled the tree with a haughty look, acting as though he had not mated the most cripplingly human miko he'd ever met. "...Foolish."

---

The demoness was the last time Sesshoumaru sought to question the hold Kagome had over his senses. Yet this did not stop him from deciding to try and ignore all thought of her.

He went to visit Rin every week in the human village, often hearing the laughter of the Slayer and Monk's children. Rin helped mind them.

His brother kept busy, awkwardly lending a hand to village folk to help fix houses or do hard labour. Sesshoumaru observed their lives from behind a veil he would not breach. Community as close-knit as theirs felt foreign. He hardly mingled with his own kind so naturally he would not theirs. Another year passed in this manner, with him observing their daily lives. Rin had grown a head taller at a speed he did not expect.

One innocent, bright day, when he greeted her, she positively beamed. "Oh, Lord Sesshoumaru! You're finally here. I wanted to tell you that Kagome has returned! She came back last week!"

Staring down at the girl, not a twinge broke his apathetic expression. Yet Rin tilted her head, seeing fit to touch his hand. "Are you well, my Lord?"

"Yes. Why ask?"

"I'm not sure," she hummed, face soon spreading into a smile. "You should go say hello!"

Sesshoumaru did not dignify her with an answer. He spent a good hour with Rin, watching over her as she studied medicinal herbs under Kaede. When Jaken finally waddled into their hut, carrying the desired package he'd been sent for, Sesshoumaru handed it to Rin and left without another word. A folded, fine kimono for his ward.

Flying over the village, he kept his gaze strictly fixed on the horizon ahead. Even when an intoxicatingly tempting scent reached his nose, the Daiyoukai did not falter.

"Ah! Lord Sesshoumaru, it seems Kagome has returned," Jaken squawked, clinging to mokomoko.

Just ignore her. A noise, perhaps a dismissive hum escaped him. His eyes burned with want to look. To see her.

A familiar voice he'd heard in his dreams and waking fantasies called up to him. "Big Brother!"

Piercing, throbbing viciousness blazed through his lungs and heart even as they swelled with pleasure to hear her again. Golden eyes snapped down to blue, scowling with the heated force of a thousand suns. You dare to pigeonhole me into that title? Is it to save yourself from any possible attraction to this one, miko? He sneered.

Kagome blinked up at him, brows pulling together with dismay. "Huh, he just gave me a really annoyed look," she then glanced at Inuyasha, noting his weirded out expression. "H-huh? You too?"

"That just sounded really wrong," he winced.

Jaken muttered some sort of complaint, though Sesshoumaru barely paid any attention to it, muttering his usual; "shut up, or I'll kill you."

Instead, his thoughts fixed on Kagome, searing her image at the forefront of his mind. I will bed you for this slight against me, miko. We will be mated once more, and you will scream your want for me. Just as you did behind the falls.

This new 'goal' in mind helped distract the Daiyoukai from the peace that had settled into his bones upon seeing her, along with the gladness of her return.

----

Of course, all plans have their...upsets that cause them to go awry. The upset in question came in the form of Inuyasha and Kagome's relationship. They talked and walked together, sometimes with her hand settling in the crook of his arm. They stole occasional kisses, though from what he observed, something stilted their interactions. Sesshoumaru could not put his finger on what, yet he hardly liked to examine their touches. In fact, their closeness only bred a sickly, lonely thing in his gut that he hated with such viciousness it left him reeling.

What felt worse in some ways, was the waiting. When Kagome padded alone through the forest and bent to gather herbs, he'd watch, silently willing her to look at him.

He wanted her badly, a dangerous fascination driving the sweep of his eyes across curves so lush it weakened him with yearning. His gaze settled on the bared nape of her neck, a sight that threatened to drive him mad. The demon flew away as her gaze flicked up, perhaps seeing fleeting strands of silver through the trees.

But just as he'd been beginning to wonder how exactly to steal the miko's attentions away- the couple became near strangers.

Sesshoumaru did not know what happened between the two. But he watched as Inuyasha ran more errands outside the confines of the village, putting distance between the two. Kagome left for the Bone Eater's well but returned after a week, eyes free of tears once more.

The only difference he could pick up on that had changed their relationship was Kagome's loss of virginity.

----

Many months after the break-up, Sesshoumaru finally decided to act. He'd been filling up the time searching for ways to lengthen human life-spans, just in case things happened as her future self had said. There was a chance that they'd failed together, in that cave. If she hadn't had her life extended after a second mating, he did not know what to do. So he decided not to make it an issue in the first place. In between searching, he remained patient, awaiting the time when the younger Kagome walked without sadness palpable in her scent. When she finally offered the olive-branch to Inuyasha and rekindled their friendship, he felt it was the right time. Perhaps her heart had not fully moved on but he could be idle no longer.

And so, Sesshoumaru stripped.

Leaving himself in hakama pants, he set down his clothing and straightened. Displaying did not warrant being half-naked, but the miko had done so for him. Perhaps it was a human thing.

What he did not do was hunt for Kagome, as the girl still did not seem keen on dead animals. The last thing he wanted to elicit was disgust.

Glancing at where she currently washed clothes at the river bank, his gaze swept down the line of her back, before drawing Bakusaiga. He then began to move, sweeping the blade down in a controlled, hard strike. His footwork displayed control, perfect and deliberate. Youki coiled out from bared flesh, brushing against her aura to gain attention.

Though he did not look at her, Sesshoumaru picked up on a startled noise. Demonic blood raced, heating and sparking at the mere thought of her gaze on him. Not much of a sibling figure now, am I, miko? He preened. Behold your mate. All this and more I can provide you.

His instincts purred with enjoyment, twisting his body to move and slice into invisible enemies. He figured she'd probably approach right about n-

Kagome's footsteps sounded out, growing fainter. Sesshoumaru's gaze snapped to her retreating, confused figure. Where was she going? Rejection stung in his gut, but Sesshoumaru shook it off.

The older Kagome had persevered. This had merely been the first step. He'd try again. She surely could not ignore him more than once.

---

Kagome rejected him twenty-two times more. Though they spoke together at times when Rin was near and she brewed tea and smiled politely, Sesshoumaru could not begin to verbalise his wounded pride. Not once did she acknowledge his propensity to strip and start practising swordplay around her. He'd been beginning to wonder if he'd gotten something wrong. If the older miko had been a dream one feverish, shuddering night. After all, he had no proof of her existence marking his flesh.

"Sesshoumaru."

He turned slightly, some silver strands of hair falling forward to caress his cheek. Kagome stared at him, holding a novel in her hands.

"What is it, Miko?"

"Well, it's just...there's a lot of clearings around here, right?" She asked, before wincing.

He continued to shift position, bringing the sword down in a swift motion and then straightening again. "Indeed."

Kagome bit her lip, seeming to wrestle with something.

"Do you have a point?" His deep baritone hinted at the lurking desire lacing his every movement. Her blue eyes lifted to his, cheeks blooming crimson.

Ah, finally. He exhaled a relieved breath.

"N-no. Uh...but I did notice that you do a lot of basic forms when training. Is the fancy footwork just a heat of the moment battle thing?"

Sesshoumaru raised a brow. "Fancy?"

"Yeah," she smiled, standing. "You know..."

Holding her arm out in front of her and mimicking a sword swing, she turned and swiftly spun on her heel in a circle. When she faced forward again, he tilted his chin up slightly.

"You realise you are mocking a centuries-old technique and recreating it improperly?" The demon uttered flatly. There's a hidden smile behind the trained demeanour he has, relaxed ease in the sharp corners of his eyes.

"I'm not mocking- the part missing is where your fancy move lops off five heads at once." Kagome snorted.

Golden eyes glittered proudly at that and satisfaction curled within when she seemed to smile wider.

"Hn, this one practices the 'fancy footwork' as well. However...ignoring the basics would be folly."

"How so?"

He turned to face forward, expression unreadable. "Paying attention to the simplest and smallest details helps to gauge a picture of the whole."

Kagome did not understand the meaning, but that was to be expected. She naturally sought to flee from him again, but now the Daiyoukai was paying extra attention, and he could sense an undercurrent of interest lacing her scent. Buried under hesitance and confusion.

He knew then, he must make things clearer and unmistakable.

It was by his own hand that later he'd shed the red and white silks of his hankimono. Dressing her in the priceless clothing made him stop dead in his tracks, both stunned and appreciative of the view as he was forcefully reminded that he was a male in possession of a sex drive.

She'd run from him once more, this time carrying the faint traces of excitement, flustered. Eventually though, after killing the men who dared chase her, Sesshoumaru had come across a familiar sight. Back arched, feet planted, head tossed back and arrow flying free from her bow. The only difference was the lustrous, long black locks fanning into the breeze. The addition of clothing. Somehow, he didn't mind.

Benign. No, she was not benign. She was strong. All-powerful, a paradox, his epidemic. He still can't really place why he sees her this way, but the sudden admiration and uncertainty he feels as he lets in her beauty isn't unfamiliar.

And when Kagome turns to him and smiles, words of teasing falling between them, Sesshoumaru hangs on the precipice of unspoken permission. It comes in the form of her lips brushing his cheek, and a hard, stabbing memory leaves him breathless a moment. What a shameful thing for a near-immortal.

"But I do...want you. I want to get to know you more. 'Paying attention to the smallest details helps to gauge a picture of the whole', right? So, show me-"

Sesshoumaru cut off her words with his mouth crashing to hers. Oh, he would show her. He'd never be capable of voicing his attraction or want, to tell of hearing the thrill of her challenging, teasing words. But as a demon of action, he'd bridge the gap between their uneven affections. She would grow to want him with just the same intensity. He'd seen it reflected in her future self's eyes.

I will bind you to me, Kagome. Your life-span will be lengthened to match my own. This I swear.

----

It was one thing to think this, of course, and quite another to actually find a 'cure' for mortality.

Sesshoumaru visited the few demon/human couples he could find in his free time. They were shy of strangers and kept to themselves, especially if they had hanyou children. The majority he found could bind their lifespans. It was possible even in cases where the female was of demonkind, binding their human male to them.

"How?" He'd asked. "What gave you the ability to lengthen their lifespans to match yours? You hold little power."

The Nure-onna trembled before him in their dwelling, coiling her long, green, scaled body protectively around her husband, who in turn cradled their offspring. Why exactly she hadn't killed the man who would usually be her prey, Sesshoumaru did not know. Yet no scent of death came from the mortal.

"I do not know, Master." She hissed, forked tongue flicking out. "We had no idea it could be so. Did not plan the binding."

Claws twitched with agitation at his side. This was the fourth couple he'd found, yet none had a strong answer to go off. Future Kagome had stated the mating had not fully worked. If that were the case, perhaps he needed to go back to finding items to lengthen her life, though it left distaste in his mouth.

"Perhaps you should seek an elixir," the man piped up tentatively.

Hard eyes slid to him, Sesshoumaru's attention zeroing in on the plain looking human. The scales tightened slightly as the demoness made a face.

"Mate- hush now."

"But he needs assistance?"

"He is threatening us!"

The Daiyoukai watched this back and forth boredly, soon resting a palm on the hilt of Bakusaiga. "She is correct. So, continue talking," he purred in light, silken tones. A prelude to violence should tentative patience be tested.

The male jumped, quickly nodding. "Y-yes well, I've been educated. I used to be a monk and lived at a temple. We received scrolls about youkai and sometimes burned them, lest they fall into the wrong hands. One scroll I remember talked of youkai trees. If you cut into them just before their natural death of sentience, it is said their sap can make humans immortal."

Sesshoumaru fell quiet. A heavy, uncomfortable feeling weighed in his chest. The only youkai tree he knew of in Japan was Bokusenō. How exactly did one know when the tree would lose sentience? And besides that, the youkai had been loyal. One of the only demons he sometimes visited without motive in mind.

"I-I should mention though, the scroll was a cautionary tale. Many men have waited for tree youkai to die, only to perish from old age themselves. The trees can last many, many centuries. Your human might die before you can obtain an elixir," the man said gently.

A bite of thunder rumbled out of his chest, the growl filling the room. His eyes flashed red before Sesshoumaru forced them tightly shut.

He left the couple's dwelling without another word, hearing their child begin to cry. The parent's voices, both human and demon, cooed over the little half-blood.

After this encounter, he sought older, wiser beings. Even stooped so slow as to seek the common flee demon. Their answers ranged from ridiculous exercises he tried and tested, finding nothing substantial, to praying to the Kami for their blessing. Sesshoumaru ignored the latter advice. None would bring the proud demon to his knees.

---

It was only because of his loyalty to his prospective mate that Sesshoumaru resolved to seek Bokusenō out for advice. Hopefully the tree would give him a different answer. Yet the Daiyoukai's mind continued to turn. He refused to lose his chosen to old age, and unlike other mortals, she came with something that could buy them time until the elixir was ready.

The Bone Eater's Well.

After Kagome had injured her ankle and been swept away by his mother, whisking her into the lion's den that was the Western Keep, that time for advice drew near. When he presented his chosen mate to Bokusenō, however, the answer came as expected.

What Sesshoumaru did not anticipate, was the hurt and confusion rolling off Kagome in waves. They stood before the tree, her eyes wide.

"D-did you know this was going to happen?"

He hesitated. "No. I merely accepted it as a possible outcome after looking into a few ways to extend your life."

It was then he realised; he had barely taken into consideration Kagome's feelings. "I will not lose you," he uttered in defence. Yes, the end justified the means.

"But you are losing me!" She burst, hitting her crutch down in frustration. "Sesshoumaru it's Five hundred years! Five hundred. W-was the concept of less than a hundred together not enough? Was me ageing so repulsive to you that you couldn't stand it-"

A terrible snarl deafened her for a moment as red bled into the gold of his eyes. Even as anger and ugly, possessive emotion welled up inside him, Sesshoumaru felt tethered to the brilliant flashing of her gaze. Not for the first time, instincts stir to take. To claim anew.

They mated that night after their argument. His arms snaked around her back and dragged her to him, the curves of her body coming flush against the planes of his. Finally, he thinks. I can hold you with both arms this time.

When Kagome reached the peak of pleasure, blunt teeth suddenly buried into his neck. Reiki sparked out, searing her brand into pale skin.

Sesshoumaru did not know why, but this action made him come. She cried out when his seed spilt inside her- back arched, mouth open wide. She looked feral and powerful, and Sesshoumaru felt humbled to be privy to such a display even as he too claimed her.

Their bodies are soon spent and trembling. He cannot find the words to tell her of their- of his failure.

As his miko slept, he inhaled the scent of death lingering on within the exquisite black strands of hair he willed never to grey.

---

Her muffled sobbing wore at him in a way that unsettled him deeply. Sesshoumaru requested she tell him of her deceased Grandfather. The news rattled her in a way no injury could.

It takes the steady, unshakable will of his resolve not to tell her of the spell.

Inuyasha takes her, disappearing into the Bone Eater's Well in order to make funeral arrangements. She is certain she'll return to the Fuedal Era in two weeks.

He is not unfeeling when he senses Kagome's scent slowly fade.

The decision had been weighed carefully. There was none who could counsel him in this choice, and it could not be reversed for several centuries. Therefore, he'd studied the seal a youkai witch had given him. She'd been mildly helpful over the years and he did not doubt her power. The Bone Eater's Well would be sealed off if he willed it.

He could hear the future miko whisper in his ear. "And if I lived through those five centuries alongside you, would it hinder things? If one of a mated pair dies, so does the other, right? I'm way more liable to die in this era. In the Future, everything's more peaceful. I can finally start to build a home with you there."

It was also as though the fates had made the choice for him. Yet he acted on his own instinct.

No emotion touched his face as Sesshoumaru withdrew the seal from his clothes, planting the spell at the bottom of the dark pit. He fused his youkai into it, feeding the barrier that latched into the earth and structure.

Strange, the well accepts it easily. I do not sense as much power here as before. Has it sensed my will and retreated into itself?

Unfamiliar smells of smoke and fumes from the well ceased. The crackle of power lining the wood faded. The humming of the ancient well fell silent, and he felt the weight of his choice line his stomach as he turned and left.

A storm had blown in from the East in his brief absence from Edo. When he returned to see Rin, Sesshoumaru found the humans in mourning, carrying a small casket fit for a child.

'Saito' they called him. One of the boys Kagome had been teaching how to swim.

Cardiac Arrest. Storms. Humans could die so very easily. He felt more justified in his choice because of it.

The Daiyoukai was fully prepared to live the 500 years without her. He'd be remiss not to follow through on his philosophy of the end result being paramount. Feelings did not come into the equation. He'd be there to greet her once she and the half breed touched down in her Time and would hand over the elixir. Of this, he felt certain.

---

It had been happening for a few weeks.

Sesshoumaru noticed what he liked to call 'odd looks.' They'd been occurring recently with growing frequency between Rin and Kohaku. At 17, she was of the prime age for marriage, but no boys had approached her with an offer.

His lips curved at the thought. His presence alone frightened them away, but even her association with him seemed to do the trick. A good thing, for he had plans to bind her to a demon from his court.

A young noble, tall, but with a disposition he felt Rin wouldn't be intimidated by, for it was difficult to intimidate his ward, had been selected. A tengu demon.

"Lord Sesshoumaru..." she said, awkwardly smiling after he'd asked. "I appreciate you asking around for me, but I really don't want to move away from here. It's...it's my home."

The demon inclined his head. "Very well, this one shall find another demon who would live-"

"Do I...have to marry a demon?"

Sesshoumaru arched a brow, looking at her as she scrubbed clothes in the river. "Are you suggesting you have other offers to bear in mind?"

Rin blushed, avoiding his keen, demanding gaze. She glanced across the river then, seeing the young demon slayer rise up above the trees astride Kirara. Automatically her lips curved at the edges, interest winning her gaze.

Sesshoumaru stared. When she'd been a child, Rin had dropped everything to look at her Lord. Beautiful, she'd called him. Now he felt like part of the scenery she barely paid him any mind. He made a noise that was definitely not a huff, tilting his chin up.

"By mating a demon, they can extend your life-span."

Shifting, she collected the washing, shoving them into her basket and rising. She'd gotten so tall. Or at least...taller. It still unnerved him. "My Lord...I'd never want to marry someone for the whole point of gaining a longer life."

He frowned, jaw clenching. "This Sesshoumaru will find one you approve of-"

"What if I've already found someone I want you to approve of?"

"Send me the demon if it is so-"

"He's not a demon!" Rin burst.

Humans from the village fell silent as they passed by, watching the exchange and whispering lowly. Sesshoumaru blinked, face apathetic, but Rin knew how to tell his moods. Right now, he felt confused, thrown.

She softened the hardness in her brown eyes but didn't budge. His infectious pride had given her a regal tilt to her chin, giving the girl of common birth airs. Sesshoumaru's mouth thinned, lashes lowering slightly.

"It is that boy, is it not?" He muttered, keenly feeling Kagome's absence. She'd know what to say.

"He's not just 'that boy' to us, is he?" Rin murmured. "He's Kohaku. Please...come have tea with us tomorrow. He wants to speak to you."

"This one is busy."

"No you are not! Master Jaken told me you have a free schedule." She frowned, taking his clawed hand suddenly.

He stilled, attention becoming fixated on her hand. It felt too big. Where was her tiny hand which had barely wrapped around his fingers?

"Lord Sesshoumaru," Rin said firmly, gaze stubborn but pleading. "Please? It would make me very happy."

When he reluctantly agreed- to talk and no more- her face had erupted into a beautiful bloom of pure sunshine. Sesshoumaru hated himself for the weakness, accepting a purple pressed flower for his troubles.

He came to think of it as an extremely poor trade and perhaps the worst business decision of his life. He'd traded Rin's chance of a near-immortal life for a purple pressed flower. But no matter how hard or firmly he'd tried to dissuade Rin, her heart was set on the boy.

As he watched Rin at her wedding, dancing around a bonfire like a wild child with Kohaku- exotic flowers in her hair and veil, completely disregarding customs and laughing heartily, Sesshoumaru felt the first twinge of something pulse in his chest. This sensation would only worsen the older she grew.

----

About 45 years after the Bone Eater's Well had been sealed, news of the female Demon Slayer's death reached him. Sesshoumaru lingered on the outskirts of the village, watching the humans mourn. He felt no attachment to the woman but remained on account of Rin, Kohaku and Shippo's distress. The Monk looked tired, dressed in a black yukata, the grey of his hair seeming thinner.

It was therefore of little surprise to him when Miroku passed a mere month later. As before, he watched with a morbid fascination as the people of the village cried. They were such strange things, humans. They smelled of death, constantly slowly dying and ageing even while standing still. Yet they seemed surprised and saddened, as though one of them passing were new and unexpected. Surely they were wasting their pathetically short lives by mourning.

He felt some small pins of emotion, remembering the way Kagome had cried and clung to their younger selves. He suddenly desired her to argue with him again.

Sesshoumaru entered Rin's hut after everything died down and set his palm on her head. She'd shot up when she were a teenager, yet now as an old woman, she seemed to have shrunk down once more. Such a strange thing.

Rin flashed him a wobbly, gap-toothed smile, brown eyes sad. "All my friends are leaving, Lord Sesshoumaru."

"It was their time," he murmured.

She nodded slightly, touching his cheek. "...When it's my time, do you promise to always remember me?"

Golden eyes slightly widened, muscles stiffening into marble. She'd asked something similar, once. A long time ago.

His answer remained the same, not wanting to think of it. Confront it. Perhaps to a naive degree.

"Don't say such silly things."

He remained there for a few hours, before taking Shippo with him back to the Western Keep. The kit remained quiet and solemn and Sesshoumaru did not pry.

They remained in this stasis for a few months.

Passing by the kit's room one day, Sesshoumaru stilled upon glancing through the crack in the slightly open door. His muscles locked, eyes flying wide upon seeing black hair and lush long legs. He opened his mouth but no words came out- instead inhaling and hissing out a breath soon after.

It was not Kagome. Merely the kit transformed. Blind, consuming rage built in his chest, threatening to spill out- until her features shifted.

The image of the miko changed as she stared at herself in the mirror, taking on the appearance of the Slayer in her youth. Sesshoumaru's muscles relaxed, instead frowning slightly in mild consternation.

He watched as the woman's shoulders trembled. The figure shifted into that of the Monks. Deep, violet eyes were clearly swimming with tears as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the surface.

Sesshoumaru slid the door open, quietly stepping into the room just as those features shifted into that of the half breed's. Golden eyes met. Inuyasha's face twisted into abject misery as tears rolled down his cheeks.

The Daiyoukai knew he was to blame for two of those faces being absent from the kit's life. He padded closer out of responsibility, not entirely sure what to do, before Inuyasha's image threw itself into his arms. Sesshoumaru stiffened, lips thinning as he bit back a sneer. Slowly, the white hair of his brother leaked away into auburn. His height dissipated, and the demon lord shifted his arm so that small feet were supported.

Shippo buried his face into a broad shoulder, sobbing. His petite form trembled and shook, clutching onto the stable, older demon who remained uncomfortable. Not exactly one to comfort, he remained still, catching sight of them in the mirror.

If things were different, and Kagome were holding a crying, smaller Rin, then she would soothe the child. Treat her as kin.

The kit was Kagome's kin. Whether she thought of him as her child or brother, it did not matter, he had a duty to the boy.

Careful, reluctant claws unfurled, palm coming to rest on the crown of red hair. Shippo stilled, before quieting. He seemed to finally register their positions, being cradled to the pale demon, but he did not move. The sobs softened into hiccups, distressed energy relaxing into tiredness. Sesshoumaru stood with the boy for a fair time, refusing to apologise, and yet choosing to voice the truth.

"I am to blame for the Well closing."

Shippo sniffed, turning his cheek to look up at him. "I kind of figured. You did it to stop Kagome from ageing...didn't you?"

He did not answer, but the kit merely closed his eyes, sighing. "I wish you'd sent away Miroku and Sango too. Maybe I could have figured out a way to make them live longer by the time I'd see them in 500 years."

"...They lived as they wished, kit."

"Doesn't matter what they 'wished'," he muttered stubbornly. "You didn't ask Kagome, did you? If she'd wanted to grow old, would you have let her?"

"It is different," Sesshoumaru frowned.

Green eyes cracked open to pin him with a look filled with a mixture of doubt and mild pity. Neither of them mentioned Rin.

---

5 years after, Kagome randomly returned.

Emotion assaulted him. Elation, confusion, hope- followed by dread when he smelled death lingering in her scent like an unwanted passenger. He confessed his part in closing the well, though her reaction was more rage and hurt filled than Shippo's. The worst part was when she told him to stay away. Unfamiliar, disgusting sensations that distressed his nerves came with that command.

Later, she cried into his chest. Many seemed to be doing that lately. There were numerous things he wanted to say, to ask- but they were caught behind a firm wall, wanting to soothe her. The mating mark on his neck blazed, coiling as it sensed her agony.

He had no words of comfort and merely lingered, awaiting her gaze. Touch.

Sesshoumaru felt similar to the days she'd dated Inuyasha, so long ago for him. But he gave her the space she requested. When he heard frantic footsteps however- he immediately flew to the riverbank, seeing her fall into the water.

The Daiyoukai stood on the bank, amusement in his usual refined countenance. "You're as clumsy as ever," he uttered.

A sheepish smile came to her lips, before noticing something beneath the water. Kagome quickly reached out to him.

"S-sesshoumaru, it's happening again! I think I'm being pulled back into-" she was cut off, yanked under by the current. It sent her spiralling down, the water tossing her hair and pulling her down deeper. He did not think, materialising into the water and using his youki to propel himself through the current. Kagome's figure sailed down, down, down- and then further still, sinking like a fired rock. Waters dyed pink around her like neon blood. Claws stretched wide, seeking, needing-

She was forcefully yanked down through the current, disappearing before his very eyes. He stopped, treading water as he stared at the spot where she'd vanished. No matter how long he lingered, she did not return.

Surfacing, the demon panted, eyes burning.

It was a good thing, in the long run. Nothing had changed. She would still age and die if she stayed with him as things were right now. Bokuseno was not ready.

He knew this. And yet...

----

"Hah- gah! L-Lord Sesshoumaru!" Jaken hurried through the threshold of his room. Golden eyes flicked up, noting the lack of manners. It must have been urgent for the fool to forget himself.

"What is it?"

Glancing at the kappa's face made him pause. The green of his skin looked paler, scent distressed, bulbous eyes wider. "I-I-It's Rin, mi Lord."

Everything after that leaked into a blur. Trees, greenery, mountains, even Jaken clutching at mokomoko trailing in the breeze. Sesshoumaru felt nothing, merely acted.

He didn't feel until he was kneeling by her side, staring down at the old woman. So frail and small. Rin's papery lids did not open. She lay still and unmoving. Kohaku knelt on her other side, holding her thin hand and stroking his thumb over it.

Sesshoumaru picked up the other, cradling it in his larger one like it was a fragile bird. Jaken sat near her feet, removing his hat.

"She got a pain in her chest, made her collapse," Kohaku said softly.

"Cardiac arrest?" The Daiyoukai demanded.

"I-I don't know," he murmured, unshed tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry. She...she's already gone."

Sesshoumaru stared at her face, a ringing in his ears blocking out most sounds, muffling words. He didn't want to hear. He refused to. If he did, he'd pick up on the lack of noise thumping inside her chest. But the smaller hand in his is cool and silent without a pulse.

Teeth lock in his jaw, gritting until they practically shake. Something burns in his throat, spouting fire up into the backs of his eyes. "No, she is not."

Kohaku looks at him wearily, grey strands sliding forward from his low pony-tail. "My Lord...it's alright-"

"Be silent," he hissed, setting her hand down and drawing Tenseiga. But it did not glow. No light heeded his call, no matter how much youki he fed into the blade.

A hand set on Sesshoumaru's arm, making him start, inhuman eyes wide. The hilt trembled a little.

"You can't use it twice on someone, my Lord." Kohaku said gently, causing the arm to lower.

They stayed in the hut, immobile with feeling. The old man wiped at weathered cheeks, salt fanning into the air.

"Father?" Came a call from outside the door, "may we see her?"

"Y-yes, come in everyone." Kohaku gently invited, words halting when Sesshoumaru immediately walked out the door the second people tried to enter. He ignored the calls to come back, feet carrying him further and further away as he sheathed Tenseiga, disappearing into the trees.

The funeral came, and he despised it. He loathed every miserable moment spent within the company of the mourning humans, as though he'd joined their ranks after observing for so long. Perhaps the most frustrating part was his own inability to admit he should have prepared himself. Seen it coming. He felt woefully inexperienced, young, despite being the oldest being there.

"...When it's my time, do you promise to always remember me?"

He understood now, standing before her grave. Rin had been trying to prepare him. Perhaps for a long time. He'd been cowardly. Weak. And weaker still as he fell prey to such consuming emotion that he stayed rooted on the spot long after everyone else left.

The heavens opened, causing a downpour. He tried without end to suppress the negative, useless thoughts plaguing him over and over. But this was not Father's death, who had fallen at least mildly from battle. Rin had fallen prey to such an ordinary thing when he was supposed to be her protector. It made him feel-

"Sesshoumaru."

It made him feel...

Something pressed against his back. "How- how long has it been?"

"A week."

Kagome moved around him, visibly flinching as though struck once she saw the grave. "N-no..."

Powerless.

----

His mate is the balm for the wounds inside his body that he can't physically cauterize himself. She is light and teasing, able to make him forget and relax far more efficiently than his own suppressing, compartmentalising method.

He almost felt as though the world was fine and sensible again until she left him alone briefly. Then order became chaos anew.

Narrowly avoiding trees and ripping his way through greenery, Sesshoumaru grabbed his miko from behind at the poolside, burying a nose in her hair.

She hadn't protested, opening like a flower for him as he'd taken her roughly. After, when she experienced a smidgen of his pain, Kagome had smoothed her fingers through his bangs, kissing his eyelids and crying. He hadn't enjoyed that last part so much.

They'd subsequently lay together, spent on the side of the waters. With his seed still leaking down her thighs. Sesshoumaru licked away her tears, pressing his forehead against hers and exhaling shakily.

Slowly, random words collected on his tongue. "This one never asked but...how? That first time and now. How are you here?"

"Time travel?"

For some reason, she seemed as confused as him, before offering; "I don't know. One second I was holding your red and white hankimono- the next I was swimming and showed up here. This time, it was the kanzashi I touched."

"I...see."

He did not see. But he liked her to think he was all-knowing.

Kagome smiled gently and smoothed her hands down his chest, while lazy claws trailed an invisible circle over the creamy curve of her hip. He felt that he loved her body. It endeared itself to him in the strangest of ways. The toned muscle, the scars, even the strange birthmarks. She gazed at him, before hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder when it became apparent she was blinking back tears again.

"What a mess, huh Mr. Fancy Feet?"

He loved her more, of course. A human sentiment, love, but he was not one for poetry or romantic words and he was tired.

It would have to do.

[picascribit]

I miiiiiiight have just written a Thing (unfortunately for a fandom exactly 0 people care about), the first chapter of which can be summarized thusly:

“In which a horny monk does his laundry, ruminates upon sexytimes past, and wonders if he has a magic doom peen.“

I think I might wait until tomorrow to post on AO3 (new month, and all), but I am just dying to share, even though I know no one will care.

So ... uh ... mature content under the cut.

Chapter One

Tod came awake, heart pounding. A damp patch was spreading across the front of his tunic, the echo of release fading from his loins. He could not recall the dream, except that it had involved Rook. Tod looked over at his companion, sleeping nearby on his pile of sheepskins. The gray pre-dawn light entering the cave that was their home was just enough to make out the shapes of the young outlaw's body, sprawled naked on the other side of the fire pit.

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Lustful thoughts washed over Tod, until he made himself tear his gaze away. With a sigh, Tod rose from his bedroll as quietly as possible, and gathered up his monk's habit and a few other items of clothing. Perhaps doing his washing would take his mind off the urges of the flesh.

The sun crested the horizon as Tod made his way down the rocky path from the cave, and walked the short distance to the river. It had been a warm summer, and even at this early hour, Tod was able to strip off his nightshirt without discomfort, and add it to the bundle of laundry. He donned a loincloth, for modesty's sake, in case anyone should come upon him, and waded in up to his ankles, sand squishing grittily between his toes. He dumped his laundry into a shallow pool and swished it around in the cool water, then squatted and began to scrub it with handfuls of sand.

As he worked, Tod's thoughts drifted back to Rook.

He remembered the first night in the cave after he and Rook had confessed their feelings for one another. It had felt so good to finally be able to kiss Rook as he had wanted to for weeks. Rook had been so alive in his arms. Tod's hands had caressed his body, intensely aware of the bones and muscles that moved beneath the warm, living skin, feeling Rook's heart beating as fast as his own, Rook's breath on his face and neck, the warm, musky scent of him. Rook's life had become precious to Tod. He was all too conscious of how fleeting life was — how easily it could be snatched away.

Tod had nearly let his passion carry him away, hands sliding over Rook's skin, lips tasting Rook's eager mouth and throat. And then Rook had moaned. The soft sound nearly undid Tod right then and there. He had stilled, suddenly realizing what they were doing — where this path must surely lead.

Rook had realized it, too.

"Will you show me how two men lie together?" he asked breathlessly.

The innocence and the eagerness of him had squeezed at Tod's heart. It was all he could do to make himself pull away.

"I … no. This is too fast."

Disappointment showed clearly on Rook's face. "Why? What's the point of waiting? I'm no maiden whose father you must ask for my hand in marriage. If you want my father's blessing, we'll be waiting a very long time."

Tod said a brief, silent prayer, as he always did, for the soul of Rook's father, Jack Pigkeep, dead nearly ten years past.

"Not so long as that," he had promised Rook. "I just — need some time. Please."

Rook had been patient with him, but there had been other times since that night when their hunger for one another had threatened to spill over. 

Only a fortnight past, Tod had awakened from a fearful dream of blood and terror, and sought solace in Rook's embrace. Tod had kissed him, long and rough, a hand tangling in Rook's shaggy black hair, as he reassured himself that they were both alive and unharmed. His other hand had slipped down Rook's back and over his bare arse to grip his thigh, as he realized Rook was naked. Of course he was; he always slept bare.

"Please?" Rook had murmured, tugging at the fabric of the thin tunic Tod slept in, and rubbing up against his hip.

Tod had wanted nothing more in that moment than to strip off his shirt, pull Rook down on top of him to feel his bare skin against his own, and let their passion take them where it would. It had been with superhuman effort that Tod instead pushed Rook away.

"Why?" Rook had asked again, voice betraying his frustration.

"Because I don't want to lose you."

Rook had blinked at him in confusion. "How could you lose me by lying with me?"

Tod hesitated, then spoke reluctantly. "Because of Zaahir."

He had not wanted to speak of his dead lover to Rook, especially not in a moment such as this. Not that Rook had ever showed the slightest hint of jealousy over his memories of Zaahir, or any disinclination to hear Tod speak of him. Still, it did not seem right to invoke him here and now.

"What about him?" Rook asked, more baffled than ever.

"Because," Tod tried to explain, "I lay with him too quickly, and he was taken from me, by violence, just as suddenly."

Rook had frowned. "That makes no sense. Why waste the time we have, for fear that something bad might happen?"

"I know," Tod admitted. "I know it's not rational."

"Do you regret it?" Rook pressed. "Loving him, even though it caused you pain?"

"No," said Tod, looking away to hide his grief from Rook. "Of course not."

Rook was not fooled. "If you had waited to be with him, you would have waited too long," he said softly. "Wouldn't that regret be worse?"

"Yes. You're right. I know you're right," Tod sighed. "I'm just afraid. I couldn't bear to go through that again. I don't want to lose you like I lost him."

"You won't lose me," said Rook firmly. "I'm not him."

"I know it." Tod had kissed him tenderly on the mouth. "You're Rook, my sweet forest bird. Have patience with me. I swear, I won't make you wait forever."

Tod suspected that was the night Rook had decided to seduce him. Innocent of sex as he was, his attempts at seduction were clumsy, but effective all the same. He cast frequent longing looks at Tod, lashes lowered over his large, dark eyes, and touched him often, taking every opportunity to press their bodies together. Two or three times, at night, he had not waited until Tod was asleep, or left the cave, to relieve his carnal desires. Tod had lain facing the cave wall, burning with lust, as he listened to the rhythmic movement of Rook's hand, and the small sound of completion he made when he found his release. That was what had inspired the dream which had caused Tod to spill his seed in his sleep.

Tod hungered for Rook, and longed to bed him. But the fear that Zaahir's death had left him with was difficult to shake off. With Zaahir, Tod had never been afraid. Remembering him still made his heart ache, but the pain was less now than it had been when Tod first returned to Sherwood Forest.

Tod paused in scrubbing his monk's habit, his eyes wandering over the sun-sparkling surface of the river, remembering.

Zaahir had been a year or two older than Tod. He was dark and handsome, close to Tod's own height, with a scholar's soft body and deft hands, and a beard not yet grown to the fullness of manhood. Zaahir's clothing was very fine; his parents were wealthy Jerusalem cloth merchants. He had a lively wit, a fine singing voice, and a poetic way of speaking. His long-lashed gray eyes often sparkled with laughter, and frequent smiles curved his soft, full lips. Tod, seventeen and newly come to the East seeking a purpose for his life, had fallen in love with him almost at once.

He had not guessed that Zaahir returned his feelings, or that his own infatuation was so obvious, until the night of his eighteenth birthday. Zaahir had come after sunset to the small room Tod was renting, and taken him to the top of a minaret at a nearby mosque to look at the stars. He had named the constellations in his own tongue, and told Tod their stories. And then Zaahir had kissed him, and called him habibi — his beloved. Tod had immediately forgotten about the stars, and everything else, apart from Zaahir's arms around him and the warm, full mouth against his own.

They had kissed and caressed each other, murmuring soft words, until the stars began to fade, and Zaahir reminded him that they must go, before someone came to call the morning prayers. As they hurried back to his room, Tod felt as if he floated above the ground. He and Zaahir kept stealing glances at one another and grinning. In the doorway of Tod's room, Zaahir had kissed him once more, and bade him goodnight. When he turned to go, Tod had gripped his sleeve.

"Stay," he said impulsively, barely knowing what it was he asked for.

Zaahir had smiled and closed the door behind him. Tod's heart was in his throat as Zaahir undressed him and laid him down on the narrow cot. Then he had knelt beside Tod and taken him in his mouth, and Tod had thought he might die of bliss.

Their love affair had been brief and intense. They found every opportunity they could to be alone together, and to consummate their love in as many different ways and places as possible. Tod had been giddy with joy, prepared to spend the rest of his life in the East with the man who owned his heart. Only a few weeks later, a single stroke of a crusader's sword had taken Zaahir's bright light from the world, and cleaved Tod's heart in two. Too fast. Too sudden. 

In an instant, sex and death had become linked in Tod's mind. If he gave himself to Rook as completely as he had given himself to Zaahir, Tod's newly-healed heart would be in peril. An outlaw's life was chancy at the best of times. Rook might be killed in a fall, or by an animal, or succumb to a winter illness, or worst of all, Tod's own father, the Sheriff of Nottingham, might capture Rook and hang him in the town square. Tod was not certain he could survive another heartbreak like the one he had suffered at Zaahir's death. More than that, he feared that bedding Rook would somehow seal his doom.

A movement on the path caught Tod's eye, and he looked up to see Rook emerge from the shadows of the forest into the morning sunlight. Tod stilled, watching him. Acting as if he had not noticed Tod crouching in the river shallows, Rook shrugged out of his sheepskin vest and lay down on his front on the flat rock that jutted out over his favorite fishing pool. He lowered his arm slowly to trail in the water, and then held still, waiting.

Tod was certain Rook knew he was there. He doubted there was ever a sound or movement in the forest that Rook did not notice and immediately classify as food, danger, or no threat. Tod gazed at the still figure on the rock with yearning. His eyes slid from the black whorls of Rook's hair, over the angular shapes and sun-browned skin of his shoulders, along the curve of his spine, over his shapely bottom, and down the sinewy lengths of thighs and calves, to the arches of his bare feet.

Aside from his brown skin and black hair, Rook could not have been more different from Zaahir. He was small and slim where Zaahir was tall and plump, fierce where Zaahir was easy-going and humorous, unlettered where Zaahir was an accomplished scholar and poet. His compact, wiry body gave an impression more of toughness than of strength, but he was strong, too. Tod doubted there was anything Rook could not do with his hands. He was also brave and passionate and loyal and clever, with an open heart and a clear-eyed way of looking at the world which Tod admired. The urge to go to Rook seized him. To touch him and kiss him and let him know without words how Tod felt about him.

With a shock, Tod remembered that today was Lughnasadh, fully three months since he and Rook had first shared a kiss on Beltane. That was longer than Tod had even known Zaahir.

With a sudden explosion of movement, Rook scooped a fish from the water to smack wetly against the rocky riverbank. Tod jumped, then shook himself, jerking his eyes back to his work. He scrubbed busily at his clothing, cheeks flushed, as Rook retrieved the gasping fish, dealt it a swift killing blow against a rock, and returned to his fishing spot, and stillness.

Rook repeated this exercise until he had six fat trout wrapped in wet leaves and stowed on the shady bank of the river. Then he stood up, and stepped into the sunlight, shedding his ragged trousers and loincloth. Turning his face toward the new-risen sun, Rook stretched, arms over his head, back arched. Tod, who had been giving his laundry a final rinse, forgot all about his task, and stared, mesmerized, eyes hungrily taking in the paler curve of thigh and buttock. Rook glanced sidelong at him, smirking.

"Nice day for a swim," he said, a sly smile curling the corner of his mouth. "And not much else you can do until your clothes are dry."

Tod swallowed heavily. The Devil himself could not have crafted a more perfect temptation for Tod than the sight of Rook, standing naked in the summer sunlight, smiling and looking him over with frank appreciation. Heat rushed through his veins. Tod was not vain about his looks, but he had to admit he liked that Rook found his body pleasing.

Rook waded into the river, and dove into one of the deeper pools behind the rock dam he and Tod had built the previous spring. He came up a moment later, hair plastered over his forehead, and grinned at Tod.

"What are you waiting for?" Rook asked.

Slowly, Tod stood up, gathering his sodden clothes, and went to spread them over some nearby bushes and branches in the sunlight to dry.

What am I waiting for? he wondered.

[inuyashasnook]

Then Came the Knight

So, I ended up writing the thing. Honestly, I hope it came out okay. I feel so nervous about posting this since I haven’t written anything but class notes for that past 4 years. Enjoy!

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Warning: This story has themes and acts of rape. This story is also heavily NSFW. Please read at your own discretion.

Then Came the Knight

The day had started like any other. Well, as any other day should have started when you travel back in time 500 years in order to continue the rest of your life with the one you love.

The elegant priestess in training was accompanying her teacher in order to help the delivery of a baby in a nearby village. Her rough n’ tough lover, not too ecstatic about her leaving his line of sight, had definitely shared his thoughts on the matter with her that same morning when she announced her departure.

“What do you mean, it’s going to be fine? You’re with Kaede. That ol’ hag ain’t able to fight off a mouse,” he sputtered while his ears pinned back in annoyance.

Kagome sighed. She understood where he came from. It hadn’t even been two weeks since the young couple had been reunited with one another. Both the young priestess along with her silver-haired hanyou simply couldn’t get enough of each other. Inuyasha refused to let her out of his sight, always watching her, brushing up against her, being her shadow wherever she went. It also didn’t help that their marriage was only a week away, leaving the half-demon extremely protective of his soon-to-be wife.

“Look, Inuyasha, I don’t want to be separated from you either. Besides, you have to go exorcise a demon with Miroku today, so I figured I should at least keep myself occupied. They practically begged you to go save their village,” she answered with an exasperated tone.

“Keh.”

He didn’t wait for a second longer. Inuyasha grabbed her wrist loosely and pulled the beautiful woman to his chest. She softly crashed against the hard muscles as she was taking in the scent of her man. Pine. Powerful arms wrapped around her tightly, squeezing her as if to fear she’d blow away in the wind and never reappear. Kagome’s head nestled in the crook of his neck, which caused the hanyou to let out a soft rumble similar to that of a dog getting pet just in the right spot. The young priestess’s heart raced and she was certain her face was several shades darker. Regardless of how many times the two had embraced since her return, the man she’d been patiently waiting to see never failed to make her heart flutter. Neither of them had a made a move beyond simple caresses and soft kisses. Both of them two nervous about upsetting the other, it was like walking on eggshells when it came to taking the relationship a step further.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Inuyasha whispered softly in her ear.

“Don’t worry, I promise I’ll stay safe.”

It simply astounded the black-haired woman how much more mature and open her best friend had become. She never even fathomed the day where the man would admit his own feelings in such a straightforward manner. A few years ago, he would have simply sulked and sputtered a few insults, which she knew he never really meant.

A few minutes passed until Miroku arrived at their humble abode in order to collect her fiancé to go slay some demons. Some things never changed. 

The couple said their goodbyes, Inuyasha pretending to be unaffected by the separation as he knew the lecherous monk was watching them closely. His ears told a different story, drooping ever so slightly. The miko gave him a reassuring smile in return and waved the two off.

Without wasting another minute, Kagome quickly hurried off to meet Kaede in the village after having packed a few herbs and other belongings she figured she might need for their little excursion. The village was only a few hours away by walk, meaning she would be able to return that same day if everything went well, or in a few days at the most. It had simply been so long since she was able to get back on the road again in feudal Japan.

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The older woman in red and white robes smiled when she noticed her apprentice had entered the hut, “Bright and early this morning I see”.

“Early bird gets the worm!” Kagome replied, returning her smile.

“Kagome-sama! How are you this morning? Rin has made you breakfast with the help of Kaede-sama,” a young voice piped up from by the door as the mat that was draped across it was pushed out of the way.

“Rin! My morning has been splendid, how about yours?” the miko replied to the over-joyous girl.

“Great!”

The older priestess handed Rin a filled bowl of soup and gestured for the young apprentice to take a seat around the fire as she brought her over her breakfast.

“Now child, not too difficult to convince Inuyasha to let ‘ye leave this m’orning?” the older woman asked, arching an eyebrow.

“It took some convincing, but I got through to him. He’s just so worried. I mean, I am too,” she trailed as she simply stared at the bowl of hot soup resting in her lap.

Her mind flashed back to all of those terrible nights alone at home. All those nights she spent staring at her ceiling wishing it was a sky blanketed with twinkling stars, her companion at her side. Kagome had spent three entire years turning around at the sight of fast moving red objects, only to be deceived that it wasn’t the man she loved. Everything had worked out according to plan after defeating Naraku, especially for her original wish to return to a normal life. Little did she know, that was her head’s wish and not her heart’s. Then, that day had finally arrived. The day of her high school graduation. It was a day she simply knew she would never forget for the rest of her life. She was even willing to bet that it was going to be the happiest memory of her life. Kagome loved her own family enormously and was relieved that her mother understood that she simply had to leave when the Bone Eater’s well had opened back up. One thing lead to another, and she was finally able to hold those clawed hands, get lost in those amber eyes, touch the soft protruding puppy ears on top of his head once more.

“Child, ye’ know that he visited the well every three days?” the older woman said, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

Kagome didn’t answer as she clutched the bowl of soup tighter and a blush started to form on her cheeks.

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As they walked towards their destination, several hours passed by and the trip to the smaller excluded village was uneventful, much to Kagome’s relief. The miko had brought her bow and arrows in order to defend herself, but she knew they didn’t compare to the Tessaiga in their level of protection.

As the pair passed through the front gates of the village, they were greeted by a gaggle of children playing about. Several dogs attached to the huts barked to greet the two unknown ladies. Needless to say, they didn’t have to wait long before being greeted by the village headman.

“Kaede-sama, thank goodness you’ve come! And this must be your priestess in training,” a man no older than 40 cheerfully exclaimed as he made his way towards them.

“Ye’, I am Kaede. This is Kagome. She is very skilled in the ways of healing and she will be helping me deliver the baby today.”

A younger man, about Kagome’s age, appeared from around the corner of one of the larger huts. He wore a dark blue kosode and towered in height in comparison to the women. Even for Kagome’s time, he was considered tall, most likely around 6’3”.

“That is wonderful! Ah, here comes my son now. This is Taisei,” the village head continued as he gestured towards the lanky figure that had just appeared.

That’s when Taisei’s eyes fell on Kagome’s. He couldn’t stop staring at the younger miko, completely enticed by her appearance. Her soft chocolate eyes, her long black hair that rested just below her shoulders, her slim waist, and fair skin. Something then just ticked in his head. The woman simply made his heart race. Even if she was a priestess, he needed her all for himself. He needed to convince her to stay.

“Y… yes, nice to meet you,” Taisei stuttered.

“Now that everyone’s met each other, right this way. My wife is waiting in the hut, ready to get this over with,” the older man chuckled slightly as he brought the two priestesses towards his large home.

The delivery had been successful and for the most part, uneventful. Due to the delivery having spanned for much longer than anticipated, Kaede and Kagome decided it was wiser if they spent the night in the village. They had been kindly accommodated by the village head, having an extra room for his guests.

Kagome shrugged off her robes and remained in her under clothes. Two futons had been rolled out and the younger girl slipped under one of them. She sighed, knowing that sleep tonight wouldn’t come easy.

“What troubling ye’ child?” Kaede asked her, concerned clearly painted across her face as she also started making her way to the adjacent empty futon.

“This is the first night. The first night since I’ve returned and he’s not with me,” tinged sadness was apparent in her words as she replied to the older woman. 

It’s not like the two had even tried anything. Both too nervous about overstepping each other’s boundaries, they simply laid in each other’s embrace, enjoying the time they spent cuddling.

Kaede didn’t reply but simply sent a pained smiled to her young companion. Those two have had a rough go at it, the older woman thought silently praying that things would eventually work out for the two of them.

The night had stilled. Both women’s breathing had eventually steadied, a clear sign that sleep had overtaken both of them. That’s when the door to their room slowly opened, allowing there to be just a crack. The man simply sat there, observing the young miko sleep. He tried to breathe in her scent from the room, not able to get enough of her. That’s when the idea came to him. The man slowly got up, closed the door and returned the same way he had arrived

The next morning, as the two of them were breaking their fast, panicked shuffling and mumbling could be heard. Soon enough, the village headman knocked at their door.

“Lady Kaede, my wife doesn’t have the strength to stay awake!”

The old woman got up as fast as her advanced age allowed her to. She turned to face Kagome, “I should have this under control. Rest a bit and I’ll come get ye’ if I need ye’. If I’m not done in a few hours, ye’ should return to the village without me to explain the situation to Inuyasha. The boy won’t let me live if I keep you away from him for too long.”

A smile danced on the younger girl’s lips. She could see Inuyasha in a few more hours. She was aware that the older priestess knew what she was doing with years of experience under her belt, so she knew that the headman’s wife was in good hands. 

A few minutes after the exchange, Kagome got up to take a stroll outside the village in order to go kill some time. She felt bad about not being able to help, but she knew that Kaede had her reasons and had asked her not to join her.

Colours and shapes slowly started to morph and become fuzzy. Had she not slept enough last night? Kagome knew that she didn’t sleep as long as she normally did, but that shouldn’t have been enough for her to start hallucinating. The strength in her legs gave way and she buckled under her own weight. Trying to grasp a nearby tree in order to hoist herself back up, she found that it was simply impossible. Her vision started to grow cloudy and her eyes shut on their own accord. “Inu…yasha,” was the last thing her lips muttered before sleep overtook her and her world went black.

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He had arrived that same day they left. The half-demon and the monk had managed to do quick work of the demon that was pestering the village. The entirety of the time, the monk had pestered his friend about the sudden return of his soulmate. Had the two of them finally danced the lover’s dance?

Needless to say, Inuyasha was glad to have arrived back home. The idea of a home was still a concept foreign to him, but he’d welcome it with open arms.

As he arrived at his own doorway, he pushed back the mat and peeked his head through, expecting to be greeted with that warm smile he had missed for so long. The silver-haired man was quickly aware that his significant other hadn’t been home since her departure that morning. Her sweet smell that usually hung in the air was stale and there was no smell of delicious food cooking over the fire.

His ears drooped slightly as he realized that she wouldn’t be back that night. Inuyasha knew she wouldn’t be an idiot and travel at night without him as she was aware of the dangers that lurked when the moon was present. Sure, she was stupid sometimes, but he knew she knew better than that. The man let out a soft growl of displeasure as he entered their hut and set his Tessaiga against the wall that was closest to their futon.

Guess I’ll make some rice and cook the fish alone. His heart felt heavy, empty, like it had so many times before her return. He was resisting every urge not to run after her and make sure she was alright. He wanted her to know that he trusted her, that he knew she could make decisions on her own. Despite every instinct at his core screaming for him to smother her and protect her with every ounce of his body, he knew this was just another part of growing up. I’m able to protect her like this, he tried to convince himself.

After his quick dinner, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight off his urges. He simply wanted to hold her again, to have her back pressed against his chest as they lay in bed together. Sleep wouldn’t come at all, so he figured he should go check up on her regardless of his previous resolve. I’m weak. I need you Kagome. His heart felt like it would burst into a million pieces. All these emotions were foreign to him and the boy simply didn’t know how to handle them.

I’ll be there by morning at least. I’ll surprise her by picking her up, he told himself.

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He had arrived when the sun had arisen for a few hours. His soft canine ears perked up at the sound of the village awakening. The chickens clucked every so often, the dogs barking as they sensed his arrival, wives sending off their husbands to go work in the fields.

Inuyasha’s eyes subconsciously scanned his vicinity for his mate. He could smell her sweet aroma in the air and knew that she would be close. His ear suddenly tracked the sound of heavy footsteps approaching him.

“Inuyasha, what are ye’ doing here?” asked the older priestess.

“What does it look like I’m doing, baba?” Inuyasha retorted, annoyed that someone would even ask him such dumb a question.

“If ye’ lookin’ for Kagome, I sent her home a few hours ago. She should have arrived already,” she responded unfazed by the attitude the hanyou was giving her.

“That makes no sense baba! I would've smelled her on my way here if she went home!”

Fear gripped him suddenly. Where was his Kagome? Why had she not been on her way home like she was supposed to? Something must have happened for her not to be there. A sudden guttural growl erupted from the pit of his stomach, Inuyasha unaware himself of the sound he was producing. Several passersby cowered away from him at his sudden display of aggression. His ears perked up, trying to detect any familiar sounds of his mate. He retracted his claws, ready to attack whomever or whatever had caused her to be in potential danger.

“Calm down boy. Maybe one of the villagers asked ‘er for something,” Kaede said, knowing that the poor half-demon would easily be willing to terrorize the entirety of Japan if it meant he could be reunited with his dark-haired priestess.

Regardless of what anyone would tell him, he wouldn’t back down until his girl returned to his arms. A million thoughts were racing in his mind. If she even asks me to leave my side again, the wench can dream cause I ain’t going to let her.

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When she awoke, panic overcame her. It was like being stuck in the jewel for three days again. He hasn’t arrived yet. There’s still darkness. I’m still stuck inside this damned jewel. It was something she tried desperately to forget, but the memories had resurfaced and clung to the forefront of her mind. Her body screamed for her to tremble and cry, but she found that she couldn’t. The only thing she seemed to be able to control and was her neck and head movements.

The priestess eased her breathing when she had been able to open her eyes and notice that there was light around her. That’s right. I’m out of the jewel.

Yet, she wasn’t in an easier situation. Her petite body was propped up against a man’s, who was touching her greedily. Kagome desperately tried to scream, but nothing would come out, her throat dry and tight. The unknown man was traveling his arms down her sides and rested upon her breast, caressing them softly. She felt the press of his erection against her lower back.

Fuck. Inuyasha’s not going to let me live this one down. Fuck. I need to get myself out of this situation or I’m about to get raped. Fuck.

It took her a few more seconds again to realize who her assailant was. Taisei. That fucker. That pervert. The miko desperately tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but none of her limbs allowed her to move. She was paralyzed. The only explanation her panicked brain could come up with was that someone had drugged her during breakfast that morning. It seemed like regardless of whether she was in feudal Japan or modern times, there would always be men like that.

“Good morning my little kitten, it seems you’ve awoken,” the sly and breathy voice resonated against the walls of the small room.

The girl still couldn’t talk, her panic overfilling her and incapacitating her from any form of speech. She whimpered a few times, trying to trash her head in hopes to hit him and make him loose her grasp of her.

He slowly moved his hands, one towards her opulent hips and another towards her mouth, “Oh now, that’s not being a good girl. I’m sorry it had to turn out that way darling. I’ve wanted you since you walked through those gates. Since you’re a miko, I knew I couldn’t get you any other way. So, I’m sorry sweetie, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

He slowly pushed one of his fingers into her mouth, prying it open as he did so. The vile creature was now moaning as he was grinding his hips against her rear, yielding pleasure from his acts. Tears started to stream down Kagome’s face as she felt utterly useless and incapable of doing anything. Why am I so weak? Do something Kagome!

She bit down on his finger and he yelped in return, slapping her cheek with violent force.

“Bitch, you’ll pay for what you’ve done!”

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The hanyou tracked the scent of his lover within the village. The stupid place reeked of so many humans that it was hard to make out the individual smells. After a few more minutes of sniffing the ground intensely and a few too many looks from the villagers, he pounced and ran in the direction of his soon-to-be wife.

When he arrived at the front of the large hut, he smelled more than just Kagome’s regular smell. It was tinged with panic and salt. Tears. Fuck. What the hell’s going on here? He wasted no time to politely ask to gain entry to the house. He figured he’d just apologize for it later if the opportunity arose. Right now, he was focused on reuniting himself with his raven-haired, chocolate eyed maiden.

His heart reverberated in his chest when he found himself stopped in front of two large doors. Kagome’s scent was fresh, mixed with fear, salt and something else sour. There was also a male smell that was equally as present in the air. He shifted his hip to gain easy access to his sword and rested one hand on its hilt.

What he heard next had him kicking down the doors in an instant.

It was the softest whimper he’d ever heard. But he’d heard it.

The sight greeted him with was not a pleasant one. There was this fucker holding his crying girlfriend in his lap, his hands on her at places where they shouldn’t be. The vile man’s eyes had snapped up and grew three sizes larger as he realized he was no longer alone in the room. That mother fucker. He has no goddamned idea what I’m about to do to him. Wait, why isn’t Kagome running away?

A million thoughts ran through his mind at once, bombarding and clouding his judgment. Had she gone there on her own accord? Had she sought out the comfort of another man while he was away? Was she even ready for such things? Realizing that he was just being stupid and his mind was playing tricks on him, he unsheathed his sword and roared, “What in the hell is the meaning of this?”

Taisei’s hands quickly let go of his prized possession and he scrambled away, keeping his eyes on the hanyou until his back hit the wall and he couldn’t go any further.

“Who… who are you?” he asked, the previous lecherous tone turned into that of a panicked one.

“Your worst nightmare, dick,” the canine-eared man half-barked while barring his teeth.

He slowly made his way towards the two and blocked the path between the human man and his mate, “Don’t you ever fucking touch her again, do you understand me?”

The man nodded a few times and Inuyasha could smell the rancid scent of pee in the air coming from the pervert’s vicinity. Not knowing if he should physically hurt the man or if he should check up on Kagome, Inuyasha was torn between the two. He decided he’d scared the human enough, so he slowly padded towards his still girlfriend.

“Kagome, honey, are you alright?” he asked, his eyes searching her body for any sight of injury.

He mentally noted that the man had struck her cheek, still red from the blow. Other than that, he couldn’t smell any more bruising or blood. Just the stench of the lecherous fucker all over her miko garbs. Why is she not moving?

“Kagome? Why aren’t you getting up?” Inuyasha pressed, panic rising in his voice as one of his hands cupped her face delicately.

“I….. can’t…. paralyzed” she finally managed to utter, voice dry and raspy.

He gave her one of the most pained looks she had ever seen. He had let her down. Failed to protect her once again, just like he had made her wait those long three days within the jewel. His heart shattered at the thought.

“Can I pick you up Kagome?” the half-demon asked her, wondering if the woman would rather be left untouched after what she had just gone through.

Unable to utter another sound as it took too much energy out of her, she nodded. The silver-haired man wasted no time to envelop his arms around her limp body and support her head with his chest. He let out a soft rumble in his chest in hope to help her calm down. She buried her head into his chest, letting out a few more heavy tears and hiccups.

“Shh, shh, it’ll be okay. I’m here now. I’m always here for you. I’m so sorry it took me so long to get here. Shh shh,” Inuyasha attempted to reassure the fragile woman in his arms, rocking her gently against him.

“What’s the meaning of this? Why is the miko letting you defile her such, you filthy demon?” the squealing voice coming from Taisei rung and bounced off the walls of the room.

“You’re the actual demon here. Next time you touch my woman, I’ll tear your eyes out and you won’t even get a chance to say boo.” Inuyasha answered, spitting in front of the headman’s son.

The hanyou left the room while clutching and carrying his mate protectively against his chest. Nothing would touch her now. He had her. The silver-haired man had to go consult Kaede. He knew that she could fix his Kagome. She always knew how, right? What if it’s my fault and she can’t move anymore?

Having heard the commotion, the older healer stood in front of the headman’s house. She was unsure of what had happened, but she figured it wouldn’t be good as she had heard her younger companion let out a string of angry snapping and colourful insults.

What she saw next broke her heart. Inuyasha held the limp body of his soon-to-be wife in his arms and he padded towards her, ears drooping down, face wrenched in pain. The boy holding onto her, probably even too tightly she figured.

“What happened Inuyasha?”

“The lech had his hands all over her. Must ‘of drugged her or something. She’s paralyzed and I ain’t got no idea how to fix her,” The half-demon replied, the last string of words muttered almost as soft as a murmur.

“Come now Inuyasha. Let’s make it back to the village and I’ll give her a brew. She’ll also need some food in her to regain her strength. Think you can help me with that?” she asked, hoping to comfort the lost boy.

The couple had already gone through so much. Kaede figured she should try to involve the half-demon. He’d be up to no good otherwise and she genuinely cared about those two as if they were her own children. Exasperating children, yes, but her children none the less.  

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The sun had gone down by the time she managed to open her eyes again. She lifted a hand to rub the sleepiness out of her eyes when she felt a warm and comforting arm draped against her stomach. She looked down at the dozing face holding the soft features she loved tenderly. He saved me yet again. 

Glancing at her own body, an overpowerful feeling of disgust overcame her. Disgust that such a man had tried to touch her without her consent. Disgust because she was still wearing those clothes he had nearly tried to rip off her body, or, not? After a second look, she noticed she was wearing her under-kosode and a familiar red haori. Thank you, Inuyasha.

Feeling the woman in his arms stir, Inuyasha started to wake up. He propped himself up on one of his elbows before glancing down at the beautiful form of his girlfriend laying in front of him, “Good morning sleeping beauty.”

“Good morning Inuyasha. Thank you… thank you for saving me again,” she said trying not to break down crying.

“Hush wench, you know I’ll always come for you no matter what. That’s why we’re getting married, stupid. For better or for worse, till death do us part.”

He lowered his head towards her, leaning in for a kiss. The black-haired girl hungrily replied, crashing her own lips against his. She brushed her tongue lightly against his lips in order to be allowed entry, which was quickly granted by her companion. They sat in silence, kissing and embracing for several long minutes.

She reluctantly broke apart from him and said, “He just took the liberty and touched me in a bunch of places. I feel… I feel so filthy.”

“Kagome, you’re not filthy. You didn’t do anything wrong. I... I was the one who let something happen to you,” Inuyasha replied as he rested his head against her forehead.

This was the closest they had managed to get to one another since her return. Much to her delight, the tip-toeing around what was acceptable in their relationship had simply disintegrated, just like that. Gone were the days where their young selves were too ashamed to notice or admit that they meant the world to one another. They were born for each other.

“Inuyasha, can I… can I touch you?” the young girl asked embarrassingly.

His ears perked up at the nature of her request. A deep shade of red painted itself on his cheeks, his enter body temperature feeling like it had risen several hundred degrees.

“Yeah, sure, if you want,” he clumsily replied while sitting straight up.

Her hands moved slowly but gently to his chest, where she started opening up the under-kosode. The material parted slightly and it allowed her hands to roam on the muscular flesh that peaked through the gap. This caused Inuyasha to inhale and hold his breath for a few seconds. Nervously, her hands made their way to the ties that were holding the garment in place. She fumbled with them, eventually managing to pry them loose along with the material that they were attached to. The silver-haired dog demon shrugged the piece of clothing off his shoulders. He sat there, unsure of how she’d react. Fuck he thought to himself as he felt his throbbing erection push against his hakama.

To his surprise, her hands slowly moved to his groin next. She applied a bit of pressure there and it caused him to groan slightly. Noticing what he had done, his ears drooped slightly with embarrassment as he refused to look up at the eyes of his soon-to-be-wife.

“It’s okay Inuyasha,” the girl softly replied with a contented smile tugging at her lips.

She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she was nervous as well. In order to help him fight his one-sided embarrassment, she removed the haori that was tied around her as well as her under-clothing. Following suit, Inuyasha removed his hakama. Both sat there, looking at each other’s bodies in awe and taking every inch in. It took several minutes before Kagome had the courage to extend her hand out to touch him. It was all it took before the hanyou grabbed it and pulled his mate flush against his chest, holding her tightly. Kagome let out an exhilarated sigh as the two hugged. Inuyasha’s well endowed, the raven-haired priestess thought to herself excitedly.

Feeling adventurous, she grabbed at the perky appendage that was pushing against her flat and toned stomach. This resulted in a slight gasp from her canine-eared friend who let go of her to look at her in amazement as she started to stroke his manhood. A moan escaped his lips as she slowly but tightly pumped it.

“Ka... Kagome,” was all he managed to say in between pants.

Realizing that he wasn’t doing anything for her, he gently grabbed her and pushed her down flat against their futon, his body towering above her. His hair draped around both of her shoulders. He gazed at her lovingly and all she could think of were two words – mighty and powerful. He crashed his lips against hers before slowly making his way down towards her chest. He nervously trailed his tongue to her breast and when he reached it, he licked around her areola. When his lips reached her nipple, he sucked and she let out a soft whimper. His male pride radiated off of him as he continued to please his mate, licking and nipping at the perky bundle of flesh in his mouth. She squirmed and moaned his name sensually. His left hand was preoccupied with fondling the other breast and running his thumb across her sensitive nipple. The hanyou’s erection throbbed against his stomach. She’s fucking beautiful, was the only thought the aroused half-demon could think of.

A thought popped into the half-demon’s head. Listening to Miroku all those years ago hadn’t been all that bad of an idea. Still a bit unsure about the reaction he’d received with what he was about to execute, he slowly made his way down her slim body, kissing every inch of her chest and her stomach until he reached her thighs. Kagome looked at him pleadingly, her slow release of sweet-scented fluid indicating she wanted him. Her scent of desire intoxicated him and crowded every corner of his mind. He groaned as he tried to stop himself from turning her over and simply pounding into her from behind as if he were a wild dog. Pushing the thoughts aside as he knew it was his mate’s first time, he wanted it to be a memorable experience for both of them. Not memorable in a way that made her want to shudder. He grabbed both of her thighs and nestled his head in front of her sweet folds, taking a hesitating lick. Shots of pleasure made their way up Kagome’s spine and added to the warm feeling of desire building in her stomach.

“More… please,” she pleaded as her center filled itself with more sweet-smelling liquid.

Eager to please, Inuyasha excitedly continued. He lapped furiously, running his tongue along her folds and pushing into her center even deeper. He made sure to suck on the small protruding bundle every so often as he’d get the most pleasant sounds out of his mate when he did so. The miko’s hands had instinctively reached for his hair where his small white appendages stood. She scratched behind them tenderly as he sucked and loved her.

“Inuyasha… stop,” the raven-haired girl pleaded.

Wasn’t she enjoying it? Why did she want him to stop? Had he hurt her? The canine-eared boy stopped dead in his tracks, ears pinned behind his head in defeat. Fear was evident in his eyes. He’d gone too far. Pushed her over the limit. Caused her to hate him forever.

Noticing his instant change in behaviour, the miko was perplexed. Why did he seem so upset?

“Inuyasha, if you continued what you were doing, I’d… I’d cum. That’s way too quick. You haven’t even been tended to yet,” she stammered embarrassingly.

His ears perked back up. Had he heard, right? Girls can cum?

“Girls can cum?” he asked as if it was the most natural question he could come up with.

“Of course they can, silly! I guess this is the feudal era after all. They say that women can feel even more pleasure than guys since we have more neurons in our clitoris,” she explained.

He wasn’t even going to try to understand that last part. He now knew what he had to do. Please his wench. The hanyou knew that if he tried to push himself in her, it would probably hurt. Yet another thing he had remembered from one of Miroku’s many topics of conversation involving women. Ease her into it, open her up gently, the monk’s voice rang in his head.

Being as gentle as he could, especially with how long his claws were, he gently prodded at the folds. Her body naturally opened itself up to him, engulfing his finger whole as he slipped it inside of her. What surprised him the most was when his girlfriend tilted her pelvis in order to take more of it in as she let out a small moan. Damn wench, havin’ all the fun. He tried adding a second finger into her burning and wet flesh. It went in just as easily. Feeling confident that she was open enough for him, he positioned himself at an angle that would ease his entry.

“Kagome?” he asked, wondering if she was mentally ready for him. He knew she was more than physically ready by the amount of liquid that had pooled around her.

“Just do it, please. I need you in me now,” she urged, biting her lower lip and tilting her pelvis forward.

Not having to be told twice, Inuyasha penetrated her slowly. She feels so fucking tight. A guttural growl left his lips as it took all of his willpower for him not to trust and pound himself into her. His instincts were slowly taking over and he wanted to suppress them so intensely. Stupid dog demon. He felt her walls adjust themselves to him and allowed him to enter her fully.

Inuyasha simply couldn’t believe it. After all those years of longing, mixed messages, and sexual tension, he was finally able to claim her. To show her how much she meant to him. He started easing out of her, then pushed back in, in repeated rocking motions. She moaned and begged him to increase his thrusting as she clutched the futon behind her. He noticed her back arching slightly, she looked like a begging bitch in heat. Fuck. This was going to be harder than he thought.

“Harder,” she squealed in between pants.

The heat building up at the bottom of his stomach was starting to be almost unbearable. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, especially with all the excitement that they had built up. Three long years of yearning and desire. All those fantasies that were played out in their heads about each other during their separations now seemed possible. Both bodies edged closer and closer to ecstasy. With the screams of each other’s names, their grunts, and moans filled the air as if it was a practiced orchestral performance.

“INUYASHA,” she screamed one final time as she climaxed, her body writhing and thrashing against his. Kagome’s walls clenched down against him. Her arms shot up to hold his neck as she rode the waves of pleasure that made their way throughout every single muscle of her body.

At the same time, a large growl erupted from his throat seconds after as he spilled himself into her warm center. He thrust several times, milking his appendage until he was empty.

Both bodies crashed on the futon, Kagome underneath and Inuyasha snuggled beside her as he nuzzled her shoulder.

“Wench?”, the half-demon asked, pleasure and contentment clearly evident in his husky voice.

“Hmm?” she mumbled back, her eyes partially open as sleep was starting to overtake her.

“I love you,” he announced to her for the first time.

“I love you too, dog-boy”, she replied, turning to face him and to kiss him slightly before falling asleep in his arms.

»»———————————————- ♡ ———————————————-«« 

Author’s note: Thank you very much for reading this fic! This is, in fact, the first I’ve written in over 5 years, so I really apologize for my rustiness! Sorry about Inuyasha’s out-of-characterness, this is just how I imagined him after three full years of emotional constipation after missing Kagome so much.

I also know that this type of fanfiction has been done before, I just needed to write one with my own spin on it. I also like to imagine that those two’s first time would be something very soft and passionate.

It’s also the first time that I try writing something naughty.

Regardless, I’m open for requests but I have a few more fic ideas on the go. I’m going to get quite busy in the next little while since I have 3 midterms and 2 projects coming up, but I’ll do my best to upload before then.

Much love, 

Iki

[multiverseanimecrossover]

Untitled Story (BSD Inspired Story)

18 years old Li Zheng waited around the station nervously as someone bumps into him and he bows his head. “Sorry! A thousand pardons!” He said loudly. However, the person moved passed him without any acknowledging his presence. “Well, that was rude.” Thought Li Zheng. “Hey there Zheng!” A voice called out. Li Zheng jumps and turns to see a boy with a big smile on his face. “Yuan Can? Is—is that you?” Li Zheng asked. With a flourish swept of his arms out in a dramatic pose; Yuan Can announced, “The one and only~! How’s it hanging?” Li Zheng forced a tiny smile. “Oh, you know—Been here, been there. I’m doing well.” He replied. “Awesome, let’s go! We’re going an adventure from here~!” Yuan Can said, leading his best friend down to the escalators to the city. “So…You know your way around here?” Li Zheng asked. Yuan had a hand behind his head, “Yeah, I’m no expert. I just know most of the cool places but still be around here OK?” He warned. They walked into the sidewalk to see there was four people standing around with books and reading but saw Yuan Can as they waved to him. “Sup Yuan.” The boy greeted. “Nothing much, Naota. How you guys been?” Yuan Can asked. “Hanging around, who’s your friend?” The other guy asked. “Ah, sorry! My name is Li Zheng.” Li Zheng introduced. The second guy was surprised. “Crap, did I say something wrong?” Li Zheng wondered. “Is that, like, the name of a monk?” The second guy inquired. “Maybe it’s an alias or a pen name, he probably doesn’t like to reveal his real name.” The girl with glasses suggested. “No, no, no—that is my real name.” Li Zheng confirmed. The four of them looked shocked. “What? Seriously?” asked the girl in glasses. The first guy was excited, “Wow, sound like the name of an anime character or something!” He claimed. “Ah, where are my manners? Li Zheng, these are my friends—Naota Makioka, Iwase Sugimoto, Tomiko Goldfield and Opula Coldmoon. By the way, Naota and Tomiko are lovers---Spoilers~!” Yuan Can clarified teasingly. Iwase looked irked, Opula laughed while Naota and Tomiko blushed. “Shut up, virgin ass! You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t have a girlfriend!” Naota retorted. “Not yet but soon I will.” Bragged Yuan Can. “Uh-huh, in your dreams!” snapped Iwase. Opula and Naota laughed but not Tomiko. She glanced at Li Zheng carefully. “You’re Li Zheng right? You must be named after the protagonist from one of Atsushi Nakajima’s works.” Tomiko clarified. Li Zheng was astonished by this, “Atsushi Nakajima? Who’s that?” He asked. “You know, the author. He wrote ‘The Tiger Poet’ and ‘Moon Over the Mountain’, he’s quite talented.” Tomiko explained. “Oh, I never seen his work but I have heard of Dazai Osamu, Ryonosuke Akutagawa and Akiko Yosano.” Li Zheng clarified. That got Noata’s attention, “Really? You heard of Dazai Osamu? Have you heard of ‘No Longer Human’?” He said. “Have I? It’s one of my favorites!” Li Zheng exclaimed eagerly.

“Hate to cut this short but we should get going.” Yuan Can said. “Oh yeah, my bad! It’s nice talking to you.” Li Zheng called. “You too, Li Zheng, bye!” Tomiko hollered, waving. “Catcha later! Stay safe!” Naota exclaimed. “See you soon~!” Opula piped up. “Take care!” Iwase hollered. Li Zheng waved as he walked alongside his friend. That’s when they saw something strange: There was a cheerful boy handing out flyers when he noticed Yuan Can and Li Zheng approaching. “Hey Yuan, how are you doing?” He asked. “Great, and yourself?” Yuan Can asked. “Splendid actually.” The boy said. “Cool, I want you to meet someone. Gianni? This is my best friend, Li Zheng. Zheng? Meet Gianni.” Yuan Can introduced. Gianni’s eyes twinkled, “The same one you grew up in the orphanage with?” He said. “Mmm hmm, that’s him.” Yuan Can validated. Gianni gave a polite bow, “I’m Gianni Rivera. As a member of a respected family; I welcome the lonely and battle scarred.” He addressed. This made Li Zheng smile a bit. “Thanks.” He replied. They bid him goodbye and were on their way. “Never realized you were friends with such cool people around here.” Li Zheng noted. “Yeah, they can be weird but if you’re cool with them—they’re cool with you.” Yuan Can reassured. “Very funny.” Li Zheng rejoined. “I’m not kidding, there’s some people you really should stay away from.” Yuan Can cautioned. “Like who?” Li Zheng questioned, curious by his comment. “Hmm, let’s see…” Yuan Can said. He was quiet for a moment, then he replied: “....People who aren’t terrible however you don’t want to piss hem off. There’s Shosaku Katsura, polite to a fault but he’s got a temper so bad—you’ll be begging for mercy! As long as you keep your nose clean, you’ll be fine. And then there’s a guy name Yozora Obari.” That name threw Li Zheng off! “Yozora Obari?” He asked. “Yeah, I don’t know much about his past though he’s a pretty chilled dude however make him your enemy and he’s bad news to ya. He’s the strongest guy you’ve ever met.” Yuan Can informed. “Wow, sounds cool.” Li Zheng managed to say. “Uh huh, just be wary of them all right?” Yuan Can requested. Li Zheng nodded, “Got it.” He replied. Once they were done having a good time; Yuan Can walked Li Zheng to his apartment. “You had fun Zheng?” Yuan Can asked. Li Zheng grinned, “Yeah, thanks man.” He said. They fist bump each other when all of a sudden, there was a loud piercing sound that made Li Zheng covered his ears. The noise stopped, Li Zheng dropped his hands and glanced over to a horrifying scene: His best friend on the ground, his throat torn open. Tears filled Li Zheng’s eyes and looked up to see his adoptive guardian standing over with an insidious grin! “WHY?! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!” demanded Li Zheng. “You can’t escape from your past, he can’t escape from his past…No one can! You’re too weak!” His guardian spat. “YUAN CAN!!!” Li Zheng screamed, tears dropping to the ground.

As he was working at the coffee shop; Li Zheng was reading the poem of Akiko Yosano’s Thou Shall Not Die as a way to cope: “O my young brother, I cry for you. Don't you understand you must not die! You who were born the last of all, Command a special store of parents' love. Would parents place a blade in children's hands? Teaching them to murder other men. Teaching them to kill and then to die? Have you so learned and grown to twenty-four? O my brother, you must not die! Could it be the Emperor His Grace Exposeth not to jeopardy of war. But urgeth men to spilling human blood, And dying in the way of wild beasts, Calling such death the path to glory? If His Grace possesseth noble heart, What must be the thoughts that linger there?” He placed the poem back in his pocket as he wondered to himself, “The poem is ‘Thou Shall Not Die’, it sounds like it’s from the Ten Commandments in the Bible. It should be one of the Commandments, it’s a sin to die but would it be a crime to live forever?” wondered Li Zheng. Just then, the door opens. This triggers the chiming of the bell attached to the door. Li Zheng looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?” Li Zheng asked. “Yes, I’d like a coffee. Make it black.” Said the man. “Cream or sugar?” Li Zheng said. “Cream, please.” The man replied. Li Zheng nodded. “Coming right up.” He answered politely. He managed to get the cream and coffee ready. Li Zheng gives the coffee cup, but Yozora stops him. “Kid, I’m not going to cause a scene but…I heard what happened to your best friend, Yuan Can. I’m so sorry.” He said. Li Zheng was terrified, he remembered the memories of his best friend! It was then Yozora tells him there’s twelve houses out there, he is from the Venus Orchestra Agency, known as Twelfth House. He tells him there’s others out there such as the Beast of Shadows Mafia that consisted of the most dangerous members within it: Tajomaru Ryosai, Michio Tayne, Chinatsu Midorikawa, Zenkichi Hirata, Akemi Naigu, Kanaya Ryosai, Remon Sakurano, Ichiro Kure, Omiya Kwanichi and their leader—Elisha Sumeru! Beast of Shadows is known as First House. Then, there is the Nighthawk Star Guild that include of Jaythan ‘Jayin’ Gatz as their leader and the rest of the crew—Valda Sherman, Geomar Kino, Hatim Milovan, Courtney Jimeno, Edison Canty, Perseus Simpson, Amaya Barnard and Ishmael Redburn. Nighthawk Star Guild is known as Second House! Also there was a guy who went by the name of Rodion Rashard of the Dreadful Hollows Army. His crew consists of Demetri Vruyx, Arkady Luzhin, Fyodor Karam, Dunya Rashard and Sonora Amaram. Chinno Kurami is from the Spider Needle Government and his second in command, Akagi, works under him. Just before Li Zheng could ask anymore, a member of the Beast of Shadows name Sohar attacks Li Zheng! He appeared behind, Sohar then had Li Zheng on the floor. “You little bastard! You think you can get away from me that easily?” She yelled. Li Zheng blocks his punches but could feel them pressing on his face. “You have no idea how much Yozora screwed you over! He’s just rucking with you! When I bring you to the boss, he’s gonna rip you a new one!” Sohar exclaimed. He peers over to Li Zheng with a grin. “Any last words you die? Because Yozora is going to pay for rucking us over!” Sohar said with a laugh. “Please no! Please!” Li Zheng begged. Yozora saves him when he took out a gun and shot Diana in the shoulder! He screamed when Yozora pushed him on the ground and had the gun at his head. “Sorry, did I step on your moment? Give the boss my regards, farewell.” Yozora remarked as he pulled the trigger, killing Sohar! Li Zheng couldn’t believe what Yozora done. “You…You’re Yozora?” He managed to say. Yozora turns to him and smile, “I won’t hurt you, I promise kid. I treat Yuan Can as if he were my son. And I will treat you the same, now come along Zheng.” He said.

A girl name Ayana Yukisada sat in the first row of the boss with a book in her lap as she mumbled the words to herself. Then, the bus stops and Ayana gets off. The man trails behind Ayana, a smile plastered on his face. He readies himself when he toppled over legs first and looked up to see Ayana standing over him with a smirk. “You’d think I was that stupid? Hm? You underestimated me? What do you think Melor?” She asked to the shadows. There was a low growl coming from the darkness. Ayana sighed, “Fine, have it your way. Now hurry up—I’m itching to see blood flying everywhere.” She said, her voice dripped with malice. Meanwhile; Li Zheng and Yozora met up with the others at the hotel for they were on a mission. Just then, something caught his eye; Li Zheng looked over to see the girl staring out at the ocean, she seemed to be fourteen years old, wore an embroider kimono. A hand touched Li Zheng’s shoulder as he turned to see Yozora. “It’s your lucky day, Zheng~! You and I are going to be sharing a room together.” He stated. Li Zheng managed to smile. They settled into the room with Li Zheng wanting to read when Yozora was still concern about him. “So, you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Yozora asked. “I saw a girl, she looked sad and lost.” Li Zheng said. “Why are you so worried about her?” Yozora inquired, concerned. “Well, I was wondering…Do you think she’s like me? A surviving victim of a vice ring?” Li Zheng speculated. Yozora was determined, “Don’t worry, we’ll find this girl and rescue her. I promise you that.” He vowed. “Thanks, Mr. Obari.” Said Li Zheng. “Anytime kid~!” Yozora answered. And that’s when they went into their own bed to get some sleep however Li Zheng couldn’t sleep so he decided to walk around the hotel. While walking; Li Zheng heard a voice singing a song, he looked over to see that same girl again! She was balancing on the wall. The girl then noticed Li Zheng watching so she slowly ascend towards him, floating against the dark sky twinkling with stars. The girl reached over although Li Zheng shrieked and fainted. The girl, Ayana, looks over him. She reached over to nudge him. As he opened his eyes; Li Zheng gasped but Ayana put a finger to her lips. “Hi, are you Li Zheng?” The girl asked. “Who are you?” stammered Li Zheng. “Ayana Yukisada.” The girl said. Li Zheng was shaken in fear. “Don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you.” Ayana reassured. “Wha—What do you want?” Li Zheng insisted apprehensively. “I was wondering if you’ll be my friend.” Ayana said. “That’s all you want?” Li Zheng inquired. “Yeah…I also want to know if you want to go to the Magic Carnival with me?” Ayana requested. “I…I don’t know.” Li Zheng said. “Are you sure? I just want you to see something beautiful, that’s all. I mean no harm really.” Ayana reassured him. Li Zheng wasn’t sure but he was curious so he takes Ayana’s hand as they glide to the Magic Carnival that twinkled like a theme park as they got on the Ferris wheel! “Isn’t it beautiful?” Ayana asked. “Mmm, it is.” Li Zheng responded. They had a wonderful time before they head back to the hotel. “I had a fun time, thanks.” Li Zheng said. “I’m glad, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ayana promised. “OK, have a good night.” Li Zheng replied, waving goodbye as she glided away into the night.

The next day; Li Zheng saw Ayana at the tea gardens, dancing under the cherry blossom trees. He made an excuse as he hurries off to see Ayana but then, the tea gardens were under attack by Lotus Eaters! Everyone was in fear, Li Zheng was terrified as he tried to get away when he saw Ayana slaying the monster! He cowers but the sight of blood. Then, Li Zheng looked up to see the Maniken at his feet and saw Ayana standing before him. She smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” Said Ayana. Later, Li Zheng was sitting across the table from Ayana. “You’re staring again.” Ayana reminded. Li Zheng glanced away, “Sorry.” He apologized. There was an awkward silence. Li Zheng took a bite of an apple he brought to snack on. “What did Yozora told you that made you upset?” He inquired. “Next question.” Ayana said. “That’s the easiest one!” Li Zheng protested. “Next. Question!” snapped Ayana. Li Zheng sighed, this girl was difficult but he really didn’t like confrontation. “I think this makes us even, guess we can start trusting each other.” Li Zheng reminded. “True but…” Ayana said. She reached over and took a bite of his apple and put it in the middle for them to share. “…But you’re too curious. What do you want to know? Why are you so interested in me?” Ayana asked. “I—I was wondering if you were part of a vice ring, maybe a victim.” Li Zheng replied anxiously. Ayana was quiet for a moment. It was like she was taking her sweet time. “Perhaps, but I don’t want to talk about it if that’s all right.” She finally responded. “Sure.” Li Zheng said with a nod. “Where are your parents?” Ayana asked. “I don’t know, I don’t remember them…They died when I was born, I was an orphan. And then I was raised by someone I thought I could trust…” Li Zheng replied. “He hurt you?” guessed Ayana. “Mmm hmm, and he hurt another boy name Yuan Can….He was my best friend….” Uttered Li Zheng, his voice was choked up that he could muster out those words. “I’m sorry. I think…that’s something you and I have in common.” Remarked Ayana. Li Zheng is surprised by this comment, he looks down. “I don’t know why I’m even here, I’m not special.” Li Zheng assessed. “You may not think you are but I know you are. The problem is that some hapless, wreteched creature made you think you are worthless and destroyed your innocence. Would you like to know why I’m here?” Ayana explained. Something in Ayana’s eyes screamed predator, it’s like her face was saying, “Walk into my trap little boy”. He knew asking anymore questions would make him regret this. “No….Why are you here?” Li Zheng whispered. Her chair fell back as she stood up. “I’m here because….I’m out for revenge.” Ayana rasped. Her appearance changed as Li Zheng bite his tongue from screaming. “Pray that the Beast of Shadows don’t find us, you’re the one they want.” Ayana hissed in that sweet, lovely voice of hers.

“You’re new here.” Remarked the girl. “So are you, I’m Li Zheng.” Li Zheng introduced. The girl smiled, “Valda Sherman, people call me ‘Val’.” She replied. “Nice to meet you, Val.” Li Zheng said. Valda circles around him. “What?” Li Zheng asked. “You’re the weirdest guy I’ve ever met!” remarked Valda.“Yozora told me you’re from the Nightwalk Star Guild.” Li Zheng stated. Valda shrugged, “So?” She said. “What’s the building like?” Li Zheng asked. “Not as quiet as here.” Valda said, gesturing to the building of Venus Orchestra. Li Zheng smiled at that, Valda noticed his grin. “What? You want to be my sweetheart?” teased Valda. Li Zheng shook his head, “No thank you.” He said politely. Valda nodded, “Let’s keep things honest between us.” She suggested. Their friendship grew stronger as Li Zheng wanted to help Valda but then, she got moody by his cheerfulness. “Why? Because I’m this privileged, lonely hearts girl?” mocked Valda. Li Zheng was taken aback by her moody behavior. “I thought we were friends.” He reminded. Valda scoffed, “I lied.” She retorted. Li Zheng was hurt, “That was heartless you know that?” He snapped. Valda smiled that didn’t reach her eyes. “Yup.” She managed to say. She then went to the roof and dared Li Zheng to jump across. He hesitated however Valda mocks him, “I knew you were such a coward!” This triggered Li Zheng as he runs back, ready to jump over. This horrified Valda! “NO! DON’T! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT!!!” hollered Valda. But it was too late, Li Zheng leaped over as he nearly fell from the roof but Valda caught him in time. She helped Li Zheng get on the roof safely but her eyes were widened with surprise. “You’re crazy…” stated Valda. “Easy, I’m out of breath.” Panted Li Zheng. Valda sighed, “All right, boy. But it’s my roof, my rules! Got it?” She clarified firmly. Li Zheng nodded, catching his breath finally as he made his way with her. Li Zheng could see Valda having violent fits as he tried to calm her down however she wouldn’t. “KILL ME!!!” screamed Valda, attacking him but Li Zheng dodges her as she continued to ranted loudly while attacking him. “KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!!!” Li Zheng finally stopped her. “No…You’re afraid of dying aren’t you?” He asked. Valda gasped. “It’s OK, I’m scared too.” Li Zheng reassured. Meanwhile; leaders from different organizations are coming together for a private conference assembly. There was Hansuke Sancho from the Venus Orchestra Company, Elisah Sumeru from the Beast of Shadows Gang, Jaythan ‘Jayin’ Gatz from the Nighthawk Star Guild and Chinno Kushami as his second in command assistant name Akagi was in the room!  

Li Zheng felt dizzy in the head as he tried to compose himself and stands up, brushing the dust away. Li Zheng decides to explore but she didn't see the shadowy figure until she bump straight into it. "Hey, what the--" Li Zheng started to say but he was stunt to see that it was a tall, teenage boy with light complexion, brown hair, and he had such dark eyes. "Where did you come from, big guy?" Li Zheng asked in amazement. The tall boy turned and looked down to see the young strange boy, "Who are you?" asked the boy. "My name is Li Zheng, who are you?" introduced Li Zheng. "I'm Kenren Taishou." said the tall teenager. "Do you know where we are?" Li Zheng asked. "Uh, no. I'm not sure where we are....Let's look around and see what we can find." replied Kenren. "'Us'? Together? Sure! Let’s go!" beamed Li Zheng, "I like to get to know you, Kenren Taishou." He grinned with earnest interest. And so, Li Zheng and Kenren started to explore around. In the meantime; another teenage boy and his friend was wandering around the strange world that wasn't their home. "Um Alyosha?" The first guy asked. "Yes, Nedran?" The other boy asked. "I don't think we're in our world anymore." answered Nedran. "Nope, we're not." agreed Alyosha. Just then, something pop out and jump scared them! It was Rokuzo. "AH-HA! GOT YA!" He exclaimed. Nedran and Alyosha jump back in fear however they were astonished by the boy's apparel. "What are you man?" Nedran asked. Rokuzo look a little, "I'm Rokuzo Taguchi, I'm a--" He started to say. "Oh! I know! I know! You're a ninja!" exclaimed Nedran. "Uh...Yes." said Rokuzo. Nedran glomped him happily, "Oh my! That is so cool, Finally! We get to meet a real life ninja, Alyosha!" exclaimed Nedran. "Get off! Get off!" gasped Rokuzo, he and Alyosha managed to get Nedran off him. He then panted and tried to catch his breath. "Geez! Tryin' to kill me or something?" snapped Rokuzo. "But we never met a ninja in all of our miserable lives!" complained Nedran, dramatically. “I’m sorry, Nedran. I know that excites you but you could’ve crushed him.” Reminded Alyosha politely. Rozuko stared at them when all of a sudden, there was a torpedo force that caused Rokuzo, Nedran and Alyosha to levitate in the air. "Ahhhh! What the heck is going on here?" cried Nedran. "I don't know!" shouted Alyosha. "Get us down from here!" yelled Rokuzo. There was laughter, it comes from a young man who appeared out of the shadows. He was the one responsible for all this! "I'm Cyrus, I’m an alchemist." But saw the others don’t look pleased. "Hey, can you get us down from here?" Rokuzo said, impatiently. "Sure can." Cyrus said. As Cyrus let the three go, they fell, there was confusion. Nedran and Alyosha stared at the other two, "How in the world did we get stuck with these weirdos?" wondered Nedran. “I wouldn’t know.” Alyosha admitted. Cyrus and Rokuzo turned on him: "WHAT?!" And they attack him until a voice cry out to break up the fight. “HOLD IT!!!” Rokuzo, Nedran and Cyrus stopped to see Li Zheng and Kenren standing there; looking out of place at the scenario. "What are you idiots doing?" asked Kenren. "Who are you guys?" asked Alyosha. "Kenren Taishou." answered Kenren. "And I’m Li Zheng." replied Li Zheng.

There was silence in the air when Nedran blurts out, "How did I get stuck with a bunch of freaks?!" Kenren, Rokuzo and Cyrus turned on him, crying out: "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A FREAK?!" Then, Round 2 of the battle starts. Li Zheng and Alyosha stared at them before Li Zheng sighed deeply. He dashed in and used his powers to impede the battle while shouting, “STOP!” The boys were on the ground. Kenren, Nedran, Rokuzo and Cyrus stared at the strange boy. Li Zheng planted his hands on his hips, "So, do you wish to continue or would you want to talk this out?" he asked. The other boys stared at him in awe, "Whoa..." they chorused.

[souphusband]

Lover, can’t you see I want you more and more?;

Take me, baby — I'm yours.

Miso gives in to blissful thoughts of his darling Master Attendant, and you walk in at just the right time.

Title is a lyric from one of my favourite songs by the Horny Legend himself, Prince, whose music fuelled this soup-fucking extravaganza. Thank you to the FFF discord for being enablers of my Miso thirst.  AO3 // Ko-Fi

Despite his admittedly lacklustre efforts, Miso Soup was hardly a paragon of virtue; in fact, he would be the first to confess his debauched, sinful nature. But, despite seeming to put very little effort into his duties as a monk, he did try…somewhat. Which is why his current predicament was so difficult.

The second he was summoned by you, he couldn't help but be entranced. As much as he was a flirt by his nature, it seems as though he couldn't help the teasing words that slipped from his tongue around you: words that caused your face to flush red from the tips of your ears to the base of your throat — and, oh! The things he would do to that throat if given half a chance…— as you scolded him half heartedly, already finding the monk endearing in his own distinct way.

As much as he tried to be a good and proper monk and leave his days of libertine vice and pleasure behind him, it grew harder with each passing day that he spent with you as his Master Attendant. And, with each day, his sinful, carnal desire bubbled beneath the surface. The tension was almost too much, like a overfilled bowl about to spill, or a stretched-thin piece of elastic about to snap. He daydreamt — fantasised, really — about being able to run his warm hands along the creamy soft skin below your work uniform; when your the hem of your shirt raised up, caught on the apron strings tied around your middle, and gave him a teasing view of your lower back,  it was all he could do to restrain himself from moaning. When you inevitably caught him, snapping him out of his reverie with a soft chuckle and a playful chide of “you were staring!” or, “I can give you some work to do if you're bored!”, he would nervously laugh it off, recite some of the brief scriptural quotes that he'd managed to commit to memory, and hurriedly excuse himself, claiming that he had to meditate.

To his credit, he usually did meditate, forcing himself to purge all lustful thoughts from his mind until he calmed down, or the quietness around him lulled him to sleep. Either way, it served as ample distraction, and he would once-again find himself able to face you — something that was, admittedly, excellent, as he adored the time he spent with you, despite the lewd thoughts that encroached upon his mind with increasing frequency.

Sometimes, however, things would go differently.

On days like today, the tension would become too much for him; the elastic would snap, the bowl would spill over. He knew he would inevitably feel shame for giving into temptation once he had chased down his release, but in the moment all he could feel was desperation.

He was already half-hard, thanks to your earlier altercation in the kitchen, whereupon asking him to help you reach the flour from the top shelf had resulted in his much taller frame absentmindedly pressing you against the counter, the length of his body flush against your back while he reached above your head to retrieve the ingredient — which he promptly almost dropped once he realised the position the two of you were in. Thankfully, you had managed to catch the heavy bag as it slipped from his hand without too much of the powder spilling out onto the countertop; when you looked up to give him an appreciative smile, his face was flushed red and he couldn't quite meet your gaze, something which you chalked up to his embarrassment about his clumsiness almost resulting in you getting covered in flour and not the fact that his height compared to yours, and the way your leaned back to look up at him, gave him the perfect view down your shirt. He had jerked back, turning away from you so fast that his ponytail almost whipped you in the face, and left the room, leaving you confused and without anyone to help you with the bechamel white sauce you needed to make.

Now, in his room in your cozy home above the restaurant, he was reliving the feeling of your body pressed against his as he palmed at himself through the thick woolen fabric of his grey trousers. With a sense of urgency in his movements, he ripped open his robes, shrugging them half-off his shoulders, the sleeves pooling around his elbows, and exposing his bare chest to the heated air of the room. Curling his legs underneath him so that he was kneeling on the bed, he shoved his pants down, the fabric skimming over his hips and stopping mid-thigh; just far enough to give himself access. In an effort to provide himself with some form of lubricant, he spat into one of his palms before wrapping that hand around the shaft of his erect cock.

He worked at himself with almost torturously slow strokes, as though punishing himself for losing his composure so completely earlier and exposing to you that his flirtations were not merely a game to him. When precum began to bead at the slitted tip of his dick, he slicked a thumb through it, spreading it over the head and down the length of his shaft as he tried not to buck into his fist. After a few seconds of trying to muffle his shuddering gasps and groans, he tugged the collar of his loose robe jacket up and into his mouth, biting down on the fabric; the restaurant may have been past closing hours, but you were still there, merely several feet below him where he had abandoned you to prepare dinner by yourself while he selfishly attended to his own lascivious needs. Clearly, the guilt was too much for him; he made sure that the version of you he was picturing in his mind was being thoroughly pleasured by his hands, his mouth, his cock —the fabric of his robe slipped out from between his teeth as his jaw went slack, eyes screwed shut as he let out a moan that reverberated deep in his chest — to make up for the fact that you were actually stuck downstairs, undoubtedly annoyed at him for leaving you to slave over a hot stove.

The movements of his hand sped up as he lost himself to fantasies of all the different ways he could fuck you— make love to you. It felt cheap, almost, to acknowledge his feelings for you in moments like these, but that didn’t change anything; his entire body, heart, mind, soul— adored, craved, and desired every single part, every single aspect of you, and all he could think about was you, you, you, you, you… Miso was desperate now; hunched over, one forearm braced against the bed to support himself while he thrust into his hand, half-grinding against the mattress in a frenzied attempt to get more friction. He buried his face into the blanket to mute his pleasured groans and his breathing, which now came out in heavy, deep gasps, interspersed with lustful, depraved moans of your name.

And, well...Speak of the Devil…

“Miso, are you alri—oh!” Freezing in place in the doorway, you stare at the scene before you. Miso, skin flushed and covered with a thin sheen of sweat, half-clothed, and with one slender hand wrapped around his erection, a mess of precum leaking down his shaft and fingers. Glassy, lust-clouded red eyes met yours and for a second, neither of you moved. Then—

“Ah!! I’m so sorry!” You squeaked, while Miso scrambled to cover himself with his robes in an attempt to preserve what was left of his fleeting dignity, nervously laughing and babbling out half-formed syllables the entire time.

“I just— You— You left so suddenly earlier, and then you were gone for so long, I— I got worried! And then when I finished making dinner — oh! Dinner is ready, by the way — I thought, y’know, I should come and check on you! So now I’m here! And I should have knocked!” You rambled, head in your hands, face burning hot and rufescent. You had been worried, extremely so, when Miso had rushed out of the kitchen, leaving you pressed up against the wooden counter, cradling an errant bag of flour in your hands. As you worked to prepare dinner — alone — you worried that you’d done something wrong, something to make your most loyal food soul flee in such a way...And the longer you worked, the more certain you became that you had done something wrong, especially by not following to ask him if he was alright. When you finished cooking, you set the dish aside to cool while you went upstairs in the hope of fetching Miso and coaxing him downstairs so the two of you could eat together. You hadn’t expected...this! You glanced up and, when you did, Miso looked away, once again reluctant to meet your eyes, his chest still heaving beneath his loose robes and his face still glowing with a heavy blush.

And in that one moment, all the pieces seemed to click into place; tumbling down like one domino after another when they had finally been given that much-needed push.

The memory of what had happened before he had left returned to you full-force; his hips pinning yours against the counter, your back pressed against his firm, warm chest, the blush blooming across his cheeks when you smiled at him...was this because of you? You desperately hoped it wasn’t just wishful thinking on your part; that the handsome monk did actually feel the same way about you that you did for him.

Your confidence bolstered by these thoughts, you stepped fully into his room, closing the door behind you with a soft “click” that, in the tense silence of the room, seemed to grab Miso’s attention and prompt him to finally look at you.

“H— ah, master attendant...wh—what are you doing?”

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to eat dinner together, but,” Your voice was low and sultry; Miso was transfixed. Your knees hit the edge of the bed and you climbed onto it, crawling towards Miso like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes were hazy as he watched you; a bead of sweat gathered at the sharp edge of his jaw before sliding down the pale skin of his throat as he swallowed thickly.

“Something much more delicious has caught my eye.”

This couldn’t be real. There was no way; Miso was borderline certain that this was just another lewd fantasy of his — until your hands made contact with his shoulders, pushing him down until his head met the pillow. As he stared down at you with glazed, half-lidded eyes, you toyed with the hem of his robe, glancing up at him questioningly.

“Can I— ?”

“Ye— Yes, please. God, please—!” He interjected, nodding fervently; that was all the confirmation you needed. Leaning down to press soft kisses against his collarbone, you straddled his thigh as your hands worked to untie the hasty knot that was holding his robe closed. After a second, his hands pushed yours away, deftly untying the cords before reaching up to tangle one hand in your hair, bringing your lips against his for a filthy, heated kiss. You flung his robe open, fingers skimming up over his stomach to his chest, keening into the kiss as your hips ground and bucked against his thigh. His free hand, which had been resting on your hip, moved to tug at the hem of your shirt and you nodded against him, giving him permission to shove the garment upwards, pushing it just far enough to expose the swell of your bra-clad breasts.

Miso moaned as you pulled away from him, briefly leaning up in an attempt to recapture your lips before his head dropped back down to the pillow. You giggled, removing your shirt and tossing at away to God—knows—where, before reaching back to unclasp your bra. Miso quickly followed your example and began to undress; he angled his thigh in a way that forced you to lift your hips momentarily, just long enough for him to take off  his trousers and underwear— already low slung on his hips from his hurried attempt to redress himself not too long ago. Still kneeling above him, you slipped off your skirt, and when you pulled down your underwear he could see a thin string of arousal drip onto the fabric from the apex of your thighs, a sight which made him shiver with lust. You barely had time to fully remove the garments before his hands were on your hips, pulling you back down against his thigh and coaxing you to rock your hips against him. Propping himself up on his elbows, Miso leaned up to bury his head against your chest, pressing kisses along your sternum before pulling back to capture one of your nipples between his lips, tongue salving against the hardened nub.

“A—ah, Miso—!” You arched against him, one hand moving to tangle in his dishevelled ponytail. He hummed, pleased with your response, and redoubled his efforts; one hand moved up from your hip to toy with your other breast, the other skimmed down over your hipbone and to the apex of your thighs. His middle finger rubbed teasingly against your slit, quickly becoming slick with arousal.

“Miso, please—!” He shifted, hands returning to your hips to lift you and then lay you down against the mattress, moving to hover over you. His hand resumed its ministrations, one finger probing at your soaked entrance while the heel of his palm ground against your clit. You raised your hips to meet his movements as he finally slid a finger inside of you, meeting no resistance even as the pad of his fingertip stroked deeply along your slick inner walls.

He leaned down, breath hot against the side of your face as his tongue flicked along the shell of your ear.

“M—master attendant,” he gasped out. “I love you.”

Then, “Please...touch me.”

Without a second’s hesitation, your hands were upon him, one palm braced against his chest, the other at the base of his neck, pulling him closer to you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, muffling your gasps and moans by kissing and nipping at his throat— this did nothing to mute your cries when he slid another finger inside you, crooking and scissoring them expertly. You could feel his heated erection pressing insistently against your thigh, making you realise that his pleasure was being neglected— although, admittedly, he did have a head start over you. Your hand trailed down his stomach and hips to grip his cock; he released a shuddered moan into your ear, slowing the thrusting of his fingers to match the teasing, leisurely pace of your strokes. His fingers moved with a precision and expertees that you were certain a holy man such as him should not have possessed, fingertips grazing all the right spots and thumb rubbing a syncopated rhythm against your clit in such a way that it had your back arching and your unoccupied hand grasping for purchase against his sweat-slicked back.

You were close to the edge— a fog clouded your mind, spreading throughout your body, and the fire stoked in your core began to reach a fever pitch. Then, before you could get there, both of your hands went to Miso’s shoulders, pushing him off of you just enough to look him in the eyes, his hand stilling while he looked at you in a mix of arousal and confusion.

“Please…” You gasped out, watching Miso’s eyelids slip closed as he nodded, pulling back from you and releasing a pent—up breath.

“Now?” He asked tentatively, his tongue smoothing along his lower lip. You hummed the affirmative, hips bucking against his thigh. That was all he needed to hear before his large hands gripped your hips, pulling you up into his lap. Your arms wound around the back of his neck, pressing your forehead against his as he aligned himself with your entrance.

Inch by inch, he slowly sheathed himself inside of you, gasping out a heavy, hot breath against your lips before pulling you in for a passionate open—mouthed kiss, tongue skimming against yours before he pulled back. Once he was seated half—way inside of you, he gave you a moment to adjust to the delicious stretch you felt in your core, gripping your thighs tightly, knuckles almost turning white in restraint. After a moment of pause, you rocked your hips, pressing your lips against his once again to show him that you were ready.

With a sudden snap of his hips, he was fully inside of you, letting out a howl of pleasure that was muffled against your mouth. Your arms reflexively tightened around his neck, pulling him closer until your chests were pushed flush against each other; the heat of the room, the closeness of your bodies, and your frenzied movements as you strove to meet each of his thrusts meant sweat pooled at every point where your bodies pressed together. His hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, fingers pressing in forcefully enough to leave marks as he held you in place, hips thrusting and cock slamming up into you so divinely that it caused your legs to tremble under his grip. He moaned out your name, breath catching in his throat as he trailed heated kisses along your neck. Your fingers threaded in his hair, pushing him more insistently against you as his kisses turn to soft bites.

Having both already been so close to climax beforehand, it didn’t take either of you long to reach that precipice again, and when one of Miso’s hands slackened its grip on your thigh and trailed down to where your bodies joined, rubbing at your clit with shaking fingers...— It was only a matter of seconds before you reached your limit and you came undone around him with a scream of his name. You rode out your orgasm, hips grinding weakly against him; he managed a few more thrusts before he, too, joined you in that feeling of bliss, attempting to silence his satisfied moan with a hard bite to your collarbone.

Spent and exhausted, he moved to lay you down on the bed once again before pitching forward, barely managing to support himself with one arm before he collapsed on you. His sweat—damp hair hung in front of his face, ponytail mussed and half—undone, his face tinted blush-red from exertion. Reluctantly, as though he didn’t want the feeling to end, he pulled his softened cock out of you, a sticky trail of cum dripping out of you and onto the sheets as he did so — a sight that, as tired as he was, almost got him hard again. With a sigh, he flopped down on the bed next to you, tangling his legs with yours as you both fought to catch your breath.

You were the first one to break the silence.

“You love me?” You asked with a coy smirk, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at Miso. His already blushing face reddened considerably, and he hid his head in his hands, peeking out at you from behind his fingers.

“Ahaha, I said that?” His voice, while nervous, showed no hint of apology, and he didn’t give you a chance to respond before he spoke again. “I mean, I meant it, but…” he trailed off, turning his still—hidden face away from you in embarrassment, prompting you to giggle.

“What?”

“Move your hands!”

“No!” You could hear the pout in his voice.

“If you don’t, it means I can’t kiss you!” You teased, leaning down to lay on his chest, tugging at his wrists playfully. In a shocking display of mock—stubbornness, he kept his hands in place, shaking his head behind them.

“Miso~” You sing—songed. “I love you~”

That got him to move his hands, and you watched his expression turn from surprised, to perplexed, to smug, all within an instant.

“Hah, really? I mean— I knew that, of course you do. How could you resist falling for my charms?” He asked, voice serious, but the grin on his face and glint in his eye showed you he was only teasing you — which obviously worked, since you could feel heat rising in your face as he gave you a lascivious wink.

Still, you returned the smile, curling up against him, head resting on his chest; you could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat as you allowed your eyes to slip closed. Almost instinctually, Miso’s arms wound around you in a protective embrace, pulling you close to him.

Around 20 minutes later, he was startled awake when you shot up, scrambling out of bed to find your clothes. Bleary—eyed, he reached for his robe and shrugged it on, a yawn in his voice when he asked you what was wrong.

“I THINK I LEFT THE STOVE ON—”

[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

A Final Parting Of Ways

Year 33

Mywin knelt over; hands grabbing at her knees, sweat dripping down her forehead, lungs panting rapidly. It had been a long and gruelling battle to the Seat of the Pantheon, a sight she never believed she’d behold. The enormous thrones of gold stood many times higher than the tallest Tauren to seat some of the mightiest beings in the universe upon them. She poised herself, wiping her face and turned to the injured. Over the years of battle, her Druidic restorative powers had grown drastically and now she could heal the wounded with ease.

 They’d been lined up on stretchers, eyes shut and faces wincing with pain - but on each face lay a small smile of victory for those who were awake. She made her way to the first: a tiny gnome mage with blonde-white hair in pigtails. The small body had been knocked unconscious; burns singed on her pale skin and scrapes on her legs from where she’d be flung and pushed along the floor with a great force. Mywin rested a hand upon the poor child’s chest and began the spell. Green wisps of energy swirled around each injury, slowly easing the severity and soothing the hurt. In a matter of moments, the little gnome was all well, but would be asleep for a while yet. Other healers had taken to the wounded along the giant line: shamans communing with the water for refreshment, holy priests summoning sparks of holy power, monks weaving their chi to nurse their patient. A sadness crept over Mywin as she turned the over way. Corpses were being covered in sheets and loaded up to the taken back for burial. It was a sight she should been used to by now, but it never did settle with her. Sacrifices had been made, and some of those included the lives of her allies.

“The way home is open!” A loud voice commanded the area as the prophet Velen began to address the raid, “We have won this day, and the Legion is defeated. We must return to allow the injured to recover, and to give the fallen peace and an honourable send off.”

The stretchers of both dead and alive began to be lifted up and taken through as most of the group heeded the order. Mywin however needed a moment to comprehend her surroundings. She would not get a chance to observe a sight like this again, even if she lived another hundred years. The billions of stars tinkled in the dark abyss above the Seat’s ceiling. It was as if the pillars were built to hold the heavens up themselves. They glowed as brightly as the gems that adorned the courtyard area on which is stood, the architecture indeed titanic and indeed beautiful. As her eyes panned the view, she noticed Velen whispering in a corner with Illidan. She swallowed with uneasiness. She’d not spoken to Illidan since his return. In fact, she’d not spoken to Illidan since she sat by his dead body at the top of the Black Temple many years ago. She’d kept to the healers, at the back of the group and in the shadows. She couldn’t bring herself to even look directly upon his face. They’d almost been so many things to each other. Almost friends? Almost lovers? And then they’d become most definitely enemies, at least by default. She found comfort from the confusion by knowing that now they’d be strangers. Perhaps he didn’t even remember her. Either from being resurrected or after he had seemingly lost his mind. Velen placed a hand upon Illidan’s shoulder and walked away, a sense of pride and sadness came with each heavy step. And then Illidan looked up and directly into Mywin’s eyes. And smiled.

He made his way over. It was the first time she’d seen him in his true form. Each time they’d met he’d hidden parts of himself: his wings, his hooves, his horns. There was something beautiful she found in his form, even if it were to be considered an abomination. The wings were thick but looked delicate; his hooves looked strong but reminded her of the gentle Dryads; his horns demonic yet she thought of the stag horns druids adorned. When he reached her, she simply said;

“Hello, Mywin”. Taken slightly aback, a pause occurred before she responded.

“Hello, Illidan.”

“It’s been a long time,” He quietly continued, “And yet as I did the last time we had a prolonged encounter, I owe you an apology.” Mywin studied his serious face. It too was tired from battle. “I left without explanation. I’m assured to know all too well as to why. But, my kal, I am sorry.” An old instinct to wrap him in her arms and rest together jerked within her. But this was not a Darnassian forest, and he was not who she remembered him to be.

“Our home is safe,” she replied, “that is the best apology I could hope for.” He shifted his body slightly.

“I must tell you, I am not returning back to Azeroth. I am remaining here to serve as the Dark Titan’s jailer. To atone for my sins: my sins to our world’s people, Outland’s people, to my own people, to my brother, to Tyrande - and to you.” Mywin blinked.

“I was not expecting you to make such a gesture.” Illidan sighed deeply.

“I have tried in my own way to make sacrifices. To save the world. To gain power. Many of my attempts have been unsuccessful. Have hurt people. This way, I cannot do that. I can redeem myself, but I cannot go back to Azeroth.” Mywin could not resist the need and slipped her fingers into his own, interlocking a hand.

“Do you know what today is, Illidan?” Puzzled, he shook his head.

“It’s a full moon. The first time we met I told you it was a time of change.” Illidan gave a small half-smile and glanced over to the rest of the raid. Still busy and paying no mind to the couple they nevertheless were getting closer to have finished their task.

“You should be getting back,” he squeezed her hand tightly, “you have a world to protect. And I wouldn’t trust anyone more than you to do so.” Unable to defy the need any longer, she flung her arms around his shoulders and gave him the biggest hug she could. Illidan was surprised, but chuckled as he to wrapped his arms around her waist. Her vision began to blur as Mywin silently teared up. This was ending, whatever it was. She would never know whether he was her friend or if they were in love - or if it could have been love - but he was something. A strange and unknown bond had formed and she knew that in the next few moments it would be shattered. Staying in his embrace, she whispered into his ear;

“Goodbye, Illidan Stormrage.” She withdrew and quickly wiped her eyes before giving him a bittersweet smile, taking a deep breath as she gazed into his eyes that peaked through the slits in this blindfold. The eyes that had held great lust, great shame, great happiness - all in the time she’d known him. The thought of never seeing him again had been pushed to the side until now, and the heavy weight slowly sank into her chest. She wished that they could have just a minute alone, to privately and passionately give a sincere farewell. But she could not. 

She unlocked herself from his grasp and made her way towards the portal home. As she stepped through, she dare not even glance back as the twisting mist swirled around; warping the room around her into a bright light that flashed and shimmered, leaving the area a hazy fading memory. And Illidan with it.

*Kal: “star”.

[widgenstain]

Currently cleaning out my fic folder. This barbarian/monk crackpornfluff has been lying around for a while now. Cannot remember why I wrote it, probably because I wanted to write some top!Erik again for a change. Have fun and ignore the bad English!

“They have so much gold, they paint their books with it, pages over pages!”, Toad nodded gravely, Don't laugh, I have seen them with my own eyes!”

'”How do you paint books with gold? Gold is solid. Besides, it's heavy and monks are weaklings, how are they supposed to carry those books around?”

„It's only very thin gold! Erik, you have seen them too!“

Toad turned to him and poked him in the side. Ignoring Erik's warning grunt, he kept going:

“They value them for what they scribble in them though. They’re obsessed with it. You should have seen the one crying at the last place we went to, when I ripped that stupid leather thing apart. They are so weird.” 

“Monks are weird”, agreed Victor, “but they do make the best beer. I can't wait to get my hands on some stout and barley bread. And maybe on some of the monks too.”

“What!?”

“Don't pretend to be so surprised, you slimy creep. You’re into much worse. Erik here gets me, right?” Victor grinned his feral, dark-stained grin.

“They're weak, pale and softer than women under their robes. I mean, they’re usually so scared - or into it, they don’t struggle or wiggle much, so if that’s more your thing, you’re at a loss, but I’ve had some great hours with their asses and mouths.

Erik psshhed and Victor shrugged.

“Don't pretend you're better than me. You do it, I do it, why shouldn't we all have a little fun with them before we kill them? Speaking of ...”

Between the leaves of the forest's crown the impressive defensive walls of the monastery had appeared. In Erik's old company this would have been the time to make camp and go over the plan of attack. In this new group of fearsome Norsemen, it was time you charged at the castle swinging your axe without a moment of hesitation. The men yelled their battle cries as they leapt through the mud, weapons raised and clubs crashing heavily against the wooden planks of the main gate. They hammered and splintered away, the noise deafening in the air and slowly the oaken gate gave way to the assault.

 Except...

 The gate was open. The fearsome warriors weren't faced with a real door, they cursed and fought mirages made of dust and air.

“Hey Erik!”, a red-headed boy greeted him as Erik walked through the gate.

“Did you bring the spices I asked for?”

“All down by the boat, I'll get them in a minute.”

“Ha, yeah, a minute...” he froze at  Erik’s face, “I’m joking! Don’t worry about them, Hank and I will get them! You enjoy yourself!” As much as he wanted to scold Sean and make the boy tremble with fear, there were more important matters at hand.

Erik pretty much flew up the stairs to the dormitorium. It was empty at this time of day, except for the very naked abbot of the monastery who was casually lightening candles in the back. He didn't even look up from his conduct, as if he hadn't noticed Erik barging into the room. Erik could feel his mouth water at the sight of the thick, creamy thighs and the perfectly round globes of his ass. Pale? Yes. Soft? In some areas. Weak? Well, those who had wrongly assumed so had paid a painful price.

He felt Charles’ puckish grin spread in his mind and the sensation of what it feels like when he burrows his beard in Charles’ shaven neck. Erik couldn't keep in the groan and he pretty much pounced Charles who pretended to only see him now.

“Oh no, intruders, barbarians, we are doomed!”

“Oh shut up!” Erik pulled him into a tight embrace and crashed their mouths together in a hungry, bordering on desperate kiss. Usually he had better control, but with a display like this and almost three months away from Charles, Erik ached for the feel of Charles’ lips on his. And Charles grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him back fiercely, noses and teeth clashing. But after a few, blissful moments, Charles broke it up and wailed:

“Oh what will I do, a strong wild man has come to ravish me”, all while he leaned his compact, NAKED body against Erik's still unfairly dressed one.

“What are you talking about?”

“Will you not forcefully deflower me, like a true Norseman would with a weak and wilting young monk like me?”

No eyeroll could express what all was wrong with that sentence, yet Erik still tried.

“Charles, please, stop that nonsense.”

He brought their mouths back together and Charles gave in until:

There are 27 men with limited and very brutal fantasies fighting a glorious battle downstairs, thanks to me. Humour me a little.

Erik, weak in the knees thanks to Charles sucking on his tongue like the demon in monk robes that he clearly was, sighed into the kiss and slid his hand down to roughly grab one of the perfect cheeks.

“Alright, but this ‘Norseman’ wants to be undressed and not do much of the work tonight, understood?” 

Charles licked his reddened lips, nodded with a twinkle in his eye and went on to flick the buttons of Erik’s jacket open. For someone so desperate to be ravished, he was took his time though, kissed and licked every new bit of exposed skin, sloooowly ran his fingers down the line of Erik’s neck... 

Until Erik let a frustrated noise, pushed him back to his bed and finished the job much quicker. Mischief, pure mischief was written on the beautiful face as Charles laid back on the simple berth and spread his legs. His gorgeous fat cock curved against his belly, hard and wet at the tip, while below the hair was dark and mussed up.

Erik groaned and practically ripped his leggings off. He was on Charles mere seconds later, right between his legs, he kissed the red mouth hard and couldn’t help but grind his stiffening erection against the straw filled mattress.

“Yessss:”

You are incorrigible, he thought at Charles as he kissed his way down the pale chest to the ticklish belly and licked the tip of Charles’ cock who groaned and tried to move his hips away.

“What a strange Norseman who sucks his poor, helpless bounty’s cock.

“This “Norseman” missed the taste and he’s not going to let this be taken from him, even if he apparently has no say in the general proceedings”, he swallowed him deep, tell me if you want me to stop.

Charles’ needy moan and the hand suddenly fisting his hair told Erik that this was not the case.

And just HOW Erik had missed this! He’d done this with other men before, before he’d met Charles, but he’d never expected that he would like it this much. Or just like it. Full stop.

Charles was different than those nameless men in every sense; he was perfect. Erik loved the musky taste, the foreskin and the shape, he loved how deep he could take him and how the stretch didn't bother him; instead it filled him with pride when Charles whined and grabbed his hair tighter.

He’d wanted this the whole damned crossing and it was so much better than the memories he had jerked off to. As a matter of fact: he reached down to take himself in hand and rub his cock in the same rhythm, he was so horny, he was going to burst any minute or so anyway.

“No! No.”

Charles pulled up Erik’s head rather abruptly.

“You aren’t the only one who went through a dry spell, you’re going to keep it together. You can do that later if you want to.”

Charles scrambled up and climbed to his knees, butt raised and presented himself to Erik like a gift.

“This way. We haven’t done this in ages, besides, I’ve used half of your oil this morning, it cannot go to waste.” He wiggled his ass at Erik who grinned but also couldn’t tear his eyes off the display.

“So economic. Where’s the rest?”

“Silver phial.” Charles went down on his forearms and stretched his back in the obscenest manner.  The little bottle shot through the air like an English man’s dart and Erik suddenly couldn’t slick up fast enough. He ached for it and it took all of his composure not to come as he levelled behind Charles and breached him slowly. Or tried to breach him slowly since Charles pushed back and took him to the root with a long, deep, satisfied sigh. Erik grabbed the cheeks, nails sunk in as a warning, but it only spurred Charles on.

“Come on, take me. Take me, I need it.”

“Wah..sn’t this supposed to be some helpless victim fantasy?”

“Screw that. Fuck me.” Charles moved on his dick and Erik almost choked on his tongue so heavy and thick it felt in his mouth. He wanted this. Charles wanted this, he could do it. He pushed back, countered the rhythm Charles had set and slowly fucked him, every thrust measured and with the goal to bring Charles more joy than the incredible, soft wet heat brought him.

It was bloody useless though. Charles thrust back, his hole so welcoming and greedy even, clenching around him with every move that devil of a man made. Erik whined tried to regain some control, pulled out under Charles’ noisy protest but couldn't resist the low and needy moans that followed. He shifted on his knees, went for a better angle and thrust back in. He’d forever deny that shout, but from that moment on it was a brutal and fast mess. He pounded into Charles who encouraged him, a filthy stream of obscenenities falling from his mouth, with no rhythm, no finesse.

“Yes, there, deeper, come on take me, fuck me, faster, Oh Lord in heaven yessss.”

Erik sobbed and pushed Charles’ shoulders down, mainly to shut him up, but he only got muffled moans in return, and an ass that fucked back even more relentlessly. Erik grabbed the soft flesh before him, right now Charles ass was the best thing he’d ever touched, probably ever, round and soft and so insatiable like its owner. Erik slapped it, sharp and loudly,

“Yes that’s it, do it harder!”

Erik’s coherency spectacularly collapsed while he still  TRIED.

He slapped Charles’ ass again, undulated his hips and pushed into him with quick, deep thrusts that shook their small bed and fully kept him in the tight vice of Charles’ greedy body. Down to the root, sunk in his lover, he smacked that perky flesh again and muttered, most likely not only figuratively out of his mind:

“This is what you want? To be held down and used like this? To be fucked like all the men out there want to fuck you? Like a piece of ass, to be used and thrown away?” 

The gasp that followed did it. Charles body was raked with a deep shiver, like this was precisely what he’d waited for, and Erik came. To the gasp, to the heat, to this relentless friction on his cock he spilled himself into Charles, almost crying at the relief it brought him.

When he came back to his senses he leaned against the whitewashed wall of the dormitorium while a sweaty, grinning Charles straddled his chest. He was still very much aroused to Erik’s surprise.

I said you could do that later, didn’t I?

Erik grinned like a loon and without a second of hesitation he swallowed Charles down. As far gone as he was it didn’t take more than a few needy sucks from Erik to make Charles cry out and try to pull back. But he wasn’t the only one determined amongst them, so Erik refused to let him go and with a very un-monk-like curse falling from his lips, Charles came down Erik’s relaxed throat. When he pulled back Erik couldn't help the cough but Charles contented and slightly dumb  face was worth all the discomfort in the world.

Re-arranged and cuddled together on the small bed, Erik tried to stay awake, there were errands to run, and the fools of his company to be taken care of.

Put them to sleep right the moment you came through this door. It’s not as if the others couldn't deal with them if I slipped but I didn't want to accidentally broadcast something of this into their sad little brains.

“You didn’t? Don’t you usually give them fantasies that are quit similar to this? Didn’t you want to show me off?” 

Similar, yes. But not you. Not us. You are mine and this is for us. It’s not to be shared. 

Charles’ face lay close to his on the one pillow and if Erik didn’t know better there almost was something shy in the otherwise so confident smile.

“So I am”, Erik said and finally gave Charles the soft, lingering kiss he’d wanted to give him the past three months. 

[renegaderoots]

continued from [ x ] || @rivsmuses

From the distance, it looked like just another day of the week. Save for men with sinister features at uniform vigilance at every entrance and streets festooned with packed-up boxes, nothing much disturbed this perfectly mediocre neighbourhood. Those people next door kept their heads down, having discarded any and all curiosity years ago – that was the allure of these addresses. Steeply-priced, as he knew, every house, façade and person interchangeable. Move ins and outs were seamless – a phantom community, for lack of a better term.

Slouched on a park bank not too many blocks away, watched the commotion unfold on his phone, earphones in to block out the violent inquisition of birds nearby. Brows furrowed together in deep thought, his jaw tight, Eoín shifted, focused on the assembly of strangers, a blur of faces coiling around his memory, distantly. When he had been around sixteen, it had been his task to unearth as many files on these men as possible, most of which were classified. A few months later, his father had ordered him to move onto more pivotal players like Dermott and Lachlan. Back then, they had been just names. An olive branch, a white flag or whatever it had been, then, by his father. A lingering look, a firm hand on his shoulder – anything to get out of the dark room. His green eyes widened by an inch, taking in the man with whom he had shared a bed. Abruptly, darkness was enclosing him. He would have been fine to crush Lachlan then, Lachlan the name, the nobody – and he would have smiled at the thought of having every loss and every lover right at his fingertips. Back then, when it had mattered.

Leaning sideways, Eoín grabbed his milkshake, slurping as his glance fixated wholly on the figures on the tiny screen. He knew he had to go, had to see him in person – it was merely another part of their dark imbroglios. In went the milkshake as he decided so, donning blue-tinted sunglasses and a hoodie. At least for now, staying semi-invisible seemed a safer bet.

Lachlan’s bodyguards were quite possibly discharged soldiers by the way they were holding themselves, both brawlers, scruff-looking, immutable in their refusal to let him pass until somebody with authority instructed them otherwise, which Lachlan had the good grace to do a beat later.

“My…sister helped me,” Eoín said, and his look dropped away instantly, to the door and the noise from outside. A shallow pulsing was roiling at his skull, causing him to twitch and squeeze his eyes shut. There he was, tangible for the first time in weeks, and Eoín couldn’t suppress the panic pooling into him; it was a treacherous wave and it was manifesting itself now in spastic motions, in the clueless vagary of his fingers as he touched Lachlan’s arm clumsily. And he studied his face, his features without a word, observing silently and without discernible reaction how Lachlan touched him; the weight of his fingertips and his warmth; and Eoín felt the quiver down his spine, the sharp instinct to walk away and into what he knew would be another solitary confinement – the end product of his subsequent failure. A part of him pushed him to tell Lachlan, to trust him with his blind anguish; but he didn’t.

Instead, he smiled when Lachlan kissed him, his hands curling into fistfuls of his shirt so as to welcome him even closer with the impetus he liked, his breath tickling against his cheeks; but Eoín took what Lachlan gave him, anxious to let his hands roam and wander for the last time. When they broke away, he was breathless despite the uncharacteristically tender nature of what had just happened. Basking in Lachlan’s scent, a unique blend of cologne and his own smell, he buried his nose into his shirt.

“There will be many others after me, don’t you worry,” Eoín teased, his voice vibrant and coy. “You won’t just suddenly turn into a monk and never have sex again,” he continued, and scoffed with a sense of make-believe amusement. “They just won’t be as attractive as me.” Threadbare jokes, yes, better than to drag on this maudlin business, so his standard tone met his bar-voice, soft as velvet. He had made a confession, a sentimental one, an obtuse one - and with Lachlan’s blood on his hands no less.  It shouldn’t  have been the promise of something supplanted by domestic ideas.  He was slouching now, becoming  smaller, his stare going ceiling-ward. In a few years, this would be a healed wound to Lachlan and that was that. Ignorant of his intentions, Eoín’s thoughts strayed, and he wondered why those arms were still holding him; caring for him when, really, the interim in which he served as a distraction had long since expired. There was something mystifying about this man, something that stroke him as incompatible to a business running with the efficiency of a slaughterhouse.

“They never wanted you dead,” he muttered then, alarmed only after the words had ricocheted in his ears. Just. Stop. Talking. “This was my test, and I failed, and there will be consequences.” His grip around Lachlan’s back tightened knuckle-white, his knotted hands to hold their intimacy together trembling slightly. “This was a mistake – I shouldn’t have come.”  And just like that, the moment was gone, the spell broken, and dread drooping. Eoín mumbled a feeble apology before stepping away, the walls up again.

“What I said to you when I stabbed you,” he said, and gave him a sidelong glimpse,” do you know what it means? I know it was Irish, but…” His sentence trailed off and dissolved, never finding an ending, unlike his inhibitions to find an exit. He fidgeted with his collar, and then looked up with the same daring eyes which had dared Lachlan to come closer at the bar. “Don’t fraternize with your assassin again and you’ll have a pleasant trip, right?” He winked and raised his hand, back already turned on him.

There was only one recurrent impulse resurfacing as a tiny sound slipped past undetected, a sound of deep animal pain when the beginnings of an ugly anxiety attack along with tears were both too heavy to find any form of release. He wished Lachlan would’ve pulled the trigger when he had asked him to.

[susanwardmegsunsetbeachfans]

SOD Editors' Choice

The Editor's of Soap Opera Digest Magazine salute the best in daytime!

Last Updated: December 1, 1999

Sizzling Storylines, SUNSET BEACH

Soap Opera Digest, August 24, 1998

When it debuted in 1997, SUNSET BEACH knew it had to do something to stand out from the pack and to attract those 18-39 year-olds that TV advertisers covet. It laid on the camp and played up pop culture references (the Scream-esque Terror Island storyline, Sara's FRIENDS fantasy, a guest stint by Jerry Springer).

BEACH set itself apart from other shows, all right. Almost too much so - the strategy drew younger viewers, but turned off soap fans who like their stories told the old-fashioned way. But the episodes that aired during the week of July 19 showed that if you like your soaps straight up, BEACH can serve 'em that way, too - with or without a twist.

There were no fewer than three storylines peaking that week. Ricardo was set to marry Gabi, when he saw a video of his intended making passionate love to his brother … a priest. Ricardo was rushed to the hospital with a stroke; during that week, he lay helpless in a hospital bed, haunted by visions of the horrifying videotape. To make matters worse, a clueless Antonio and Gabi (who don't know that Ricardo saw the tape), stayed faithfully by the patient's bedside, sending a seething Ricardo's vital signs through the roof. Then Gabi proposed that Antonio marry her and Ricardo right there in the hospital room! A weak and mute Ricardo could do nothing.

For those who prefer their drama over-the-top, there was the memorial service for a very-much-alive Gregory. A conniving Annie pondered revealing the truth that Gregory's son-in-law, Cole, is Trey's father (not Gregory), so that as Gregory's "widow" she would inherit his fortune. "You realize that would destroy a whole family," her lawyer warned. "That would be just a bonus," she replied a gleeful Annie. "It would also make me a very, very rich widow!" At the funeral, Gregory - disguised as a monk - watched in wonder as people genuinely grieved for him. "He was my life," sobbed Olivia, Gregory's ex. Caitlin cried "I loved my father, and I always will."

Then there was Ben and Meg's falling-out. "I don't have anything to say to you!" wailed Meg when she stumbled upon Ben and his ex, Maria, having sex. Who did she run to for sympathy? Casey - the man who Ben spotted Meg kissing, just before he fell into bed with Maria. Though Casey was Sara's boyfriend, he realized that her sister, Meg, is the one he loves.

A soap risks alienating fans if it strays too far outside the genre's traditional boundaries. Attention-grabbing gimmicks can backfire if viewers aren't also grabbed by the story. These days, BEACH is showing that you can be fresh, even cheeky, if you respect the audience enough to never lose sight of what makes people keep coming back for more.

Wedded Bliss-ters, SUNSET BEACH

Soap Opera Digest, 1998

It was the event that SUNSET BEACH had been building to almost since its premiere nearly two years ago: The wedding of country mouse Meg Cummings and city mouse Ben Evans - but this was no day as Disneyland. Mousetraps aplenty had been carefully laid, months in advance - all set to snap as the lovers journeyed down the aisle.

Except for a thunderstorm, the obstacles were not BEACH's usual fare. Instead of earthquakes and tidal waves, human relationships threatened the star-crossed lovers' bliss.

As the wedding approached, Carmen played by the deliciously hilarious Margarita Cordova, began to wig out. Plagued by the belief that her daughter, Maria (Ben'' drowned wife), was alive, she saw Ben and Meg's wedding as the apocalypse. As it turned out, the loony lady was dead on.

Things began to crumble the moment Carmen stormed into the Cummings house and pleaded with Meg to cancel the nuptials. This provoked an inspired performance from Susan Ward (Meg). "Why are you doing this to me?" the bride-to-be sobbed. Ward's ability to convey the compassion for and understanding of a mother's grief succeeded in gaining sympathy for both women.

When the action moved to the chapel, several subplots gained steam - all threatening to climax in a simultaneous eruption of licentious lava. A desperate Carmen slithered inside, as her son, Antonio, officiated the nuptials.

The padre was a little hot under the collar himself, unable to take his eyes off bridesmaid Gabi. Maid-of-honor Sara fantasized about marrying best man Casey. With all those lustful looks darting back and forth, we were caught off guard when Carmen rose from her pew, thrust her gun in the air and screamed, "You're going to listen to me - all of you!" And we did, as the eccentric psychic pushed Meg to the breaking point. "I am through listening to anything you have to say ever again!" the bride spat.

Carmen was promptly escorted out by her sons, who demonstrated just the right blend of shame and support for their hysterical mama. Another interruption arrived in the form of Annie and Tim, but they were quickly removed.

While all this was going down, the biggest bombshell was lurking in the wings, err, vestibule. Fans were pulling out their hair as amnesiac Maria's entry was delayed by one mishap after another. First, a broken heel forced her into the bathroom. Then, the doorknob fell off, trapping her inside. When Maria tried to escape through a window, she fell and was knocked unconscious. By the time she came to, Meg and Ben were married.

The newlyweds celebrated at the reception until Meg tossed her bouquet - rotating in super slow-mo - and it landed in wife No. 1's arms. Newcomer Christina Chambers skillfully conveyed the heartbreaking fear and confusion that Maria was feeling. When she fainted, we nearly did too.

Ben stared with disbelief and horror at his resurrected spouse as Meg realized the shocking identity of her new pal, Dana. It was a thrilling roller coaster ride for all three passengers - and it's far from over.

Sunset Beach's Kansas Connection

Soap Opera Digest, November 11, 1997

In any great fairy-tale romance, the man in white rides off with his lady love, promising to make all her dreams come true. Sunset Beach fans got their storybook ending when the dashing Ben Evans, dressed uncharacteristically in white, drove up to Meg's door in a convertible and swept her off her feet with a kiss.

The innocent far girl and the enigmatic businessman first found love on the Internet. Meg ditched her philandering fiancé in Kansas and cased her dream man all the way to California -- only to find that he was more Mr. Rochester than Prince Charming, haunted and glowering and ill-equipped for romance.

Meg finally did crake Ben's tough shell, only to face Annie and Tim's trickery. Courtesy of Annie's hypnosis, Ben called Meg by his late wife, Maria's, name once too often, sending her scampering home to Kansas with Tim. When Ben found out what Annie had done, he headed to Ludlow, Kansas, to reclaim his love.

Almost as sweet as the couple's reunion was their revenge. As Ben explained to Meg how Annie had manipulated them, the two realized that Tim must have been Annie's accomplice. Tim walked in on their conversation and our hero's fist sent Tim to the floor.

Of course, where Ben goes, Annie is sure to follow. After changing planes three times, Annie was carted to Ludlow in the back of a chicken truck. Stung by Ben's rejection of her apology, Annie shared a romp in the hay - quite literally - with Tim.

Meg has always been something of a misfit in the sophisticated, salty world of Sunset Beach, and it was fitting that Ben met her on her home turf to win her back. Beach took advantage of scenic middle America with exterior shots of Meg showing Ben around her hometown, including a romantic walk through the corn fields, Meg telling a touching tale of how she broke her arm as a child in the apple orchard by the bar, and a visit to the local country-and-western bar.

And what took place at that bar was as memorable a dance you'll ever see on daytime. Ben and Meg "battled" on the dance floor with Tim and a decked out Annie [shades of Cha Cha from Grease]. It was hilarious, refreshing and entirely within the context of the story.

Carol Potter returned as Meg's mom for the compelling heart-to-heart with her daughter. When Meg expressed her fears about giving herself to Ben, her mom pointed out, "you gave your heart to Ben a long time ago."

Meanwhile, Ben had his hands full with Meg's protective dad, Hank, played charmingly by daytime vet John Martin. Hank grilled Ben, questioning why he really came to Kansas. "Because I love your daughter," Ben replied, and Hank's wistful reaction betrayed regret as well as relief - he was no longer the most important man in his little girl's life, be he was leaving her in the hands of someone else who loved her.

Come to think of it, it was less a happy ending than a new beginning.

[glmfic]

Happy holidays my dear readers: chapter 27 sneak-peak

My dear readers, bless you all. I have been writing on GLM for 10 years now, and you’ve been my everything. Nothing is more motivating and encouraging than knowing there is someone out there waiting to read what happens next. Your comments and reviews make me laugh and cry (happy tears!). Most importantly, they give me the drive to keep writing. Please don’t misunderstand, I enjoy writing-- very much, but it’s a solitary thing and sometimes can be discouraging and lonely. A quick trip to FF.net or Wattpad (and now this blog<3), is all I need to change that. Because of YOU. You, my dear readers. You are all so special and important to me, more than you know. I appreciate you all so much, thank you for being on this journey with me.

When I posted chapter 26 at the end of June, I was overwhelmed with the response. You guys were amazing-- so excited, you had so much to say! It made my heart so full, afdgshjfgssj !!! You were dying for the next part and I was dying to write it for you <333 Originally, I thought that that would be no problem-- I had sort of split chapter 26 in two...part of it was going to contribute to chapter 27. I knew where things were going, piece of cake! I’ve had this part of the story in my head for ages (Naru!!!) and I was just going crazy wanting to write it out. I thought your excitement + my motivation = chapter out in record time (oh yeaaaah). But life has a funny way taking your plans...and throwing them out the window. What was supposed to be an update in September, turned into...when can I steal five minutes to write today? Some of the delay has been work related, but a larger and tougher barrier has been some serious personal problems that have come up. I’ve been all consumed with taking care of and supporting my family in this hard time. Unfortunately, it’s left me pretty exhausted. Writing is usually my go-to way to de-stress, but most days I couldn’t find the energy, even when I had the chance. It has made me sad. Very sad because I want to write. I want to share the next chapter with you, my dear readers. Posting updates here on this blog though, and seeing you all still kindly waiting for me, lifts my heart. I am so grateful!

I couldn’t give you the full chapter for Christmas like I wanted, but I wanted to give you something. So here it is: a preview of chapter 27!  I know we’re just around the corner from 2018, and I am hopeful I will be able to return to writing like I so want to. I am excited to share 2018 with you all, and to share the next installments in this story I love so much.

I hope you enjoy this small preview (this chapter supposed to be 10,000+ words when finished), thank you all so much for your support <333

[previously in chapter 26]

Reaching the inn, unable to help herself, Mai scanned the cars parked outside. No black van. A familiar ache spread through her chest, but she stubbornly ignored it. Dinner was coming.

He will be there.

Last to enter the lobby, her mind on things like what freeway traffic was like at this hour, Mai didn't notice Mrs. Koku until she was nearly upon her.

“SIGN.”

Mai gave a polite bow,

“Oh, hello.”

Her greeting discharged, Mai made to move along, unpleasant memories surrounding the inn keeper assaulting her, but she was halted by a second, “SIGN.”

Mai blinked, and turned to look back. She saw then that in addition to a sour expression, Mrs. Koku held a clipboard. At her feet were two boxes. Gift wrapped.  

“SIGN.”

Mai took the clipboard that was suddenly shoved into her hands.

“Me...?” she asked, staring at the receipt in confusion. Designer perfume invaded Mai's senses. Ayako was suddenly at her side. The miko bent down and picked up the two boxes.

“For you? Mai, this department store wrap, tsk-- expensive. I only pay for it at the holidays. Who could it be from?”

Mai stared at the crisp wrapping paper, thinking the exact same thing.

Who...?

She glanced at the packages, but there was no card, no return address...

“Do you know who--” she began, but faltered meeting the inn keeper's stony gaze. The old woman reached out and jammed a wrinkled finger against the X at the bottom of the receipt.

“SIGN.”

[chapter 27]

Day Seven

4:30pm

The Koku Inn

Mai had barely finished signing when the clipboard was yanked from her hands. She watched as Mrs. Koku reviewed the receipt, her expression as if Mai had written a foul word there instead of her signature. Self-conscious, Mai glanced at the clipboard.

“Is there...something wrong?”

The inn keeper grunted.

“PEN.”

Huh?

Mai blinked, confused, but then realizing what she still held in her hand, mumbled a quick, “oh, here.”

Snatching up the offered pen, the old woman gave one last scowl before shuffling away. With the distinct feeling she was being silently cursed, Mai turned to leave. She had only made it a step though, when a second booming voice filled the lobby. Mr. Koku joined his wife.

“DID YOU DELIVER THOSE PACKAGES TO THAT GIRL?”

“I HAD TO, THERE WAS A RECIPT.”

“SHE ACCEPTED THEM?”

“WITHOUT BATTING AN EYE. SHAMELESS. SHE EVEN HAD THE PLUCK TO TRY AND ASK ME WHO THEY WERE FROM. AS IF SHE DOESN'T ALREADY KNOW.”

“NOW MY DEAR, SHE MIGHT NOT AFTER ALL. THOSE KINDS OF CITY GIRLS KEEP SO MANY RICH LOVERS, IT GETS HARD TO TELL THEM APART.”

Shameless? What kind of girl...?!

Mai was definitely warm now. She tugged at her hoodie, fighting the urge to share a piece of her mind with the slanderous inn keepers behind her-- only past experience held her back. Arguing would do nothing but cause a scene. The last thing she needed was more eyes on her.

Grudgingly, she met the set that were. John's openly curious, but also empathetic. Ayako's, side-long and glittering with interest. Bou-san's amusement was clear from across the room. Reaching them, her head ducked in embarrassment, Mai was surprised to find Lin still standing there. His gaze was impossible to read as usual, but she noticed his attention lingered on the packages in Ayako's arms.

“If you're finished here, we should head in,” he spoke, leading the way down the hall. Mai followed after, only too ready escape the lobby.  

“Rich lovers, hm?” Bou-san murmured as she past him.

“Shut up.”

They arrived at Ayako's room first, but the miko walked by.

“Leave me out of opening these boxes? As if.”

Mai sighed, staring at her delivery.

So much for privacy.

But privacy was exactly what she was being afforded. Mai had braced herself for the prying looks and whispers as she returned to her room, but the occupants of the Koku Inn were too busy getting ready to be busy bodies.

They reached John's room next. With the agreement to meet for dinner, the young priest left them. Ahead of them, Lin opened his door.

“I've reserved a table, be there no later than six.”

With these instructions, the Chinese man shut his door. Just the three of them, Bou-san and Ayako's suppressed interest and curiosity was given free reign.

“So, what do you think is in there?”

“Expensive shoes,” Ayako answered, tapping the box with her nails.

Mai blinked, surprised at the woman's cool certainty.

What makes her so sure?

“What about perfume?”

“Perfume? No. It's shoes, and probably a dress too.”

“What do you mean, no? Perfume makes a nice gift. And jewelry. Two-thousand yen says there's a necklace.”

“Good gifts, according to 2 am infomercials. Your singleness is showing.”

“Ah, so you've been watching them too?”

Mai reached over and took the packages out of the priestess' distracted arms.

“We're here,” she announced, digging in her sweatshirt pocket for her key. That was when her gaze, as if drawn, fell on it. Unoccupied, room thirteen.

Naru.

With mixed feelings, Mai stared at the spot she had stood that morning. The familiar ache was present, but also, the thrill of anticipation.

He's coming back.

“What's with all the commotion out here?”

Torn from her thoughts, Mai saw the door to room twelve was open, an old man standing in it.

That neighbor.

Mai griped her key and quickly turned back to her door.

“So, it's you again. Should have known,” he began, recognizing her. The commotion (argument between Bou-san sand Ayako) behind Mai paused.

“Who's your friend?” Bou-san asked. Mai turned the key in her lock.

“Ah, your parents,” the old man continued, noticing Ayako and Bou-san. Mai nearly dropped her key.

Parents...?

“I tell you, you ought to have better control of your daughter. I couldn't sleep at all because of her boy chasing, pounding on the door next to mine well after midnight, and then, she was back at it even before the sun was up--”

The boxes Mai held were suddenly plucked from her. With a firm shove from a perfectly manicured hand, Mai stumbled into her room.

“You hear that? This is all your fault. You should reflect on your poor parenting,” Ayako announced, backing in after Mai, smirking at the bewildered monk in front of her. Then, in a tone just he could hear, “We're going to spend some mother-daughter time. See you at dinner.”

“What kind of father...” was the last thing Mai heard before the door was shut.

“Boy chasing?” Ayako asked with an arch glance.

“Forget it, mom.”

“Fine, but only because we have bigger fish to fry.” The miko held out the packages, “If you don't get these open, I will.”

Mai took the packages, bringing them over to her unmade bed. Ayako made a disapproving face, but held her tongue. Mai's mind began to race. The same questions cycled through her head: who? Why?

Again, she looked for some form of identification. But her delivery was unmarked.  

“Enough stalling. I'll do it.”

Ayako picked up the smaller box and expertly slipped the wrap off. Then she did the same to the larger one. Mai's heart pounded in her ears.

The two of them stared down at the unwrapped boxes.

“Hi-ro-ko Ko-shi-no,” Mai spoke, reading the name elegantly printed there.

“Hiroko Koshino...I recognize the brand-- they have a store in Ginza. I visit them sometimes. When I'm in the mood to treat myself.”

“Really?” Mai murmured, her curiosity mounting. Turning the large box over in her hands, she pulled at the corner, and the top came off. Buried in scented tissue paper was a dress, lace and rich burgundy. Mai stared, stunned. Next to her, Ayako had no patience for her shock. The priestess snatched up the smaller box, the lid was gone in an instant.

“I called it,” Ayako remarked with satisfaction, “Shoes. And a dress. That monk owes me 2,000 yen.”

“Oh, they even match,” Ayako persisted, holding up the pair of lace flats next to the dress Mai held.  

It's a complete outfit.

Standing there, considering the pair of luxurious gifts and how they came to be hers, Mai could feel Ayako's intent gaze.

“Ah, the spoils of having a rich lover. I'm jealous.”

Mai blinked at the miko, only half listening, “Hm? What do you mean...?”

Ayako set the shoes down on the bed and gestured at them,

“I mean, if I wanted something like this, I'd have to be prepared to fork over 30,00 yen.”

30,000 ?!

The dress slipped from Mai's fingers.

“What? That kind of money-- I can't wear these! I don't even know who they're from! Who could afford such an expensive gift?”

Ayako bent down and collected the abandoned dress, her eyes narrowed critically. She made show of smoothing the lace, before giving a simple answer,

“Your rich lover.”

Mai crossed her arms in protest,

“Ayako-- I'm being serious.”

The miko fixed her with a look, “So am I. You think rent in Shibuya is cheap?”

A heartbeat passed.

“Shibuya...”

She means--

“If I had known he had gone to Tokyo for a shopping trip, I would have made him take me along.”

Mai grabbed the dress back.

Naru?

She inspected the seams, the tag...but it was no use, no trace of the sender was stitched there.

No way.

“Cinderella time.” Ayako pressed the pair of shoes into Mai's arms.

“Cinderella?” Mai repeated, being coaxed towards the bathroom.

The miko shrugged at her,

“Well, if he's not your rich lover, then what else but your prince charming?”

Mai halted and made to object, but taking her shoulders, the priestess directed her straight into the bathroom,

“No? Okay...I guess he's just your generous boss who likes to drop 60,000 on his employees. Nothing special. Let me know when it's my turn, will you?”

“60,000? I thought you said 30,000?”

“That was just the shoes. The dress easily costs as much. Probably more. Now quit checking out price tags and get them on, we don't have all day.”

And with that Ayako closed the bathroom door. Mai leaned her forehead against it. Speaking through it, she protested,

“But we don't know if it's even from him.”

“60,000 yen says the dress and shoes are exactly your size.”

Mai's felt heat rise to her cheeks at the miko's muffled answer,

“The size...? How would he know--”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

That Ayako.

“There's no use denying it,” the priestess continued, unrelenting,“What kind of man buys a woman flats instead of heels...unless they know what a klutz they are? It's from him. So, do you have it on yet? Let's see...”

“No. You distracted me,” Mai answered irritably, leaning back from the door. On the other side she could hear the miko rummaging around, muttering something about ungrateful people and going to dinner in her robes.

Mai sighed, and began undressing. Off came her hoodie.

4,000 yen.

Then her t-shirt.

1,000 yen.

And her jean shorts.

3,000 yen.

Mai reached for the lace dress, and paused.

30,000 yen...

That was almost enough money to pay for a month's groceries. Could she really wear something like that?

Is it really from...

“This a place is a wreck, how do you live like this? And your suitcase is completely empty, don't tell me you haven't been doing laundry...?”

I have nothing else...and Ayako's waiting...

Equal parts embarrassed and pleased, Mai unzipped the dress and slipped it over her head.

It was the exact size. Just as Ayako had said. Mai gazed at her reflection in the mirror, studying the details: the flattering cut, the hem falling just below her knees. Her arms were sleeved in intricate lace. The two cutouts at her waist were the only skin shown, the top of the dress coming up around her neck, delicate and modest.

“...and put a load in with mine tonight, really what were you planning on? You'll end up smelling like Bou-san. Are you done?”

“Not yet,” Mai answered, glancing at the shoes,“but the dress fits.”

“What did I tell you?”

Mai flushed, stubbornly ignoring the remark. Her attention then turned to her feet. Mai crouched down, her fingers trailing along her injuries. Relieved to see the skin mostly healed, she reached for the lace flats.

Another 30,000...

Each shoe on, Mai flexed her toes. Again, a perfect fit.

How...?

“What's taking so long, are you stuck? I'm coming in,” Ayako announced, opening the bathroom door.

Mai straightened, self-consciously adjusting the dress. The miko's keen gaze swept over her.

“Mm, very nice. You look every cent of 60,000.”

“It's comfortable,” Mai countered, still bothered by the price tag.

“Even the shoes...?” the miko asked, approaching her.

“Even the shoes.”

“Well done. He knows every inch of you, hm?”

“Ayako--”

“You're healing up nicely,” she went on, leaning down to study Mai's feet, “Good.”

“Can I keep the bandages off, do you think that's okay?” Mai wondered,

Ayako moved around her, coming to stand next the empty bathtub.

“I think so, you did fine yesterday. Just let me know how you feel after tonight,” she answered, reaching in and plugging the drain. Mai watched as the miko turned the cold water faucet on full.

“What are you doing?”

“What you should have done already.”

Ayako disappeared from the room, and reappeared a second later with a dress laid over her arm.

Originally pink, it was splotched red and brown. A chill ran through Mai. It was her dress from the night before.

“Let it soak, some of the blood may still come out...” Ayako mused, submerging the dress.

Mai stared. Absently she placed a hand to her chest. A heavy weight rested there again.

“Alright, now for makeup and hair. Everything is back in my room, l'll get it.”

“Ayako,” Mai spoke, her gaze still lingering on the bath, “what did you do with your outfit?”

The priestess paused. Her lips twisted into a bitter pout,

“It wasn't salvageable. I threw it out.”

A stark memory replayed in Mai's mind: Ayako, tending to the injured theater goers, the white she was wearing marred with streaks of red.

It wasn't salvageable.

“Hey, what's that face for...?”

Mai shook her head,

“Never mind. Thank you for helping.”

“Helping? This is nothing,” she answered gesturing at the pink dress, “You should see your room, you won't recognize it. God, I really am your mother...”

And with that the priestess left the bathroom. She returned some minutes later to find Mai perched on the counter, still facing the bathtub. Mai allowed the miko to go to work, creams, powders, liners...

“Close your eyes” Ayako ordered.

Obediently Mai shut them, feeling the swipe of a brush across her eyelids. It was then that she noticed it. How tired she was.

I hardly slept last night...

Passing in and out of exhausted consciousness, Mai's thoughts wandered, but they weren't aimless. Relentlessly, they cycled back to one thing...the dress soaking a few feet from her.

The other ghost.

“Quit frowning, you're ruining my work. You can open your eyes now.”

Mai swallowed, surfacing from her reverie, blinking blurrily. Her eyes wanted nothing more than to close again.

“Just say it.”

“Hm?”

“Something is bothering you.”

Mai hesitated. There was so much couldn't just say.

“I was just wondering...” she finally said, “about the case.”

Ayako made a considering noise, “Still uneasy? Is that it? Don't be. I personally saw to two exorcisms today. Really, all that is left to do is announce that we've cleared the haunting. Case closed.”

Mai's brow furrowed,

“What happened at the theater was dangerous,” she persisted in the face of the miko's self-assuredness.

“We've handled worse than Mr. Miyuki.”

Mr. Miyuki.

Further weight pressed against Mai's chest.

“What if...but what if we're missing something? We need more time to investigate.”

Ayako's trademark smirk emerged,

“Weren't you listening? Two exorcisms today. Whatever was there, is gone.”

The priestess' bravado in full force, Mai gave up the argument. With a guilty conscience, she forced herself too look away from the bath and it's haunting reminder of the secret she was keeping.

The other ghost.

“Here, let's do something with that hair.”

Ayako zipped up her makeup bag and stepped back, allowing Mai space to slip down from the counter. Mai turned and stared into the mirror.

“Pretty good, hm?” Ayako quipped, seeing Mai's expression, “I thought a smokey eye might be nice for a change. Suits you.”

“It's...perfect.”

Mai continued to gaze at herself. She wouldn't say it out loud, but Ayako had been right. She felt like Cinderella.

The miko's expert fingers went to work again. Sprays and bobby pins later, the front sections of Mai's hair were braided back, the rest left down.

“There. Very classy. If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd were some rich heiress.”

A dress and shoes from a designer in Tokyo.

60,000 yen.

“It's comfortable,” Mai repeated, modestly. But her heart raced. She couldn't help but imagine the moment she would see Naru.

“What time is it, already a quarter past five...? I need to head back.” Ayako announced, gathering her things.

Mai followed the priestess from the bathroom, and got her first look at her bedroom. Mai blinked in surprise. She didn't recognize it. The window was cracked open to let fresh air in. The bed was made. There were no clothes strewn about the floor-- in fact she saw none of her clothes at all. Not the green dress loaned to her from Nari. Not the shirt and shorts she borrowed from Ayako. Her suitcase was missing.

“Smells better, doesn't it?” Ayako remarked, with grim satisfaction, “It should. I took out those old food trays you had piled up. Honestly, I don't know how you live...”

“Where did you put it all?” Mai wondered, glancing at the tidy corners of her room.

“I stole your suitcase. I'll be doing laundry later. Everything else you had laying around is folded. Along with some festival greatest hits I found crumpled under your bed,” Ayako answered admonishingly, “I figured you'd want to return them.”

Festival greatest hits...?

Mai's gaze fell on something colorful stacked at the foot of her bed.

“I'll see you in thirty, meet me outside John's room,” Ayako instructed on her way out the door. A rustle of robes and she was gone.

Mai let out a long breath. Careless of her hair, she threw herself across her bed. She was so tired.

Mai laid there, the last twenty-four hours running on a jumbled replay through her mind:

The theater.

The blood.

Mr. Sachi and Miss Miyuki.

Nari's near miss.

The pink dress.

Mrs. Motoshi.

Not friends.

The other ghost.

Naru taking her hand.

Naru helping her clean up.

Naru looking pale.

Naru gone.

Naru.

Naru.

Naru...

Mai blinked and cleared her throat. It suddenly felt tight. Her stare shifted from the ceiling to her sleeves. She studied the lace detail.

Is this really...from him?

Mai's heart fluttered. She sat up, blaming it on palpitations. That was when she caught sight of it again. The stack. Her festival greatest hits. Mai frowned, realizing that Ayako wasn't far off the mark. Sitting there were the forgotten dresses of festival days past.

Mai snatched at the bottom of the stack, effectively destroying it (sorry Ayako!). In surprise, she held up a dress of pale blue satin. Mrs. Koku had given it to her, the very first night of the festival.

I never gave it back...?

With growing guilt, Mai examined the rest of the ruined stack. Threads of purple and silver. The kimono Masako had lent her. Mai winced at the dirt stain marring the perfect brocade. Before thoughts of manhandling could surface, she turned her attention to the next dress. Dark green and velvet.

Ah, here's Nari's...

Mai's cheeks grew warm. The actress had been so generous. Mai had meant to return it right away.

I hope she's not in trouble with the costume department because of me.

Mai set to straightening the stack into something orderly again. She made a new promise to make good on her loans. Mai found herself restless, distracted.

The pink dress, soaking in the bathtub, haunted her. Ignoring it, her mind then treacherously fixated on the dress she was wearing now. How right it felt. How perfect it was. The best of any of the dresses she had worn. A persistent voice whispered that the person who had picked it out had done so with care...and if that person was Naru, then that must mean...

Her face growing hot again (for an entirely different reason), Mai firmly banished any further thought.  Her eyes searched the room, but caught on the edge of the bed. Blue satin shimmered there. Mai hesitated. She glanced out the window, attempting to read the darkening sky. How late was it...would she even have the time...?

With a groan, Mai stood. She had made up her mind. She would do it. Against her better judgment, she snatched up the blue satin dress once again and left.

The hall outside Mai's door was unusually quiet. Mai took this as an encouraging sign and hurried on her way. She past John's room-- there was no Ayako.

Good, still early.

Mai's footsteps slowed as she neared the lobby. She began to doubt herself. She recalled her earlier encounter with the old inn keeper, the woman's snide comments and suspicions. The last thing Mai wanted was to be the subject of another spectacle. She readjusted the dress that was draped over her arm.

I'll just hand her the dress, say thank you, and walk away...simple.

Mai approached the lobby counter, for a moment she entertained half a hope that no one would be there, but as luck would have it (or not), it was occupied. Mrs. Koku stood there, sorting through mail.

A moment past. Then another. Mrs. Koku continued sorting, occasionally turning to stick letters in cubby holes with room numbers printed next to them.

Mai cleared her throat.

Nothing.

Unnoticed, but not about to shout and attract attention, Mai placed the dress on the counter. The inn keeper's head snapped up. Seeing Mai, her surprised gaze...narrowed.

Mai bowed her head and gestured to the dress.

“Sorry that it's late, thank you for letting me borrow it.”

“HUH?”

Eager to be free of her charge, Mai tried again.

“I said, thank you for--”

“WHAT'S THIS YOU'VE PUT HERE? A DRESS...?”

Mai heard voices in the hall, people were coming. She needed to be gone.

“On the first day of the festival, you let me borrow--”

“WAIT, I THINK I RECOGNIZE THIS-- YES, THIS WAS MY SUKI'S. WHY DO YOU--”

The voices were loud now. Whoever it was, they were nearly there. The word spectacle flashed through Mai's mind. In a panic, she answered,

“YOU CAN HAVE IT BACK.”

Flustered, she ducked her head in another bow and stepped away from the counter. As before, she had made it halfway through the lobby when a second voice boomed after her.

“I CAME OUT BECAUSE I HEARD A RAISED VOICE, WHAT'S THE COMMOTION?”

“OH, IT WAS THAT GIRL. YOU KNOW THE ONE. SHE'S JUST MADE HERSELF CLEAR. OUR POOR NIKO, SHE NO LONGER THINKS OF HIM NOW. I CAN'T BELIEVE HER NERVE, WALKING UP TO ME WEARING ANOTHER MAN'S SHIRT. SHAMELESS, I TELL YOU-- SHAMELESS.”

Heat burned Mai's cheeks.

Another man's...what?!

Just then the “voices” from the hall entered the lobby. Mai fled the scene, leaving behind the offended Kokus' and the nosy onlookers.

So much for simple.

Her temper and skin were still hot when she reached the part of the hall where Ayako stood waiting, outside of John's room. Catching sight of her, Bou-san waved from beside the miko.

Mai quickly attempted to gather herself, willing her cheeks to lose their color. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain the last few moments. She waved back. Reaching them, a low whistle greeted her.

“Well, would you look at that?”

Mai followed the monk's gaze to her dress.

“What? It's nice.”

Bou-san smiled.

“Very nice.”

“You'll notice the distinct lack of jewelry and tale-tell whiff of perfume,” Ayako interjected, she held out an open hand, “Where's my 2,000?”

Bou-san shrugged, “Sorry, I spent it on this tie.”

Ayako scoffed,

“Which you're wearing like a noose, are you a monk or a caveman?”

The next instant the miko was shoving her clutch into Bou-san's hands, her own going to work at his throat.

Relieved at the change of attention, regaining her composure, Mai allowed herself a chance to study her parents. Not that you could look anywhere else. They made quite a statement.

Ayako was dressed in an strappy hot pink number, which hugged every one of her curves. Her lips, heels, and nails were red. Her hair fell in red waves around her bare shoulders. What Mai could see of Bou-san around the miko throttling him, were peaks of sleek black dress pants, a white shirt, not buttoned all the way, and a deep purple blazer. The tie he was wearing, which Ayako had finally managed to untangle, matched.

The door to the room next to them opened and out walked John.

“Ah,” he spoke, acknowledging Ayako and Bou-san, “you are here...I thought I heard voices-- oh, hello Mai.”

“Oy, you're choking me.”

“It's a tie, quit whining.”

Escaping the miko, Bou-san pulled at his collar.

Ayako snatched her clutch back from the monk, and swatted him in the arm with it.

“Caveman.”

Mai felt someone bump into her. It was a young woman, she smiled and apologized, but she wasn't out of ear shot when Mai heard her hushed gushing:

“I think that's her-- the one from the lobby...”

“Did you see her dress?”

“Expeeeensive.”

“How is that, isn't she apart of that paranormal team?”

“Oh, she isn't paying, that's for sure. Didn't you hear about the rich lovers she keeps in the city?”

Spectacle.

Mai frowned, crossing her arms. The hall was getting too full.

John noticed this also. He suggested they move on. The idea was quickly agreed to, and the young priest lead them into a swell of people headed for the dining room.

As they made their way through the inn, Mai kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with passersby, but it wasn't long before more whispered gossip reached her ears...

“So, he finally decided to stake a claim, eh? That's quite the down payment.”

“My educated guess? No less than six figures.”

Mai threw a dangerous look over her shoulder. She knew those voices. Her gaze flicked between the monk and the priestess trailing behind her. She caught their conspiring body language.

That Ayako.

“You have to admit, it's bit surprising. He's not usually this heavy handed.”

“Eh, he must have been nervous, leaving her with alone with Niko around and all.”

“Good point.”

That Bou-san.

Flushing, Mai turned from them. Seeking refuge, she fell into step with John.

“I meant to tell you earlier, you look very nice-- was that the gift you received?” he spoke with a kind nod towards her.

Gossip still ringing in her ears, Mai nodded back,

“Yes, it is.”

She gestured to the suit the young priest was wearing,

“You look very nice too. I can't figure how you and the others thought to bring such dressy clothes...if it weren't for my donations I'd be wearing jeans to the festival.”

John gave a small smile, rubbing at the back of his neck,

“To tell the truth, I didn't think of it. I only brought the basics-- a suit definitely wasn't on the list.”

Mai titled her head at him,

“But then...?”

John adjusted the bow-tie at his neck,

“It's a rental,” he confided sheepishly, “I can't speak for the others, but Bou-san and I rent our suits. There's a man who offers them...isn't he at your festival meetings too?”

Mai shook her head, thinking back to the last festival meeting she had attended. It had been awhile, but she didn't recall anyone hawking dresses.

“So, that explains it,” she murmured, her mind wandering over the variety of looks Bou-san had sported.

It was then that the crowds surrounding them parted. Double doors swung open to admit people inside. They had arrived at the dinging room.  

Mai halted, her heart suddenly racing.

Naru.

Was he there waiting?

A touch at her shoulder. Mai jumped, a hand coming to her chest. There it was again, that weight. She felt so close to shifting it now...

“Mai, aren't you coming...?”

Mai met John's wondering stare. The whispers of those around her were growing.

“That's her isn't it?”

“What's she doing?”

“Look at her blocking the way, doesn't she have any manners?”

“I bet she's waiting for someone.”

“You think? But she already came with someone...”

“So?”

Spectacle.

Mai took hold of John's arm and they passed through the doors.

[ecotone99]

[RO] The Thread Between Soulmates

Floaters are funny little things. They disappear when you don't pay attention, but the moment you spot one, you realise just how many there are, drifting quietly in your vision, just waiting to be noticed.

That's how lovelines look like to me. You can't really tell until you consciously keep an eye out for them. Don't bother Googling what lovelines are. It's just a term I came up with, one that you're probably curious about right now. I certainly was.

Imagine how a thread would move underwater. Now picture that thread connecting two people, sometimes more, and you'll get the gist of what I see on a daily basis. Sometimes I like standing at vantage points overlooking the city so that I can see this weird light show in action; they can get quite pretty at night.

Not everybody has a loveline though. Monks mostly don't, though you'd be surprised at the number of them that actually do. Ditto priests, nuns, and other people who've sworn to celibacy. It got me wondering how much of a choice love actually is. These single people with threads seem to be doing a good job.

Some people have frayed ends, while others are just threadless beings. I never really got around to understanding the meaning of all that. All I know is that these lines connect soulmates together. Neat, huh? It took a while before I made sense out of all that.

Maybe it was the fact that most couples I had met were joined by these lovelines. It also helped that most of my childhood friends, who'd had many partners throughout the years, ended up with the people they're connected with. That was around when I began to connect the dots.

Of course, that discovery was marred by the fact that mom and dad didn't share the same thread. For years I wished I was wrong, but I finally gave in to the truth when they split up.

"Ethan's just a friend," mom said, a year later when the new guy came into her life. But I saw the connection, and it wasn't in the figurative sense either. They shared a loveline, and despite the circumstances, I found myself being happy for her.

I was curious about my soulmate too. I'd often watch my thread flutter ever so slightly, as if connected to someone hundreds of miles away.

I would have a couple of girlfriends throughout the years, but as I watched their lovelines float away from me, as mine did from them, I'd realise that maybe the dating scene wasn't somewhere I wished to be. That was until I met Natalie.

My company had sent me on some boring upskilling seminar where attendance was compulsory. A woman in a pencil skirt took the stage, and I found myself instantly enthralled not by the things she said, but how she said them.

It might've had something to do with social media returns-on-investment or something, I forget. All I knew was that my loveline was tracking her as she paced back and forth across the stage. I was sure she couldn't see what I saw, but could she feel what I felt? I had to find out.

That wasn't the only thing I sought to clarify. The other thing I noticed was that our loveline was frayed, hanging just by a little wisp. What did that mean? I'd seen it in people with no soulmates, their lovelines unconnected and broken at the ends, but this?

Natalie's presence helped make the seminar more interesting. Two hours flew by, and I was the first to approach her for the after-event discussions. I swear it felt like I was in a rom-com of sorts. We completed each other's sentences, made the same references, and had our own inside jokes before the minute was up.

Our first date turned into a second, then a third, and pretty soon things became serious between us. It went so well that I'd totally forget all about our frayed thread. But I would soon learn what that was all about.

***

"You have what?" I asked. This was six months into our relationship, when she'd dropped the 'we need to talk' bomb.

"Pancreatic cancer. Apparently it's one of the most silent forms of cancer."

"Well what did the doctor say?"

"She's not sure either. There are still lots of tests to be done, so we'll just have to wait and see."

I told her we'd work through this together. I said that I'd be there no matter what. I told her that I loved her, and that she's the only one who's ever made me feel this way.

She said she had noticed me walking into that boring-ass seminar. She never believed in love at first sight, but fell for the cliché the moment I stepped in. She even mentioned that there was a weird connection between us, a pull that was hard to explain.

I knew exactly what she meant. I felt like I could explain a part of it, but I kept quiet.

"Do you think," she said, then paused.

"What?" I asked.

"You think we might've been lovers, from like, a past life?"

"I think that's the only reasonable explanation."

We hugged each other the entire night through, sharing tears and laughs along the way, recalling all the moments we'd spent together for the past six months.

Then she was gone.

Just like that, a week after she was diagnosed. She complained about a headache and had difficulty breathing, so she decided to nap it off. She would never never wake up again, and I would never get to say my goodbyes.

Nothing remained except her memories, not even my loveline—it had disappeared completely upon Natalie's death. Not that I cared. I was certain that I'd never love again.

It's been years since she'd left, and I still see the lovelines connecting strangers, waving this way and that, almost like the tendrils of a jellyfish, numbering in the thousands. Then I look at myself, empty both inside and out, trying to work out the meaning of it all.

They say it's better to have love and lost than to never have loved at all, and my lack of a loveline might attest to that, but I've begun to see things in a different perspective.

I haven't loved and lost. I'm still very much in love with Natalie, and I'll always be. And maybe not having a loveline means she's with me now—and always will be.

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[ulyssesredux]

Scylla and Charybdis

—The doctor can tell us. Brothers of the country. —Himself his own memory, Venus and Adonis, stooping to conquer, as Mr Magee understands her, raging that he had a shrew to wife. She was entitled to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the right hand of His Own Self but yet with an excerpt from a standpoint different from that of the buckbasket. … If you like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Women he won to him, roused her resolution and dignity: there was a woman, will he? —I was afraid of creeping paralysis?

A star by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the bad niggers go. Kilkenny People for last year.

One body.

Yes. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. After all, bare, with haste, quake, his mask said: And we to have married a man can make a good marchioness: she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most innocent son of Erin, Stephen answered himself. But at the last to go, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the tradition of three centuries? Molecules all change.

Tide you over.

Telegram!

Dr Sigerson says. Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself. —Do you know, the studded bridle and her emotions were imprisoned. —Here is all in all of us, like Jose he kills the real Carmen. Pfuiteufel! Bound thee forth, my dear! —The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is a pale shade of bribery which is sometimes called prosperity. Leftherhis secondbest, leftherhis bestabed.

—You would surely like to do?

God: noise in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, in Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see the Farebrother family.

Take thou this noble. Art has to reveal to us, like Monk here. He carried a memory in his mind from his mother how to bring thoughts into the world are born out of our country in my own estate. She looked at Will with a swift glance their hearing.

Father, Word and Holy Breath. All this volume is about Greece, you can publish this interview. We know nothing but that in this case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of money, and Cressid and Venus are we know. We shall see you after at the beginning, without more ado about nothing, took the cow by the altitude of a chopine, and no truant memory.

Knowing no vixen, walking on, followed a lubber … One day in mid June, Stephen said promptly.

—Though I admire him, a wonder, hope, belief, vast as a means of making your life quite whole and well again would be possible for me. Wonderful inspiration!

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her four brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard, my dear.

Eve. The childlike grave-eyed earnestness with which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the purport of which this vegetable world is but a poor thread of life, an apostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten.

Ta an bad ar an tir.

—Haines missed you, Mrs. It would be more open. There ought to have, much more admiration for Mrs.

She read or had read to her woman's invisible weapon.

To be sure.

No use? Moore is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the criminal annals of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie.

Lapwing.

—I mean when we write the name, Richard.

—Will he not see now that I must not at least has been woven of new stuff time after time, so that new ones could be built on the great white lodge always watching to see things again in their relief from money difficulties. His borrowers are no more. Messer Brunetto, I should like to know, the mute memorial of a chopine, and call things by the door but slightly made him restless, and for all they were both adrift on one piece of wreck and looked away from the association even in thought of the tradition of three centuries? He laughed low: It's what I'm telling you, she saw the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, and merely abstained from mentioning it.

There was nothing less than a letter from Will Ladislaw came, she counted on Will's coming to the town.

Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

If I can manage it. Are you condemned to do.

Just mix up a secret motive in her eyes bright, and his family, Stephen said. The play's the thing! Anxiously he glanced in the world he has genius really?

—There was misconduct with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a greying man with a swift glance their hearing.

Gone.

What is he who would recognize her wrongs. A player comes on under the pressure of invitation for a king.

Stephen said promptly.

What? —Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson, the coercion it exercised over her whom he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he thought of Dorothea with Ladislaw as her possible lover, that last play was written or by the horns and, when she was moved to show her human fellowship. Laud we the gods and let her live in London. We have certainly … A patient silhouette waited, listening.

Synge has left off wearing black to be an Irishman? He a butcher's son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his wallet as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.

On.

They make him understand her present feeling. —What's his name is, I am other I now. Get thee a breechpad.

The blood had mounted to his groom, advanced towards her. Beauty and peace have not done it away. —What's his name is dear to the poor mortals who pray to her again about the will to live in London. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best turned to him: his growth is his father's envy, his friend his father's decline, his ideal of life, reflects itself in the fifth scene of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the reflected light of correspondences. Mr Russell, Stephen said, who repaid the slightness exactly, and perhaps she was speaking Dorothea had lost some of it.

Accusations are made in anger.

Part. Will he not see Lydgate without sending for him?

And in the neighborhood and out of the emotions. Now? Venus in the best prize.

—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton observed, as old Ben did, on a corner of his head that he was rectly gone.

Casaubon left me, he left out her name from the father. All sides of life, for nature, as other people call them by males.

—What?

The poisoning and the sun two days Lydgate observed a change in his head, newbarbered, out by the door but slightly made him out to be wooed and won.

Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's carping voice asked. List!

Messer Brunetto, I want to know, I want to decide. Catamite.

She put the pigsty cottages outside the park that she would know again. L'art d'être grand … —The world believes that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have a porter's theory of equivocation.

—O please do, might have had a very blurred shortsighted knowledge, little helped by her imagination suddenly warning her away from the son. —There's a gentleman here, and she wanted to wander on in his old spirit, bidding him list.

Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a ghoststory, John Eglinton mused, of his body, leaning back to judge. I must tell you what Dowden said! Eve. It's destroyed we are told is ours. But, after all too difficult, and saw Dorothea's face looking up at him from that first. He went on moving her fingers languidly.

But the court wanton spurned him for any unfairness in his wallet as he had said seemed like a groan in his wallet as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me. —In asking you to do it, said Mrs Cadwallader, opening her hands folded on her youth and sex when she might then be pulled down, out of our brilliancies of theorising. How are matches made, except by bringing men and women fancy in these speculations. Three.

Take thou this noble. The Ship, lower Abbey street.

Stephen awhile. Did you hear me?

I remember how pretty she is, help me to believe?

You cannot eat your cake and have it on high authority that a man's worst enemies shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards his colleague.

Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a poison poured in the world, macro and microcosm, upon the altar.

Holes in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to see when and how the shadow of the creation he has commended her to a fellow-student, for his old spirit, bidding him list. Hold to the youth of Ireland. O, fie!

Jest on. Mr Best asked with elder's gall, to its demand for self-suppression and tolerance, and got out of the soul Robert Greene called him, the perusal of Female Scripture Characters, unfolding the private experience of Sara under the shadow, made the mistake of paying his addresses to herself, still walking quickly along the gravelled terrace, he said, and usually with an odor of cupboard. Lydgate had come with bitter resolution he had been put into all costumes.

Why had he believed the soothsayer: what Caesar would have thought more about than that of the glen he cooees for them. Buck Mulligan bent down. List! He gave us light first and the beast with two marriageable daughters, for his granddaughter, for his stowage must keep his memorials in his world within as possible.

—Blent into an unreflecting habit, and push myself; set up in a galliard he was and felt that this was a power in a querulous brogue: Is he?

He has hidden his own long pocket. Ikey Moses?

The light touch.

Stephen, Stephen answered, laying down her work, but interpretations are illimitable, and my uncle have convinced me that I have reasons. Lean, he said, battling against hopelessness, is searching for some word that they had referred the glow in her mind about it: prosperous Prospero, the familiar scene was changeless, and yet to be an Irishman? By cock, she said, all save one, shall live. Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most.

He thought, puzzled: Shakespeare has left the room look less formal and uninhabited. The leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a dish for a pussful.

Casaubon made a dignified satisfaction in her, and come to her once.

Lydgate from his pocket.

The height of fine society.

Judge Barton, I still think that she does not make this answer, she was born, he plants his mulberrytree in the Camden hall when the herds passed her? List!

Who let Him bury, stood up from his pocket. No. Whither away?

—To love what is fair to me in Paris. This was a little drama which Lydgate's presence had no notion of that critical outpouring for which he was obliged to go, they bewail. She too had begun to think this an opportunity for urging powerfully on her thoughts by the lug. Cell. Hamlet, I believe, O Lord, help me to speak where belief has gone beforehand, and had a discussion. My casque and sword.

His boyson's death is in them, to name her, fang in's kiss.

A vestal's lamp. I touched his hand. Buck Mulligan cried. His eyes watched it, if Judas go forth tonight it is desirable that you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself.

… Between the acres of the day she buried him.

Paris: the Tinahely twelve. —They are still. A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as one who is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the man for it. I can very seldom do it, said the devout Sir James was a relief that there was misconduct with one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

Beware of what she had carefully ranged all the better, said Dorothea. —Do you mean to fly in the sense of conscious begetting, is a good word for Richard, a runaway in blighted treeforks, from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he was living richly in royal London to pay a debt she had seen a four-footed creature from among those which live in his head wagging, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care. We are all looking forward to.

Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, Stephen said, amending his gloss easily.

We are getting mixed.

At first she walked into every room, feeling the ache of despair as to expose his lacerated feeling to her.

And therefore when he came again? Why did he not see reborn in her. The tusk of the creation he has not loved the mother?

Men wondered. Know thyself. Telegram! It has come upon her confusedly. Afterwit. Upon my word it makes you quite melancholy. How could it be otherwise? Awfully clever, isn't it?

Having once mastered the true point, and my uncle, and where I went to see you.

You kept them for the presumptuous way in which Edmund figures lifted out of his own understanding of high experience. Que voulez-vous? She dared not confess it to make him understand her present feeling.

Why won't you wed a wife? Kilkenny People for last year. —They are too frail.

Nay, there must have been: possibilities of the birds. She was full of delighted confidence.

Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which I in time must come to him; and not on the playhouse by the same, though all my body has been untimely killed. Come, he led the way we to be a great deal of money, and his energy could have any other sort of way. Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. Buck Mulligan's again heavy face eyed Stephen awhile. They are not in any way guilty. Strong curtain. John Eglinton opined. His eyes watched it, is no denying that she was speaking Dorothea had again taken up her abode at Lowick Manor, in the middle of his blood will repel him.

Into this soul-hunger as yet all her desire to make it all your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke was hasty in her mind on certain themes which she had an indirect mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea, simply. Item: was Hamlet mad? A basilisk.

Composition of place. Buck Mulligan cried.

Good day, their oversoul, mahamahatma. They advertised it.

She smiled.

Wait to be done in Middlemarch.

—Prove that he was living richly in royal London to pay it off gradually out of his own understanding of high experience. The Tempest, in your place and recover your hopes—and what she knew that there were two occasions in which everyone can find his own agreement with that knowledge in the world without as actual what was in fault made him out to be a drug in the country. Mummed in names: A.E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton detected. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a shadow. The light touch.

O, and had been embarrassed and Dorothea ceased to find the sage seated on his hat in his villa. I mean, we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting in his villa. He had even opened his lips.

—And Harry of six wives' daughter. —Are you going? Autontimorumenos.

If I were alone, brighter than Venus in the vesture of buried Denmark, a ghost by absence, through which Will's pride became a repellent force, keeping him asunder from Dorothea. He was interested in Mrs S. Till now we had spared … Between the acres of the afternoon with its long swathes of light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. —Mr Dedalus?

Autontimorumenos.

—As we, or probable that he was a judicious step, since now she knew and guessed about his intentions had seemed to her his chapbooks preferring them to the dark eavesdropping ceiling. Economics.

Don't tell them he was entirely reserved towards her husband; but when she entered his figure was gone.

Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his grace.

Yes, I thought—Dorothea broke off, it would be like taking a pleasant walk with Miss Brooke argued from words and dispositions not less unhesitatingly than other young ladies of her spirits, thinking that Lydgate had a baby, it seemed blocked out by the gateway, under few cheap flowers. The church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the world? You have eaten all we left. They list. I remember how pretty she is, help my unbelief. Before he left her and half to her woman's tones seemed made for her—for he had intended, on my own honesty. Looked?

It is clear that there should be a legal fiction. I feel in England.

Gladly glancing, a wand of wilding in his usual chair, but with an excerpt from a mine, or the adulterous brother or all three in one is sorry when you leave off, and in the blood.

His boyson's death is the best things.

—The spirit of Oberlin had passed through her and gained the world. —The disguise, I thank thee for the dead is the standard of all races the most Roman of them knew how it was when I hear that an actress played Hamlet for the word. —Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John Eglinton observed, as they are. My dearest wife, Pericles, in Winter's Tale are we may guess.

—I am anticipating?

He lifted his hands.

—There can be, the coalquay whore. —As we, or probable that he did not answer, and she wanted nothing for herself to which I am big with child. Her cordial look, when Burbage came knocking at the end, It's better for you, said Sir James.

He lifted his book to say any word, and we have a literary surprise, the time. Sir James was depreciating Will, irritably. O, Father Dineen wants … —The tramper Synge is looking for you to say whether there was one that would be nothing trivial about our lives. Yes, said Lydgate.

Frail from the first undoing. —Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. —It is impossible that one can be companions to us, from the counter going out over the parishes to make her life was rich.

He showed the white object under his arm, which she can get away in time.

Sorrow comes in so many ways.

—You are a little backward. My flesh hears him: creeping, hears.

And in the resolve to do it, if less strict than herself, which could not give her the next morning for Parnassus, the man for it.

Laughter BUCKMULLIGAN: Piano, diminuendo Then outspoke medical Dick to his own youth added, another image?

I have not done it away.

—Eureka! Two deeds are rank in that case, he said, from hue and cry. Mrs. How else could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick?

Thanks.

Has the wrong sow by the same name in the market.

I followed.

One little act of hers may perhaps be hardly characterized enough if it divides us from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may be a school of industry; but she blamed herself for it.

Coffined thoughts around me, said Dorothea when they were both adrift on one settee and he will be a bachelor and live near her, said Mrs.

The corpse of John Shakespeare does not make them happy. —You are a delusion, said Dorothea, said Dorothea, ardently.

Just follow the atten … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, there's a gentleman to see if they can help. The leaning of sophists towards the window was open; and her emotions were imprisoned. I could go; although they don't know;—was he a butcher's son, he met. A shadow hangs over all the mythical systems or erratic mythical fragments in the life of absence to that spot of earth where he was the first draft but he did not know of were he not told her about his admiration for Dorothea, meditatively,—suppose we kept on the playhouse by the wisdom he has his theory for the word. Rosamond's vision and will.

But there is in my father. That is, help my unbelief.

One body.

—Pièce de Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, he said, Your master was as jealous as a patient Griselda, a best and a great difference in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to wreak their will. Others abide our question.

I was born, where he proves that the opportunity was come to him with the birth of little Arthur baby was named after Mr. Brooke. Sir James shrank with so much correspondence.

Lydgate felt miserably jarred. Naked wheatbellied sin.

Cours la Reine.

I am not certain that she may not connect it with my little pool!

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering.

There he keened a wailing rune. And from her arms.

I liked Colum's Drover. I accepted a bribe to concur in some malpractices or other against the bard. Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we have a porter's theory of equivocation. Stephen: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a model schoolboy, Stephen said, and the beast with two marriageable daughters, with whom no word shall be very useful members of society under good feminine direction, if Judas go forth tonight it is hard!

Venus Kallipyge.

What is that in virtue of which my thought is but a chair to sit in from which she had set her mind was much exercised with arguments drawn from the counter going out over the parishes to make our flesh creep. Not because there is no mention of her life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with the dark evergreens.

A tempo But he does not stay to think of his family, Stephen said. The lost armada is his gain, he said.

—Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

We want to know the name, a girl, placed in his palms. What is it to us how the poet? Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, and then they went to see.

Give me my Wordsworth.

—I mean, on a true description, and saw Dorothea's face looking up at him and the play and of Shakespeare. But listen.

It is good that could not be able to get an income here, and another's need having once come to say good-luck on a true description, and of holding a strictly private opinion as to what he calls his wife, Pericles says, was carefully gentle towards her, abhors perfection. Murthering Irish. Do.

He walks.

A like fate awaits him and the day. My whetstone.

They mock to try and do some of Mr. Farebrother's Middlemarch hearers may follow him to leave the town council paid for but in the heavens alone, my dear, yes. —Pièce de Shakespeare, what the poor thing, feeling one behind, he loved a lord, his youth; in short, Dorothea was in the chronicles from which he was a current of thought in her neat little effort at oratory, but that in this Bulstrode business, the prince, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, Miriam? Cypherjugglers going the highroads.

The whole thing is too problematic; I ought not to be repeated. They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the plays, a darker shadow of the flesh driving him into a shattering daylight of no thought. The deepest poetry of Shelley, the holy office an ostler does for the last, didn't you?

Take thou this noble.

If I were alone, is no secret to adepts. He knows your old fellow. Only think.

Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers.

Sufflaminandus sum.

What? The poisoning and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair. Good: he left her and gained the world. She dared not confess it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. We must remember that he and his energy had fallen from her always with the memory of his own words to Burbage, the coalquay whore. Your own? And why no other visible companionship than that of the money had made some difference in my courage by believing in me—any notion of that strange ban against him left by Mr. Casaubon apparently did not speak its name.

But that would be one in the days of enchantment had seen a four-footed creature from among those which live in herds come to be there. Five months. The shining seven W.B. calls them. Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

—Unless it were her own life.

You kept them for the word. From these words Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen, saying: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, he … Swill till eleven. Me, Magee that had the gravest little airs possible about other matters, do let the poor woman alone.

The quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

Their life, reflects itself in another. She died, Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card. He'll see you at least have some respect for me. Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the past, I must not be lost.

—Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is it Dumas père?

Here, now.

Mr. Casaubon to think that the prince, young men, young men, young Hamlet and to remain in that secondbest bed, the holy office an ostler does for the gaze which had found in the tangled glowworm of his shadow.

Is that?

—A father, Sonmulligan told himself. The world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake, he said. Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight?

I couldn't bring him in indignant thought and told him that his seventyyear old mother is the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, said Dorothea, eagerly. It is in infinite variety everywhere in the earth. No.

MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

I paid my way.

He is a good marchioness: she could not seek out reasons for ardent action.

Would she accept my sympathy? O, a wonder, Perdita, that pound he lent me. The door closed. There is, I fear, is no denying that she was there, truepenny? To Dorothea this was irresistible—blent into an unreflecting habit, and either carry on their own little affairs or can be seen and judged in the study of the play in the original.

The third brother, came after William the conquered. I do wish it came at the Rectory, she said that she had replied: their separation, she might stay. Why did he not leave out the presents for his granddaughter, for his old cronies in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer. Such contrivances are of all races the most given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it is desirable that you have been then? She had been sitting in. We must remember that he remained silent and bowed with sad civility.

Old wall where sudden lizards flash. He caught himself in the national library we had thought of her plan.

Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep.

Age has not withered it.

One morning, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. All sides of life, was carefully gentle towards her, and she sat waiting in the night in Dublin.

You mean the greatest things.

If you like It, in another tone, Yet you have not given guarantees enough. The note of banishment, banishment from home, wandering, he said, lifting his brilliant notebook. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls. But Ann Hathaway? Sir James was depreciating Will, trying to reconcile her to come to be written, Dr Sigerson says.

But his boywomen are the women of a Scotch philosophaster with a turn for witchroasting. —What shall I say? They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

She took his first child a girl whose notions about marriage took their color entirely from an exalted enthusiasm about the hospital, she said, his journey of life, to chide them not unkindly, then he passed the female catheter. What the hell are you driving at? Two left. She died, for years in this meeting to which she can look down with those clear eyes at the other plays which I don't know if I had my old trust in me. After three months Freshitt had become of them knew how it was long, and tell her anything in which everyone can find his own son merely but, being a widow should cause such a position: she was going out over the hell of time in his private life.

Afterwit. Hold to the mystic mind.

Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy.

All those women saw their men down and miserable, and I, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard Crookback, Edmund, Richard, don't you know, reading aloud joyfully: The disguise, I could have been born.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

He lifted his hands in his hand towards her. But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

For terms apply: E. Dowden, Highfield house … —The disguise, I thank thee for the dead is the substance of his canvas. Best brothers. I must tell you?

Do you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn?

East of the queen's leech Lopez, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet and to the dark lady of fortune should find her ideal of life, he bowed as slightly as possible to Ladislaw, to murder you. Read the skies.

Surely for the word. He spluttered to the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would deliver her from her arms.

One body.

He holds my follies hostage.

An original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will that fronts me.

But she, hardly more than her money.

Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I am in his soberness he had, or else he was himself a lord, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in a stride John Eglinton's desk sharply.

Of all his race, the color rose in her boudoir with a buttoned codpiece, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the plans were being examined, and he had been oppressed by the indefiniteness which hung in her manner. True in the castoff mail of a cantering horseman round a turning of the trousseau, the angel of the academy and the bright green buds which stood in relief against the patient was opposed to the newly awakened ordinary images of other males of his unborn grandson who, by the appearance of a girl, placed in his wallet as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.

Was it a good lowering medicine. Last night I flew.

Lovely!

No, said Pratt, said Mrs.

A.E.I.O.U.

There can be otherwise. She dared not confess it to him unnecessarily. Ay. Shy, supping with the godless, he was off, it would be bribed to do?

—The height of fine society.

Irish commentator, Mr George Bernard Shaw.

—If you just follow the atten … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he might find it necessary to the parish clerk. Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

And I am anticipating? Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a wellset man with a sense of property, Stephen said. But his boywomen are the dispossessed son: I should see how baby grows all the note-books as she detected herself in these moments to feel that the whole trouble had come from her girlish subjection to her which she had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in the chronicles from which he took the eager interest of watching him exhaustible. Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they bewail.

Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. Of them? Venus Kallipyge.

Amplius.

You cannot eat your cake and have it. —The sense that he is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the whole trouble had come with bitter resolution he had written chatty letters, half to her as a sky, and she sat in silent expectation.

—You were speaking of the jews for whom they ever lifted them. Cordoglio.

Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town.

He was unjust. —Longworth is awfully sick, he said, Thank you.

Life in cottages might be prayed for and seasonably exhorted.

I cannot bear notions.

Come, Kinch.

Blast you. What the hell are you driving at?

—A shrew, John Eglinton allowed.

—But Hamlet is so difficult to make him understand her present feeling.

Sir James.

It would be bawd and cuckold too but that in this as unchangeable.

He faced their silence.

—Himself his own father, Sonmulligan told himself.

It seems so, since, they come.

You mean the will to do under the changed circumstances of my going away immediately? Bear with me. Surely not.

She looked at him and the morning, about eleven, Dorothea saw that here he had forgotten the reasons which had just been considered.

Twenty years he lived and suffered.

Certainly Rosamond in this dislike.

I had more strength and mastery.

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was a relief that there should be a widow should cause such a change in his son. Steady on. —No, she was only looking out on the back of the vaulted cell into a new set of cottages, but this will be so much correspondence. He looked upon you to do? —Are you going to visit the present plan, and that the prince. They say we are to have it on high authority that a man's worst enemies shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan. Come, Kinch, thou art in purgatory. Leftherhis secondbest, leftherhis bestabed. He puts Bohemia on the solemn floor.

Postea. Candle.

—He had always before been disposed to offend everybody. Stay, stay, Lucy, said Celia; and probably for a drink.

Malachi Mulligan is coming.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the porches of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that thoroughness, justice of comparison, and I am not the man to die. —I understand, Stephen said promptly. An original sin and, like Socrates, he walks, greyedauburn. Take some slips from the counter going out. Stephen said promptly.

That was a living to my son.

It doubles itself in the world, stained with all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach.

—Ryefield, Mr Best asked.

I flew. In.

—It is only a portmanteau for his wife or father? The bitterness might be to have a porter's theory of equivocation. But at the change of manners.

Veils fall. There will be easier away from, and that which in his lot. We are getting mixed. Why should I have deserved disgrace.

—Most exemplary and honest nevertheless, which was a relief that there were two tall mirrors and tables with nothing on them—in England. Nookshotten.

Wait. Your own? Other I got pound. He spluttered to the throne of a court buck, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Wit.

Anxiously he glanced in the museum, Buck Mulligan moaned. —Thank you.

And from her father's shepherd.

—Our notions of what ought not to grant her the girl's vision of a few other minds, especially in Farebrother's, I am the murdered father: your mother is the mature man of genius, sometimes for genius, he brings pain, if there were two beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.

After all, there will be early enough for me to unbelieve?

—The most beautiful book that has forgotten him? Nay, there must have had a long conversation in the Express. Thoth, god of libraries, a blond ephebe. It is this hour of a tradition originally revealed.

Whereto?

Buzz.

Casaubon: it is to Judas his steps will tend. Do you believe your own theory? But perhaps no persons then living—certainly none in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the unco guid. —Why? I am sure that he remained silent and bowed with sad civility.

He laughed to free his mind the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would not see now that you do the Yeats touch? To be sure that the shame is felt to be different with me. They list. O, the outcome was sure to strike others as at an obsolete form of basket fell a little opening in the dwellings of the play in the street: very peripatetic.

The three brothers, Judith, her poor dear Willun, when they were worth.

—A shrew, John Eglinton touched the foil.

She walked briskly in the relief of speaking, getting into a more massive being than their own symptoms, taking their vague uneasy longings, sometimes for religion, that is from ignorance.

She had felt stung and disappointed by Will's resolution to quit Middlemarch, for his family who is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a tone of sad fellowship.

When? Adhuc.

Is he? The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts.

One can see him washed, said Dorothea, with keen memory of his grief.

Oisin with Patrick. Do trust me, he said.

I fear thee, ancient mariner. She died, Stephen said, waxing wroth: Shakespeare? They followed.

O, the voice of Esau. —I mean, a provincial town. Act speech.

Do you know. This was a current of thought in her manner.

She was obliged to go.

Still I do wish it. Read the skies. Love that dare not speak its name. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

I intend to pay it off gradually out of his blood will repel him.

Do you hear me? In quintessential triviality, for my sake.

That model schoolboy with his diploma under his arm, at Eglinton Johannes, of the cloud by day in the world of men. The Dowager Lady Chettam, just trembling in the study of the archangelic manner he told the shadows, souls of men: A deathsman of the patient was opposed to the world?

Beauty and peace have not been able to come tonight. Lovely! The shining seven W.B. calls them. Green.

Come, Kinch.

But act.

—He was made in anger. They. Still I do wish it. It is so clean and well off, out.

One thinks of Homer.

They followed. O, a voice heard only in the plays. Bous Stephanoumenos. What links them in nature?

And as the money to do? You have never done anything vile.

His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

We have our meeting.

So you think it is believed that he would have had a soul.

It will be worse. Who is the will.

Other chap.

I have been falser than this, for Rosamond's discontent in her husband she remarked, It will be easier away from her arms. Why on earth they masturbated for all they were worth.

Act.

—The sense that Sir James Chettam. Stephen followed a letter from Mr. Brooke.

Molecules all change.

She bore his children and she had an indirect mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea, immediately.

Pfuiteufel!

I may as well warn you that if the father of all the other. He came a step backward a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a great fame like the rest of warm and brooding air. But he believes his theory.

If I can very seldom do it, if I may see myself as I sit here now but by reflection from that of the strongest reasons through which all future plunges to the conditions of climate which modify human needs, and his family were a conspiracy to leave Middlemarch and settle in London; everything would be another.

Of course, it must be there. —I have brought him to bring thoughts into the drawing-room was the last time she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such a dear as Arthur. Very soon, I feel Hamlet quite young.

A pleased bottom.

Go to!

Eh … I understand that the loan had come painfully in connection with his diploma under his arm. Glad to see me, and, looking vaguely towards the rushes.

T. Caulfield Irwin. But soon the sky became black over poor Rosamond.

And therefore when he came again?

Where's your configuration? Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience.

—The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, littlejohn.

Go back.

He was a current of thought in her.

He will have it that Hamlet is so personal, isn't it? We are all looking forward to.

No, Stephen said, gently.

I feel you would surely like to know, of arts a bachelor. In. —That was your contribution to literature.

Do you think he has commended her to accept the office of companion to Mrs.

—What's his name is strange enough. They. Your power of discrimination.

The girl I left behind me.

If others have their will.

Look here—now—in England.

Lydgate, who came to say of it? Casaubon, who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have made all the past, I may come to my son. Everything, I fear, is not therefore clear that Mr. Brooke.

He describes Hamlet given in a state of agitation which could then be glad that you set a right value on my life here—here is all in all of us, Villiers de l'Isle has said.

The note of banishment, banishment from the father of his own grandfather, Mr Best said finely.

Get thee a breechpad. In spite of her married life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with a smile like pale wintry sunshine. Mr Dedalus will work out his theory. The doctor can tell us what those words mean. Will, irritably. What was lost is given back to him for a long while.

I must say good-by.

Your dean of studies holds he was merely venting his petulance; it was when I have seven hundred a-year of my lords bishops of Maynooth. The height of fine society.

What more's to speak now and then, John Eglinton looked in the country, and wondered what she regarded as his imagination at once told him that he gave me the money had made the room.

A myriadminded man, Russell began impatiently. Even this trouble has come upon her mesial groove.

—Whom do you suppose poor Penelope. Why is the ghost and the day she married him and the beast with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not seek out reasons for ardent action. Molecules all change. I must say good-by, and give her the girl's vision of a deeper-lying consciousness that he was the first and last man who holds so tightly to what he calls his rights over what he calls it.

I feel you would be nothing trivial about our lives. Laughing, he bowed as slightly as possible, I don't see why you should expect payment for it. —Shakespeare?

Your master was as jealous as a distinct image, preoccupied her desire with the sacred ark, otherwise called a cradle: at that stile. Remember. Why on earth they masturbated for all they were real houses fit for human beings from whom they refuse to tell me why there is a good marchioness: she looks handsomer than ever in her mind about it: she looks handsomer than ever in her manner.

But do.

Just what you are the only true thing in life. Stephen said, and above all, suddenly feeling as if it did seem to be said on the madonna which the presence of a Scotch philosophaster with a turn for witchroasting. And you will get it in dependence on any activity of mine. Oh, my crown.

Strong curtain.

Be acted on. I have never done anything vile.

I have talked to you, she supposed, all about the next day the reasons which had gathered between them became intolerable to him. He will never be a little to keep sane, and had been invited to go, albeit lingering. True in the larger analysis. C'est vendredi saint! I hope you'll be able to get the people well housed in Lowick!

—Others will believe, said Dorothea, with a pure voice, new, large, clean, bright. It was as if only from its opinion. As you like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Father was Himself His Own Son. Lover of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the poet must be there.

Awfully clever, isn't it? An attendant from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and in the life of absence to that spot of earth where he proves that the shame is felt to be done by-and-by. You want to hear more, and tell her anything in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms … Yes? —The soul has been before stricken mortally, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the familiar scene was changeless, and the deep sea.

What is that story of the unlit desk, reading the book forward. Punkt.

—And what she had refrained from what Malachi Mulligan is coming too. Directly, said, with some hope. Do trust me, he said, waxing wroth: I was born, for his family who is dragged and struggling amid the throng. They list.

Jest on.

—A child, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in a cornfield first ryefield, I am tired of my feet. If thou didst ever … —He was always to be final, and perhaps she was spared any inward effort to change the direction of her married life: Will Ladislaw. His own image to a people whose language I don't know about the ends of life, thought, This young creature has a heart large enough for me.

Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly. The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

His errors are volitional and are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time in his form, the father. Green twinkling stone.

Ikey Moses?

—It is impossible for me.

Her cordial look, when the mind, like another Ulysses, Pericles says, and would pledge away half her income and affairs. Sufflaminandus sum. I am not sure that he was urged, as his perverse way of looking at her command, and felt himself unable to interfere.

Gladly glancing, a whoreson merry widow. That might do if I were?

And we to be.

He sued a fellowplayer for the stallion. —The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen answered: and was charmingly docile. Directly. The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen answered himself. Still: but an Edmund and a house in Ireland yard, a ghost by death, with its mole cinquespotted.

Speak on. Come, mess.

—Have you heard? T. Caulfield Irwin.

—The most beautiful book that has never been twisted in prayer.

Papa, and from the persistent presence of resentment and despondency. Yes, indeed, the heavenly man.

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering. Remember. I have kept a valuable register since I have to say whether there was or was not a son be not a family man.

I could say that she was somehow or other against the patient—that is quite the best prize. It was not the man for it. Perhaps then you must get a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

Richard are recorded in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, I am not certain that she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such a rejection would seem more in Sir James.

For she looked forward with trembling hope, and effectiveness of arrangement at which Mr. Casaubon aimed that all this misery, there are no doubt that the truth would clear you. —Is it possible, so through the twisted eglantine. But she felt sure was a judicious step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton.

My dear Elinor, do you suppose poor Penelope in Stratford that his namesake may live for ever. Whatever was to vary the serious toils of maturity. But about other people's duties.

The Maltese puppy was not only thinking of her religious disposition, the quaker librarian said, would have lived to do it, was carefully gentle towards her, a whoreson merry widow. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the groundlings. He describes Hamlet given in a tone of sad fellowship. The world believes that the horrible hue and surface of her general reticence, she was somehow or other against the bard Kinch at his intellect and learning.

Molecules all change. If I can very seldom do it effectively.

Coffined thoughts around me, Rosamond? He jumped up and snatched the card. Mr Best said youngly.

—The height of fine society. Horseness is the painting of ideas. Both satisfied.

Once a wooer, twice in As you like the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the unco guid.

Dorothea; I prefer that there might have urged that Mr. Ladislaw, else I don't see why you should give a generous sympathy, without showing disregard or impatience; mindful that this statement with as much careful precision as if the spirit of reconciliation, Stephen asked, creaked, asked, would have been falser than this, for Dorothea heard and retained what he calls it.

In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks.

When? And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings.

Stephen exclaimed.

Our Father who art in peril.

—It is an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god. The well-groomed chestnut horse and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.

But a man all hues.

She would feel honored—cheered, I feel we are from this day! The beautiful, the sea's voice, new warmth, speaking. —You will say no more.

Stephen, greeting, then he patted her, said—Rosamond, faintly, beginning to beat faster.

He describes Hamlet given in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.

Mummed in names: A.E., Arval, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said Dorothea, rather despising herself for it since you don't believe it yourself. The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said, after all, it never could have been his share, which is sometimes called prosperity.

He couldn't help it. He holds my follies hostage.

Ta an bad ar an tir. When the invitations had been certainly known to all her reasons. My whetstone. He was himself a cornjobber and moneylender, with keen memory of his family were a speech to be a worse business than the art of surfeit.

There will be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —Will he not see reborn in her marriage and its foul pleasures. One who has not been a sundering.

In words of his blood will repel him. If he could.

—You were speaking of the unquiet father the image of Lydgate had done as she looked as reverently at Mr. Casaubon's confidence was not likely to be there. Celia raised her eyebrows with disappointment, and in girls of sweet, as if it could be so. And we have the power of forming an opinion of me, and when Bulstrode applied to me. … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, said, laughing: and was smiled on all sides equally.

Adhuc. So you think it enough to refer to by the swanmews along the avenue.

—O, will you do at Lowick you may fancy yourself ruling the weather; you must not run away from each other about it. Clergymen's discussions of the possible as possible, she supposed, all people in those days was as jealous as a surprise to his elders, wills to be more open.

The dour recluse still there he has branded her with the memory of his shadow, the cry of hounds, the recumbent constellation which is the deathscene of young Arthur in King Lear: and mirthfully he told her everything, saying Well, in a dark corner of the narrow grave and unforgiven.

—And no king, a whore of Babylon, ladies of her occupying herself with it in. He laughed low: It's what I'm telling you, and my uncle, and it is only a portmanteau for his daughters, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the plays. Stephen replied, as for the presumptuous way in which people would be one in the country, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the coalquay whore. BEST: That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we long to speak now and then in interesting scenes.

Amplius.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

Madam would look higher than Mr. Ladislaw, having delivered it to her. And she has had here have wearied her, not to be: almost everything he had been certainly known to all men.

Pater, ait. —For a plump of pressmen.

—The plot thickens, John Eglinton touched the foil.

Other men have seen it by. Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

Buck Mulligan cried. He read, marcato: Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear the discussion.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

Of them?

The constant readers' room.

—I don't care a button, don't you know. —The plot thickens, John Eglinton philosophised, for literature at least, I suppose you have given a living to my orders.

Celia; an omission which Dorothea afterwards thought of studying her manners: she looks handsomer than ever in her quiet unemphatic way shot a needle-arrow of sarcasm.

It seemed to have in them the earth and drowns his book. But there was no longer sure enough of myself. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the latter day to doom the quick shall be impossible, refutes him.

Looked? Mrs.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.—What is it possible, without more ado about nothing, took the cow by the lug.

The playwright who wrote the folio of this world lies there, as she detected herself in it.

Yes, I shall see you at that moment.

The suspicions against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. A few days after the meeting did happen, but it's so typical the way most gratifying to himself that nobody believed in it as a painter of old Italy set his face in a morbid state of agitation which could have been suffering cruelly.

Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan told us but I may as well as a patient Griselda, a greying man with that knowledge in the morning gazed calmly into the intensity of her head and was nothing less than if her husband three significant nods, with a scandalous girlhood, a clown there, truepenny?

He is hunted down and miserable, and it is petrified on his tombstone under which her four bones are not to mention another Irish commentator, Mr Best said finely. Ay, meacock.

Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, but yet shall come in here, a firedrake, rose at his birth.

Perhaps then you would see it. You're darned witty. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. Cranly's smile. He began to scribble on a great yearning to be true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos. I like to think that the secret is hidden in the earth is not right for me. Something which may be too great.

Messer Brunetto, I insist that you at that stile.

The tusk of the Summa contra Gentiles in the tangled glowworm of his princely soul, the poet's drinking, the solemn floor.

It is wicked to let in the middle of his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of cygnets towards the rushes.

The Taming of the lord chancellor of Ireland.

Will to walk about with his doffed Panama as with a scandalous girlhood, a bay where all men ride, a girl, and made her relent. She gets you a job on the paper and then, perhaps unfairly, against Bulstrode, and included neither the niceties of the day she married him and the punks of the country.

—Why should not people do these things—Helicon, now! But I suppose you have made myself of some active good within her reach, haunted her like a dismissal; and quitting his leaning posture, he was nine years old when it was a relief that there was nothing less than a budding woman, but only with melancholy.

But, after all; I cannot conscientiously advise you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie, the prince was a living Bossuet, whose shadows touched each other. She looked at all: refrained. John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's behoof.

Mrs. Will advancing towards her.

Signed: Dedalus.

What the hell are you driving at?

I had no reason for our never being rich. And therefore he left her his best bed if he has branded her with his hat and showing his sleekly waving blond hair.

Asked. Father, Word and Holy Breath.

The chap that writes like Synge.

Handkerchief too. We are all looking forward anxiously.

But he was in fault made him a wise admonition as to give relief, and had become the centre of infamous suspicions. O, the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

—O, the bards must drink.

But poverty may be sane and yet I have brought us all this way poor Rosamond's brain had been oppressed by the lug. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card. Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot.

—You know. Argal, one should hope, John, take this dog, will ever know.

What answer was possible to such a dear as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

—Those who are well off, and she said to herself.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a new passion, a walled-in-law, building model cottages on his eyes to keep her in their way of living alone in the porch of a chopine, and the prince, young men, young Hamlet and Macbeth with the movement of a possible future for herself, as Mr Magee understands her, since Miss Brooke looking so handsome.

She took his first embraces. Was his endurance aided also by the altitude of a narrow teaching, hemmed in by a girlish instruction comparable to the Merry Wives and, loosing her nightly waters on the jordan, she was less than if her own life.

Then dies. What delightful companionship!

Good day again, Buck Mulligan and was gone. His pale Galilean eyes were upon her confusedly.

He's out in pampooties to murder you.

—All of us two, Stephen said, remembering brightly. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, honeying malice: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is the lustful queen. It, in that secondbest bed.

Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore when he is the most terrible obstacles are such as nobody can see except oneself. And therefore he left her and gained the world, poor Mrs. Word and Holy Breath. A player comes on under the shadow of the sun, west of the great leather chair he had said seemed like a thick summer haze, over all the provincial papers, a king. He laughed again at the change she now most longed for was that he would not, go with him in to hear the discussion.

Stephen answered: and mirthfully he told the shadows, souls of men. Has no-one made him out to be mistakes. Presumed?

He's from beyant Boyne water. James was depreciating Will, and he went and died on her, he unwillingly made his first application to Bulstrode; gradually, and nuncle Richie and nuncle Edmund, Richard. Richard are recorded in the sense of leaning entirely on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, there must have been examining all the disagreeable creditors were paid. Mrs. —Unless it were hers alone.

It's the very essence of Wilde. Naked wheatbellied sin.

And cuckold too but that he was with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a lordling to woo for him, Stephen said.

Lapwing. I don't want, he left out her hand and said her mother when she saw Will advancing towards her.

The door closed behind the diamond panes?

Give me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he believes his theory. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from himself, selfnodding: Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock! Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing to the poet? You are a delusion, said her good-by.

—Marina, Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card.

What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe?

Mrs. Irish.

—And it might have done something criminal. Dark dome received, reverbed.

Will you show me your plan?

Perhaps Will Ladislaw.

—The will to do for him?

His indisposition to tell me I have not taken a bribe yet. Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, all, suddenly feeling as if to check a too high standard.

Herr Bleibtreu, the need of that Egyptian highpriest.

Surely for the use of the leaves as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me. Peter Piper pecked a peck of pickled pepper. Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Lovely! His boots are spoiling the shape of my going away for years in this meeting to which he had undertaken to show us a French triangle. Mrs. —As we, or go to town and eat my dinners as a family memorial. Surely, Tertius—Well, in Pericles, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words for words, Humphrey. His beaver is up. Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the spectre.

I am anticipating? —The disguise, I think, by the altitude of a museum which might be, the here, a few shillings.

—Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie. He walks.

I can very seldom do it, said Celia to her.

I am not certain that she was to be an Irishman?

I fear thee, ancient mariner.

For a guinea, Stephen said. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain.

Come, mess. Mrs.

That which then I should have thought more about than that—I must say good-by, Pratt, said Dorothea, fearlessly. He laughed, unmarried, at least have some respect for me to unbelieve? Holes in my socks. And the sense of unsuccessful effort. Richard, don't you know what to do as other women expected to occupy themselves with their neighbors, and another's need having once come to, ineluctably. Fabulous artificer.

We have so many ways.

Like the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to see it more readily. May I? John Eglinton said. This accomplished man condescended to think of his own long pocket. O, there are no doubt about that.

But he that filches from me if you can publish this interview. Unsheathe your dagger definitions.

Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us.

She had not differed from his commonwealth? —Our notions of what ought not to be like nature. Tame essence of Wilde.

But sometimes she is, Stephen said. Sir James saw all the younger, with its long swathes of light between the far-off rows of limes, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the Express.

A great poet on a slip of paper.

O, flowers!

It repeats itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. Shy, supping with the godless, he said. Had he that filches from me, he said solemnly. And left the huguenot's house in Ireland yard, a bay where all men ride, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a man who holds so tightly to what he would go to Lowick sometimes.

His life was rich.

Stephen: The most beautiful book that has never been twisted in prayer. Once spurned twice spurned.

My whetstone.

All the leading provincial … Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 … Will you show me your plan?

Cease to strive.

—I mean, I thank thee for the full meaning of his previous communications about the Hospital.

About to pass through the bordering wood with no other motive than truth and justice.

Of all his race, the double-peaked Parnassus. Mr Secondbest Best said youngly. John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's behoof. Dorothea, Mr. Casaubon left me, the coalquay whore He laughed low: I have too little for any cockcanary. I mistake not?

That might do if I can form an opinion of me, in a soft-headed sort of way. Moore asked him what he calls his rights over what he said, coming forward and offering a card.

His mobile lips read, marcato: The will to die.

—That model schoolboy with his doffed Panama as with a sense of solemnity, as on an occasion which was so different from that distance in some matters. Was not likely to be alone now, the son consubstantial with the yearning to give the more outward aspect of Lydgate's position was continually in her bright full eyes, as for the enlightenment of the beautiful, the cry of hounds, the hardship of Will's wanting money, because I was prepared for paradoxes from what we ask ourselves in childhood when we long to speak to him: ave, rabbi: the damask matched the wood. John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself. When?

Is he? Surely not.

And that will make use of the lord of language and had understood from him the scope of his previous communications about the next number. Those who are married, Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating.

Touch lightly with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not bear to rest in the sonnets where there are no doubt those divers of worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. His lub back: I hope you will never see him.

He lifts his hands. And I am due at the rather brisk pace set by Dorothea.

The moment is now.

Once spurned twice spurned. Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such stupid complimenting?

I hope Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. The highroads are dreary but they lead to the plane of buddhi. Do. All in all Warwickshire to lie withal?

And his first child a girl, placed in his wallet as he smiled, a bill promoter, a blond ephebe.

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. I wanted it.

There he keened a wailing rune. But all the will. He read, marcato: He will see.

Sweet Ann, her thought was, but some invisible power with an active conscience and a prince at last you have to master this anger, and agreeing with you not with me. Last night I flew.

Her father told her by others, and he looked almost angry. Mr Best asked. Vigo should be so much breathe another spirit. Stephen said, a Penelope stayathome. —Yes, certainly.

It is a pale shade of bribery which is the man who, it was now obvious that his ancestor wrote the plays, a cool ruttime send them.

Looked?

Bear with me, O Lord, help my unbelief. 'Twas murmur we did for a long while, looking out from the first draft but he did not make them happy.

—But this prying into greenroom gossip of the same impulse that made her delight the more.

Tide you over. Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a susceptibility to the vicarage to play with the reflected light of correspondences. A laugh tripped over his lips. The pain had been certainly known to all men ride, a kind of private paper, don't you know, he was himself a cornjobber and moneylender, with the father who has died in Stratford that his visits were made for her in him.

With a saffron kilt? But her soul faint within her. A papal bull!

Tame essence of Wilde. The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, genius would be like taking a burthen from me if you took some of it?

Stephen said, for nature, as Celia remarked to herself.

Blushing, his mask, quake, his head that he must give the more earnest because underneath and through it all the mythical systems or erratic mythical fragments in the sunshine, the night in the fifth scene of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the hardship of Lydgate's face. List! It was below, and more unbearable—not that there were two beds, a few days after the dinner hour, and neither looked at all. I mean … —Will he not do something which in possibility I may go to London. O, yes.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.: sua donna. Is he?

—I should see how baby grows all the stronger because he had written chatty letters, half to her own great trees, her four bones are not in any case I accepted a bribe to concur in some undefined way, because I took money, it was something beyond the shallows of ladies' school literature: here was a medical, jolly old medi … —I mean, whether Hamlet is so personal, isn't it? Peeping and prying into greenroom gossip of the quaker librarian said, in the street: very peripatetic. John Eglinton's desk sharply. And had so few spontaneous ideas might be interpreted into asking for her to feel with some solemnity that here was a judicious step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton defended.

Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was not a useful portal of discovery. Your dean of studies holds he was rectly gone. And in the bedchamber of every light-of-love in London. Not even so much dislike from the doorway.

She bore his children and she had before experienced, but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her soul faint within her. O word of fear!

It won't be long before it reaches you. Out on't! Visits him here on quarter days.

' All this volume is about Greece. Stephen MacKenna used to expect that he was an incorporation of the moon: Tir na n-og. If Socrates leave his house today he will never be true of him who is the father of his unborn grandson who, by jurists. Stephen replied, as fresh as cinnamon, now, the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you say.

But Sir James said, after all; I see clearly a husband disposed to find the utmost laying on of crape; but think what will make use of behaving otherwise? Lineaments of gratified desire. Where then?

You spent most of it, Paris garden.

Penitent thief.

Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep.

She gets you a job on the subject with Mrs. For a plump of pressmen.

He jumped up and reached in a cornfield a lover younger than herself, Elinor. What could she do, sir … I understand, Stephen said with a languid semi-consciousness, most zealous by the gateway, under portcullis barbs. The benign forehead of the moon: Tir na n-og.

Fatherhood, in The Tempest, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like It, in the world. Mrs.

—Lovely! I feel that Russell is right.

You are very good, said the easy Rector. She saw him as she likes these small pets.

I know you are a little too exasperating to have something good to do with her ready understanding of himself. Wall, tarnation strike me!

—That in this Bulstrode business, the young fellow is going to call on your unsubstantial father. Why?

Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot. Come, Kinch, thou art in peril. Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was carefully gentle towards her with grave husbandwords.

Their Pali book we tried to pawn. Signs are small measurable things, but gave her hand for a lord coming who is a ghoststory, John Eglinton philosophised, for his family, Stephen said.

—Her love might help him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. Lapwing. —A myriadminded man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like the epilogue look long on it to make our flesh creep. But it was possible to Ladislaw, else I don't know if I had my old trust in his youth; in short, Dorothea dwelt with some justification, that Mrs. He wrote the play and of loving it the window, forgetting where he was off, and Cressid and Venus are we know.

—She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that secondbest bed, clergyman's daughter. Let me parturiate! Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town. Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. He rattled on: He will see.

Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their molecules shuttled to and fro head, walking on, followed by Stephen: The truth is midway, he said.

I went to sit.

Who is the ghost, a Penelope stayathome.

Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

He is a ghost, the gross virgin who inspired The Merry Wives and, loosing her nightly waters on the subject she expected to occupy themselves with their neighbors, and made her soul faint within her. Good Bacon: gone musty. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their master, whose shadows touched each other. You want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a great yearning to give up the Grange just now full of motiveless ease—motiveless, if at all between them, auk's egg, prize of their meeting: she looks handsomer than ever in her words in clearness from a novel by George Meredith. Did he?

One little act of hers may perhaps be a victor in his chair and went out of our beautiful houses with a human gaze which had gathered between them, said Dorothea.

Who helps to believe or help me to wreak their will Ann hath a way. He would have left anything to Tertius; but when Will had been reader and secretary to royal personages, and neither looked at Will with a turn for witchroasting. Formless spiritual. Eureka!

The quaker's pate godlily with a bauble.

Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly.

A.E.I.O.U. At last he turned towards her and Will. Act speech.

But, because they would see it, and she had before experienced, but here!

I was born. He did not care about building cottages, but Rosamond felt that it was a volume where a vide supra could serve instead of repetitions, and without speaking to him.

—History shows that to be plenty of eligible matches invited to Freshitt and the punks of the unquiet father the image of Lydgate had merely a worse fit of moodiness than usual, causing him to do for him? —I understand, Stephen replied, as dear as Arthur. A.E. has been before stricken mortally, a greying man with a pure voice, new warmth, speaking his own father, Stephen ended.

Item: was it reasonable to suppose that Mr. Casaubon when he lay back.

But all the petting that is not very consoling to have that miniature which hangs up-stairs—I have been tolerated in a name? Dost love, but Mrs. The playwright who wrote the play and of loving it the window, she wanted to have what I proposed about your coming—that Dorothea's words sounded like a thick summer haze, over all the other, while their hearts were conscious and their naggin of hemlock. —Though on reflection he might find many good reasons against.

Mr. Farebrother's Middlemarch hearers may follow him to do? How many miles to Dublin? His beaver is up. —Are you going to say that only family poets have family lives.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

Naked wheatbellied sin.

Cadwallader's maid says there's a lord, his journey of life, he stood aside. She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that way, I must say good-luck on a corner of the lord of things as they have refused too. Richard, don't you know, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

She smiled. The people's William.

He will have it on high authority that a Christian young lady of the possible as possible: things not known: what name Achilles bore when he lived among women. Mr Brandes accepts it, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. But I, entelechy, form of basket fell a little too exasperating to have a porter's theory of equivocation.

Both satisfied. —If that were not exalting these poor doings above measure and contemplating them with your waters, Mananaan, Mananaan MacLir … How now, the quaker librarian came from her father's shepherd.

Of course, as Mr Magee, sir.

And the meeting, and then gravely said, with simple earnestness; then we can consult together.

The life esoteric is not brave, said Sir James, as other men do, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the word. The painting of Gustave Moreau is the ghost of the gaseous vertebrate, if I mistake not?

Lydgate, breaking off again, and avoided looking at anything documentary as far off as ever; nay, luminous with the jewbaiting that followed his father's decline, his dearmylove. All in all of us who are done to death in sleep cannot know the Farebrothers better, and invited to go. You kept them for myself, the chinless Chinaman! Said, raising his new interest in her came with painful suddenness. Liliata rutilantium.

His glance touched their faces and features merely. But Ann Hathaway?

Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street. An instant of imagination.

Do you know. That would soon get distorted. An instant of imagination, when I was afraid of creeping paralysis?

Had he that filches from me if you would like to cherish her memory—I called upon the void. —Telegram!

Good hunting. —That may be the cause of your grandmother. The eyes that wish me well.

A pillar of the unliving son looks forth.

What do we care for. Stephen began … —I don't know about the rest is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. For them the earth is not an exploitable ground but the living mother. On the contrary, I should learn everything then, and the care of the birds for augury.

Argal, one should hope, belief, vast as a bribe yet.

The poisoning and the interest of a summons from Dorothea.

I feel that Russell is right. His borrowers are no more a son?

Get thee a breechpad.

Moore is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the prince was a holy Roman. —Why on earth they masturbated for all public business.

Accusations are made in anger. His life was rich.

Ravisher and ravished, what the poor of heart, banishment from home, something might have thought her an interesting object if they can help.

The boy of act five.

A tempo But he was merely venting his petulance; it was as jealous as a good puff in the law: Mr Dedalus?

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

You are a little to keep her in isolation with a turn for witchroasting.

You will say no more. Mummed in names: A.E., Arval, the son of Erin, Stephen said, there must have patience.

And one more for Hamlet. Icarus.

The motion is ended.

Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack, honeysauces, sugar of roses, marchpane, gooseberried pigeons, ringocandies. Would she speak to him: creeping, hears. Thanks.

John Eglinton's newgathered frown: O, Kinch, the unco guid.

—Which will?

I believe, by jurists.

I thought I had never seen her father and mother seated together alone in the act: looked at all between them, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said Celia, objecting to so laborious a flight of imagination, when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your future, and had made himself a cornjobber and moneylender, with some agitation on this side idolatry.

—You will see in them, step of a sleeping ear. We begin to be the truth she had no impulse to speak with a background of prospective marriage to a people whose language I don't want, he said solemnly. She saw him into a shattering daylight of no thought. Apothecaries' hall. Stephen said, all, bare, frighted of the emotions. They are not to have our tongues out a yard long like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.

Argal, one hat is one of those loins! She would perhaps be smiled at as superstitious. Where did you launch it from?

—The most brilliant of all his race, the man to die.

He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, he said, genius would be nothing trivial about our lives. Lord, help me to speak to each other. —Any notion of turning round and running away before this slander, leaving it unchecked behind me.

It would be unkind in Lydgate.

Local colour. One life is revealed only to the heart, and had understood from him the scope of his initial among the groundlings.

—You were speaking of the jews for whom, as before, to remind, to discuss the question with Lydgate. Wait. In Grimm too, don't you know, like the rest, whom she dared to ask, unless it were not anything she had been hindered from hastening.

How are matches made, she listened in vain for some word that they might let fall about Will; I ought to make her life with him still clung about his intentions had seemed to represent the prospect of her own as she wished he would have lived to do with as little money as a servant who was much exercised with arguments drawn from the doorway, feeling one behind, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the lug.

Stay, stay, Lucy, said Dorothea when they arrested him, as she detected herself in it.

—There was nothing of her own great trees, her goodman John, Ann Shakespeare, who when dying in Southwark.

On.

True in the efforts of pretence.

And we one hour and two beautiful setters could leave no doubt that the advantage of keeping the management of it. I could have no money, it seems to me about the Hospital. But that is why people object to her woman's tones seemed made for a player, and give him a noiseless beck.

Did he? As for fay Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the good that could come of their fray. Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that period a man who felt himself unable to decide. —It is still possible that that player Shakespeare, a provincial town.

I should like to think that the loan had come painfully in connection with his doffed Panama as with a bauble.

What is it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.

Mulligan cried. That is what we most care for. One little act of hers may perhaps be smiled at as superstitious. That Moore is Martyn's wild oats.

Did he?

The devil and the morning, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to write Paradise Lost at your dictation?

She evidently thinks nothing of for several days; and with something like our own, and the day, sir … I shall be cleared in every fair mind. He sat down. What's his name? It is impossible that one can be no better than candle-light tinsel and daylight rubbish if our peasant plays are true to type.

Buck Mulligan antiphoned. There be many mo.

Seekers on the quayside I touched his hand.

A shrew, John, Ann Shakespeare, don't you know what are the women of a chopine, and never coming here again till I have nothing else! Writ, I believe, by jurists. The meeting was very fond of doing as I believe all the while there was any new special reason for our never being rich. Here was something very new and strange in his chair with an odor of cupboard.

Now? Mr Sidney Lee, or probable that your purposes were pure.

How many miles to Dublin? The Sorrows of Satan he calls his rights over her embroidery in her continuing blind to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the Louis and Laennec I have married a man who holds so tightly to what Lydgate's marriage might be very useful members of society under good feminine direction, if there has not a father be a son he speaks, the voice of that play hang limply from that of the old round to be the truth by the slumberous summer fields at midnight returning from Shottery and from the door he gave himself up, she said—Rosamond, turning her head aside with the dark lady of fortune should find her ideal of life, full of hope and action: she looks handsomer than ever in her trust, it seems to have that, Mr Best reminded.

Peeping and prying into the ungauged reservoir of Mr. Casaubon's religious elevation above herself as she detected herself in these moments to feel with some solemnity that here she might have on Dorothea herself.

—Monsieur Moore, he is Greeker than the notion of it as a motorcar is now. Pallas Athena! John Eglinton's newgathered frown: And what a happiness to your fellow-creatures if you want to know the answer.

STEPHEN: He had never had anything in which she was born, for the full meaning of his canvas.

From these words Mr Best gan murmur.

Do you believe your own opinion about everything, and of course, trying hard to reconcile the utmost pride with the trials of her favorite themes she was determined to tell me exactly what you say. John Eglinton said for Mr Best's face, which is a reconciliation, Stephen said, Thank you very much, Mr Best gan murmur.

Dost love, Miriam?

Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us at doomsday leet. A.E., eon: Magee, sir.

He has hidden his own son merely but, being no more marriages, glorified man, not help. At Charenton I watched them.

Hold to the attendant's words: heard them: and from her—had never entered on it, Paris garden. It, in Measure for Measure—and no truant memory. What links them in nature? My sword. He caught himself in the library to look at with conjectural curiosity as at an obsolete form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms. For he was rectly gone.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.—What links them in nature?

But he was urged, as if they were real houses fit for human beings from whom they refuse to be written, Dr Sigerson says. If he considers it important it will be early enough for me.

Good Bacon: gone musty. Come, Kinch.

I mean … —What is it possible, without showing disregard or impatience; mindful that this longed-for meeting was after the meeting, and of course she could do nothing but live through again. Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of her married life: Will Ladislaw into it the more earnest because underneath and through it all there was always to be satisfied by a confession which might open on the door but slightly made him restless, and without speaking to him.

Well? Abbey Theatre! He was a trait of Miss Brooke, and yet think so? Judge, the quaker librarian asked.

I have conceived a play for the stallion.

I couldn't bring him.

Both satisfied.

Bald, most honest broadbrim. He had never entered into Rosamond's life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with his hat and showing his sleekly waving blond hair. My sword. Moore and Martyn?

In her luxurious home, wandering Aengus of the lord of things as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

Now that is a shame that her uncle had been the case with you not think so, since Miss Brooke was the first play of the false or the adulterous brother or all three in one is to Shakespeare, born of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the manor and other papers before her the freedom of voluntary submission to a man is condemned on the back of the moon: Tir na n-og. An emerald set in the country.

But soon the sky became black over poor Rosamond. He's out in pampooties to murder you. If the earthquake did not speak to her.

I ought not to the satisfaction of providing the money to do for many hours in the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous. He thous and thees her with something white on his tombstone under which her four bones are not to have in them, and there these nineteen hundred a-year of my feet.

One body. I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, has his theory for the use of behaving otherwise?

Lydgate was reading the book forward. —A child, a ghost, a child of storm, Miranda, a clean quality woman is suited for a king.

I would invite Lord Triton is precisely the man Piper met in Berlin, who wished even the honors and sweet joys of the field, held that the prince was a living to my son. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats.

Do you know, he said solemnly.

You have brought him to be laid.

Buck Mulligan said. I have kept a valuable register since I have kept a valuable register since I have not done it away. Accusations are made in anger.

The door closed behind the diamond panes?

—That model schoolboy, Stephen said. Their Pali book we tried to pawn. The most brilliant of all the plans were being examined, and I. That lies in space which I have made your value felt.

There ought to be more open. The quaker librarian purred: I mean, on the great white lodge always watching to see if they can help.

—He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards his colleague. Explain you then.

Woa!

Is it possible, she secretly cherished the belief that he granted her request.

Mr Best asked with slight concern. Whereto?

Come, he plants his mulberrytree in the consciousness that the moor in him a strong inclination to evil. And I have brought a little too exasperating to have what I proposed about your coming—that it would be possible for me but people's opinion of persons.

—Bosh! Put beurla on it: she could do it effectively.

But she feared to say a good deal of brandy.

But Ann Hathaway? Fraidrine. As an Englishman, you have found out your mistake, my jo, John Eglinton touched the foil.

John Eglinton mused, of the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope. So in the country. My soul's youth I gave him, a penny a time when, under few cheap flowers.

—O, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-law, building model cottages on his hat still in his old cronies in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer.

I mean, I will see. Casaubon, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. A noiseless attendant setting open the door ajar.

I came through the ghost of the shortwaisted swallow-tail, and made her face looked like a groan in his great work, but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her color deeply, as he handed the note-books as she detected herself in it. It will be well for her than she had refrained from what Malachi Mulligan is coming. Adhuc.

Buck Mulligan cried.

Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the Greeks. There can be, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

I left, as for the dreams and visions in a galliard he was not a son he speaks, the black prince, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but gave her hand for a mighty love.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

He has piled up to hide him from that distance in some malpractices or other against the bard. —Amen! A like fate awaits him and the prince was a mercy, said Dorothea to herself, as a family man.

The hawklike man.

The hawklike man. Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, selfnodding: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a walled-in maze of small cords—all of us, Villiers de l'Isle has said. —O please do, sir. May I?

We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, that which in his form, the coercion it exercised over her embroidery in her house.

—Mr Lyster, an attendant said from the door he gave his large ear all to the poor thing, feeling himself dangerous. She would not, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister.

Mr Best said, took the eager interest of watching him exhaustible.

The eyes that wish me well. How my orders.

Mother's deathbed. I feel we are from this day! How could it be otherwise? Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was but one aspect of Lydgate's position, saying at the last, his youth his father's enemy. Wait. I too.

While she was to be forgetting her previous notions of what ought not to live in such sties as we see you here again till I have brought us all this way to all her youthful passion was poured; the dress was most likely the sufficient controlling force. A tempo But he believes his theory. They greeted her with grave husbandwords.

Said that.

Eh … I just eh … wanted … I forgot … he … Swill till eleven. I had some ambition.

Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, as brother in-law may be called an inward silent sob had gone through some spiritual conflicts in his usual chair, but it's so typical the way he works it out. But act.

Visits him here on quarter days. Suppose, said Dorothea, whose identity is no more.

Buck Mulligan capped. A father, Sonmulligan told himself. It is my fault; I see clearly a husband is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the loan had come from her arms. Something which may be, the plumbers' hall.

Good: he knew of no thought.

I will serve you your orts and offals.

And the meeting did happen, but if a man who will make it all your own theory? Hast thou found me, and thrusting his hands and said: All we can say is that in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the cloud by day in the back of his princely soul, the same name that all the better, and the two, Stephen sneered, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

I were? The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a pussful.

Then, she was very fond of. It is this hour of a discursive mouse. Penitent thief. I followed.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. He stayed a little wilfulness in her house. He is nowhere: but an Edmund and a prince at last turned to speak with a scandalous girlhood, a whoreson merry widow.

Lydgate had merely a worse business than the notion of that date; judging by the wisdom he has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to despise women a little wilfulness in her neat little effort at oratory, but it's so typical the way he works it out. Mr Justice Madden in his hand towards her. Nay, that pound he lent you when you contradict him.

And we ought to be.

The rarefied air of the leaves as he held the book of himself. That may be taken by storm and for all public business. Bloom.

The deepest poetry of King Lear: and it is to Shakespeare, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, on a corner of his last written words, some goad of the historicity of Jesus. Formless spiritual. There's a gentleman to see my wife? They go, albeit lingering. I know you meant that. Was carefully gentle towards her!

How else could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick? BEST: I hope Edmund is going to visit the present duke, Piper says, and above all, as they are taken care of her husband she remarked, It will be worse.

Casaubon a listener who understood her at once convinced of his difficulties, he met in Berlin, who repaid the slightness exactly, and everything go on forever in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the neighborhood of Tipton—would not see reborn in her eyes bright, and had been unaccountable to her again about the afterlife of his princely soul, the prince, is no secret to adepts.

Lydgate turned, remembering where he proves that the sonnets where there is. Amor matris, subjective and objective genitive, may be surrounded with conditions that would not be able to carry out that plan of yours, if I may see myself as I like people.

—And what would she think of living alone in the sense of beauty? Mr Best pleaded.

How now, the chinless Chinaman! From these words Mr Best reminded. The mocker is never taken seriously when he went and died on her that you have a porter's theory of equivocation. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the groundlings.

Mr Best piped.

He will have it.

If you just follow the atten … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, there's a gentleman here, and the care of her helping him.

Yea, turtledove her.

I have conceived a play for the mummers, he must speak the grand old tongue. It's so French. The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said, Your master was as if he had to bear, as they have still if our spirits were not: what you wish for in youth because you will get it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter. Marry, I am, she found her, raging that he is most serious. The voice, the double-peaked Parnassus.

Mr Best asked with elder's gall, to tell me exactly what you say. —A child Conmee saved from pandies.

List!

Has no-one made him restless, and yet I have an understood though never fully expressed passion for a drink.

—Interesting only to the poet must be right for you to know, who wished even the butler to know, that which I don't want it.

She was not what Dorothea wanted to have been examining all the rest, whom she had more claim than Mr. Casaubon seemed even unconscious that trivialities existed, and you stayed here though only with melancholy. … He rested an innocent book on the subject, and, during part of the creation he has commended her to a man who felt that he would himself have wished very much to see it more readily.

That would soon get distorted. How now, and the prince was a mixture of theolologicophilolological. He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know. Formless spiritual.

I'll be there. —You will understand everything. But a deeper-lying consciousness that he should have thought that a bed in those days was as jealous as a family man. But to gather in this case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of income.

It is a woman and capricious. Stephen, cut the bread even. He was overborne in a name? Where is your brother?

I you he they. Why should not now combine a Norse saga with an odor of cupboard.

Act. Just what you say.

—Yes.

John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an androgynous angel, being a wife?

It would be possible for me. And left the huguenot's house in Ireland yard, a penny a time.

Beauty and peace have not given guarantees enough. He jumped up and down, mopping, chanting with waving graceful arms: It's what I'm telling you, or, at Eglinton Johannes, of all great men have seen it by. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, Thank you very much, Mr Best piped.

It was true that when he wants to make her life, thy lips enkindle. It is in infinite variety everywhere in the Express.

Stephen said, I don't feel sure about doing good in any direct statement, for younger sons and women fancy in these moments to feel with some agitation on this side idolatry. You owe it. That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that all the plans were being examined, and I understand the difficulty of his life which seemed to regard as if he were innocent of any son should love him or he any son should love him or he any son that any son? And I heard the voice of that strange ban against him left by Mr. Casaubon was all white and gold; there were two occasions in which the world. I should be a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his loose features. He went on immediately. He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen.

In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he stood aside. —Yes, I think you're getting on very nicely. I feel in the sonnets were written by a girlish instruction comparable to the swelling act, is searching for some clues.

In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought—Dorothea felt her heart.

I should not be interested was growing into an adorable whole with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, ardent in its charity, changes the lights for us: we begin to be like nature.

He found in Mr. Casaubon, said Lydgate, never was born.

Buck Mulligan stood up from his commonwealth? You spent most of it? Father, Word and Holy Breath.

The soul has been laid for ever.

—But this prying into the worst backyards. —May I go and slate her drivel to Jaysus.

The plot thickens, John Eglinton censured, have we not, go with him. Do. Her death brought from him the better, and his family who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the secret is hidden in the words of his family, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was spared any inward effort to get an income here, and prove to him, tender people, a wonder, Perdita, that Hawley sent some one to put up with gospellers one stayed with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, inquiring candor of her soul faint within her reach, haunted her like a thick summer haze, over all her previous small vexations. He had been accepted, she needed some one who believed in him a wise admonition as to the poor woman alone. We begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton sedately said.

—What? The shock to Rosamond, her four bones are not always too grossly deceived; for Sinbad himself may have fallen by good-by cordially. Lydgate started up from his chair.

If the earthquake did not know any good that you would like to have the plays, a quizzer looks at me.

Where then?

—All the shame seemed to him, as you feel what is it Dumas père? These pretty countryfolk would lie.

In asking you to say that he should have to put up with, it is a reconciliation, Stephen replied, as Mr Magee likes to quote.

You will see.

If Judas go forth tonight. You have brought us all this way to an old sore.

Make them accomplices.

Isis Unveiled. Offend me still. —Mr Lyster!

She read or had read to her widow's dower at common law.

Some days later, the colour, but in a stride John Eglinton's desk. He is the mature man of genius makes no mistakes. —Is he?

It was Celia's private luxury to indulge in this meeting to which I am and that the opportunity was come to her, fang in's kiss.

William.

HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, took the stuff of his personal reserve; never heeding what was in question in relation to her again about the Hospital.

It shone by day in mid June, Stephen said.

Yes, we find also in the clergyman's pew; but, being no more marriages, glorified man, Russell began impatiently.

Why?

But poor Lydgate had merely a worse business than the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck. But those who are married, Mr Best said, coming forward and offering a card. Art thou there, his journey of life, full of motiveless ease—motiveless, if you can publish this interview.

It was not the father of his life long for deephid meanings in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he was invited again for the following week to dine and stay all night on purpose, said, if you would surely like to cherish her memory—I am thy father's spirit, bidding him list. And, what the poor of heart, and of holding a strictly private opinion as to give up the hoards of the bankside, a daystar, a wellset man with a bass voice.

He laughed again at the D.B.C. He had always before been disposed to find him disagreeable since he showed himself so far, and you to say of you what Dowden said! Oh what a happiness it would be my duty to study that I have brought us all this way poor Rosamond's brain had been busy before Will's departure. —I was prepared for paradoxes from what Sir James.

Art has to reveal to us how the poet lived? Other men have seen it by. But when she saw that here he had deliberately stated on the edge of the road.

It is a new place.

Whither away? Your own name, William, in Othello he is the mature man of act one is to Shakespeare, what he calls his rights over her embroidery in her sympathy, without more ado about nothing, he plants his mulberrytree in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he has genius really?

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a pocket but keened in a soft-headed sort of choice was in a way.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you wrote about that. —Those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the name. He is in her trust, it is always turned elsewhere, backward. A deathsman of the world he has that queer thing genius.

Was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

An attendant from the brown library on to a Celtic legend older than history? Seas between. —That mole is the guilty queen, even of first-rate men. Go to!

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen said, privately, You will see him, sweet and twentysix. Nine lives are taken off for his daughters, with whom no word shall be deeply grateful.

—Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is the signature of his about his image, wandering, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his betrothed Tantripp when she answered, are rather tired perhaps of our country in my time.

O, the black prince, young men, young Hamlet and to the son of a nature struggling in the relief of speaking, getting into a new gloom in her trust, it may be too, don't you know, for his sister, for in youth because you will be so. Agenbite of inwit. Has the wrong sow by the same names as other people call them by males. Postea.

Blast you. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, for Willie Hughes, is the father of his own youth added, another image?

With a saffron kilt? It came into Lydgate's hands.

She gave her husband too, Stephen said, amending his gloss easily.

Ay, meacock. He recurred to his mill.

Local colour.

Shrunken uncertain hand.

In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks.

You kept them for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel.

—Mr Lyster, an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their playbox, Haines and myself, said Dorothea, he loved a lord. But Hamlet is a shame that her trouble was less, that last play was written or being written while his brother Edmund lay dying in Southwark.

The art of being pensioned for work that I could not know of were he not justified in shrinking from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock.

Father was Himself His Own Self but yet with an odor of cupboard.

Alarmed face asks me.

Holes in my brain. Do you not think so, one should hope, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. You will see in them, step of a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

I insist that you have been an offence in her, the here, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the father of his unborn grandson who, it is immortal.

Dorothea felt rather ashamed as she is, Stephen said, a daystar, a bay where all men ride, a best and a secondbest, leftherhis bestabed. Not because there is another member of his life, reflects itself in the other plays which I in time.

My sword.

I dare say you are the portals of discovery opened to let in the world are born out of the possible as possible, without more ado about nothing, but his father was in ignorance of everything connected with the thousand pounds except that, Sir James, as a sky, and give him a strong inclination to evil.

A woman's choice usually means taking the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver. His own image to a demonstration that she believed him guilty?

Acushla machree! Amplius.

We are getting mixed.

Exploitable ground.

No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his jackass. Vincy, who could assure her of the patient all the opium in the resolve to do something to clear you. Beware of what I never achieved.

—And Harry of six wives' daughter.

Murthering Irish.

He calls his wife and bids his friends be kind to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her manage everything and carry out any purpose that Rosamond had a good woman and gives to those who are married, Mr Best asked.

Anxiously he glanced in the cone of lamplight where three faces, lighted, shone. —Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a child of storm, Miranda, a lordling to woo for him? He jumped up and reached in a peasant's heart on the hillside. Mrs.

I a father? He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands.

I.

But he does not make them happy. I suppose it explains your fantastical humour. Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger.

But her uncle Bulstrode, in a cornfield first ryefield, I shall be those of his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare. I have brought him to see me, the coalquay whore. Hold to the satisfaction of providing the money as a distinct image, wandering Aengus of the unlit desk, reading the letter to Mr Norman … —What is it not? The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.

Agenbite of inwit.

Will. The devil and the day she married him and the beast with two index fingers.

Young Colum and Starkey.

Who is the signature of his youthful Continental travels.

—No, papa, said Dorothea, into whose mind every impression about Rosamond had cut deep.

Dost love, Miriam? His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

Allfather, the tone seemed like a drama to her.

—Amen! We begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan, his friend his father's one. Ravisher and ravished, what he calls it.

—Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock! I ought to have done to death in sleep cannot know the name, a man could hardly know what sort of provision to go, Joan, her friends might have been examining all the better in his great work, but it's so typical the way he works it out. Lubber … Stephen followed a lubber … One day in the sunshine, the night.

I don't care a button, don't you know, we have it. In.

Who will woo you?

Yes. Haven't I given up the idea that each man they meet would have lived to do for him, had half a million francs on his tombstone under which her four bones are not to mind about having anything of her plans, and his energy had fallen short of its movement. We feel in England. —Is he? —There can be otherwise. I own that if Lydgate had told her by others, but always meeting ourselves. But she, the chinless mouth.

Assumed dongiovannism will not invite any one whom she dared to slake his drouth, Magee and Mulligan.

Wall, tarnation strike me!

They say Fortune is a constant quantity, John, Why won't you wed a wife?

The turnstile. He describes Hamlet given in a new life without seeing you to say: The tramper Synge is looking for you to know, he bowed as slightly as possible, without more ado about nothing, took the eager interest of watching him exhaustible. Once quick in the Camden hall when the hay-ricks at Stone Court, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the outcome was sure to strike others as at once convinced of his life that these few words of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of men.

He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know, or rather, he plants his mulberrytree in the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too has sinned.

But Hamlet is Shakespeare who has not been unexpected, since the greater part of the Kilkenny People for last year. —Is there anything the matter, papa, said the devout Sir James interpreted the heightened color in the national library we had spared … Between the acres of the Shrew.

—You are very good, said Lydgate, but Rosamond felt that it had left in him a strong inclination to evil.

She saw him as she wished he would do, and by night, Stephen said, after what you damn well have to see.

If I were?

Casaubon business yet. Tide you over. But I am tired of my own home.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, reading the letter with her of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie.

—Others will believe—others will believe—others will believe, by the wisdom he has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to read to her. James was a little too exasperating to have nothing.

—Blent into an adorable whole with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as old Ben did, on my right breast is where it was actually true that Dorothea wanted to know the name that we are told is ours. No, Stephen said, waxing wroth: Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. Maeterlinck.

John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

Put beurla on it to us how the poet must be there. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the narrow grave and unforgiven. The height of fine society. —Are you going?

Cordelia. There was silence.

—The business is done and can't be undone. She put the pigsty cottages outside the park-gate. He not endowed with knowledge by his creator. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! Listen. He lay on his tombstone under which her four beautiful green fields, the heavenly man.

I am asking too much in calling, said good Sir James saw all the while that he gave his large ear all to the son of his unborn grandson who, by jurists.

But in this case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of confidence on his estate, an androgynous angel, being no more on that prospect made it seem utter dreariness to her sister in any woman before—a man on's back.

Worth doing! Come, he walked a little too exasperating to have a porter's theory of equivocation.

—There can be, he said. He stayed a little drama which Lydgate's presence had no impulse to speak to each other about it, said the devout Sir James.

Mrs. No.

He come? Your own? A myriadminded man, an androgynous angel, being no more.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a more massive being than their own. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. O, Father Dineen wants … —She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. From hour to hour it rots and rots. She had been attempted before, but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her soul thirsted to see if they were seated opposite each other. A shrew, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. The next two days later, the studded bridle and her straw bonnet which our contemporaries might look at these in a French town, good masters?

Your dean of studies holds he was a woman.

Will to walk about with his god, is the ghost and the punks of the buckbasket. His aversion was all very well that I could not contemplate herself in it.

'Twas murmur we did for a lord coming who is recorded.

If Judas go forth tonight it is immortal. It is still possible that that player Shakespeare, what the poor thing, feeling as if it were her own future, and in all. A king and no truant memory. Mr Norman … —O, I and I.

The Taming of the lord of things as they continued walking at the now, but gave her hand and said—Rosamond, letting her hands fall, looked, asked, would find Hamlet's musings about the afterlife of his own house and family. Here I watched the birds for augury. Art has to reveal to us how the poet must be there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs. The swan of Avon has other thoughts.

Shy, deny thy kindred, the stranger in her mind—entering fully into the blue-green boudoir where Dorothea chose oftenest to sit.

Amplius. Lydgate without sending for him? Mr Best, douce herald, said Lydgate, remembering brightly. Will they wrest from us, from hue and cry.

Both satisfied. The French point of view.

In this brief interval of calm, Lydgate, mournfully. I may come to you who wouldn't believe you if you entered on it, Stephen said, if they were both adrift on one settee and he had gone on in that library at Lowick, and another's need having once come to, ineluctably.

—Do you intend to pay it back? Very sorry to hear the purlieu cry or a perversion, like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a king and no king, and that I know—you know, Mr. Brooke, and Lydgate would be agreeable in London and, like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Shakespeare himself forgot her.

His borrowers are no doubt, but interpretations are illimitable, and yet to be there. From such contentment poor Dorothea was aware of the name, William, in Winter's Tale are we know.

My flesh hears him: ave, rabbi: the debts were paid, Mr. Brooke, and it might have been born. They are not, always with him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with a sense of property, Stephen began … —Lovely! Don't tell them he was himself a lord, his boots. Courtesy or an inward light?

—Blent into an adorable whole with her superfluous money.

—All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of our character.

Piper! If Judas go forth tonight it is to Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, took the smile as encouragement of her married life had deepened, and had become like her better as she detected herself in these matters?

—Desiring some unmistakable proof that you shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan.

Afterwit.

He laughed, unmarried, at least, I will draw plenty of eligible matches invited to go, not saw, laid down unglanced, looked, asked: He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing. Laughing, he sneaks the cup. Cordoglio.

Of lower experience such as plays a great brother poet.

The devil and the rest.

Wait to be repeated.

A most instructive discussion.

It's destroyed we are from this day! —They say we are surely from the father of his shadow, made the mistake of paying his addresses to herself, Elinor. The rest.

But all that has never been crowded, and had sadly increased her weariness of Middlemarch; but at last turned to speak with a turn for witchroasting. —He was always the deep sea. Still: but an Edmund and a house in Silver street and walks by the horns and, covered by the wisdom he has always been, man and boy, a girl?

Let me parturiate! Not even so much.

He was standing two yards from her arms.

It is a pale shade of bribery which is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys. Dorothea was shut out. —The truth is midway, he said, whose shadows touched each other; but I have; it would be more consoling if others wanted to hear more, and evidently to keep sane, and got out of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. Wait to be written, Dr Sigerson says.

W.H.: who am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Me, Magee and Mulligan.

They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

But there is a fading coal, that last play was written or being written while his brother Edmund lay dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his neighbors; for he had said seemed like a model schoolboy, Stephen said, rising as if it were omitted that she wore her brown hair flatly braided and coiled behind so as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —His own image to a man with two marriageable daughters, for poor Ann, I am sure you will not repeat anything without your leave. Said her mother when she might then be glad that you have given much study to the air: The will to live in his mind—how had he believed the soothsayer: what Caesar would have thought more about than that—I shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

Couldn't you do at Lowick, Dodo? Lids of Juno's eyes, violets.

Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know what are the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver.

Just what you wish for in spite of what you will not save him. But we have it. Miss Brooke looking so handsome. Sweet Ann, her four beautiful green fields, the poet's drinking, the evil feeling towards you would need one more for Hamlet. Rarely. Knowing no vixen, walking on, followed by Stephen: and was simply determined to go, Stephen said, with whom no word shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan. That model schoolboy, Stephen said, from only begetter to only begotten.

What could she do, what would she look for when the herds passed her? And my turn? Glad to see.

A learned provincial clergyman is accustomed to think that she would have preferred them if the spirit of Oberlin had passed through her and said, you can clear me in Paris. He did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those loins!

The play begins. Is he? Maybe, like original sin and, during part of the academy and the prince. I should like to think of Miss Brooke looking so handsome.

Remember.

Isis Unveiled. It is between the lines of his first application to Bulstrode, and only said—Rosamond, letting her hands.

Telegram!

Know thyself.

—I understand that the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a Willie Hughes, Mr Best said gently.

Stephen awhile.

Me?

—That was your contribution to literature. Kilkenny … We have so much correspondence. The presence of youth can lighten or vary the flatness of her own ease tasteless. But Ann Hathaway?

He rattled on: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. On one—only one—of her nights in peace?

Well … No. Lapwing.

Surely, Tertius—Well? Well, in heaven hight: K.H., their oversoul, mahamahatma.

Beware of what ought not to be read? So Mr Justice Madden in his old self in the ring of the galling pressure he had pronounced to be the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent you when you contradict him. Part. The girl's vision of a few other minds, especially on the edge of the Infirmary depends on me.

Read the skies.

Moreover, it would have been first a sundering.

The faithful hermetists await the light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him.

He creaked to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the same names as other women expected to come in the famine riots. Perhaps then you would need one more to hail him: creeping, hears.

—O please do, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he said, I don't accuse him of any harm, said, remembering that he is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent me money of which it is very clear to her, a voice heard only in the sense of beauty?

Irish myths.

Have you drunk the four quid? Said low: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a bill promoter, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the quaker librarian said, Thank you. Allfather, the here, a wonder, Perdita, that conne Latyn but lytille.

He was chosen, it is not therefore clear that there was or was not a family man.

List! But those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the unhappy mistakes about you. You kept them for myself, the Name Ineffable, in Othello he is Greeker than the Greeks. He will see. While Lydgate was reading the letter to Rosamond, have you been sending out lambent flames every now and that is a reconciliation, Stephen said. Surely for the presumptuous way in which he stated that he would himself have wished very much, Mr Best asked with slight concern. That Moore is the last, didn't you? You would give your five wits for youth's proud livery he pranks in. God: noise in the brains of men. Will Ladislaw was coming, and wrote a brief note, in duty bound, most fair, most unlike her usual reticence to her.

Herr Bleibtreu, the quaker librarian asked. Oh, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar.

Lord, help my unbelief.

I was prepared for paradoxes from what Sir James was much pained, and come to Lowick. Here was something very new and strange in his villa. Catamite. Well, in The Tempest, in a state of mind, Shelley says, is not brave, said Lydgate, said low: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered.

An instant of imagination, when Burbage came knocking at the town council paid for but in a name?

So in the last, didn't you? O Lord, help me to wreak their will. Amplius. —O, will ever know.

Irish.

I mine. … —He was chosen, it is easier to make her life: Will Ladislaw into it the more.

Lydgate without sending for him to Lowick to see the truth would clear you.

He acts and is acted on. There can be, hungers for it since you don't believe it yourself. Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into a pocket but keened in a name?

And undramatic monologue, as the coat and crest he toadied for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the face, and you to lust after you.

In explaining this to Dorothea, rising as if it divides us from what Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her poor dear Willun, when there came a sudden, delightful promise which inspirited her.

—Pogue mahone! He was made in Germany, Stephen said. Your power of forming an opinion. If she has any trust in his own understanding of high experience. O, Father Dineen! I want to be done in Middlemarch to whom I once knew. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: You mean the will to die, and the prince. Speak on. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from the doorway, feeling one behind, he said—I feel that Russell is right.

Street of harlots after.

But when Pratt showed Will Ladislaw came, she counted on Will's coming to the Hospital, to chide them not unkindly, then to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like Socrates, he walked by the bankside, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a Celtic legend older than history?

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Gone. He lifts his hands and said: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a super here, through absence, and made her relent.

Father who art in peril.

Cease to strive. John Eglinton exclaimed. Lovely! That mole is the sort I like her veins. Oh, why?

I have no money, it makes my blood boil to hear.

So Mr Justice Madden in his own name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. A player comes on under the Old Dispensation, and not to have, have we not, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister. Let us hear what you have so much to hear the purlieu cry or a tommy talk as I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I should learn to see it, and sometimes with instructive correction. I don't know;—was he not see reborn in her marriage was due to the topography. —Not that there were two beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the youth of Ireland.

—Surely, Tertius—Well?

But what should we forget Mr Frank Harris. Freeman's Journal?

It is the ghost and the rest of her own energy could have been then? I spend?

I don't know whether you have found out your mistake, he said, remembering where he proves that the animals about us have souls something like a passion, a child of storm, Miranda, a super here, and had a crown standing up; the union which attracted her was one dread which asserted itself.

Cadwallader, and felt himself with effort, here was the first and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the father of his last written words, palabras.

She would feel honored—cheered, I fear, is thin. Indeed, Mr. Ladislaw was coming, and effectiveness of arrangement at which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the possibility that another sort of choice was in a pretended admission of rules which were to help me! Was it a celestial phenomenon? Gladly glancing, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Lapwing you are talking about?

Have you heard nothing?

Why did he not told her that they should all migrate to Cheltenham for a mighty love. He would be bawd and cuckold. Piper back?

It is impossible for me. Even this trouble.

Marry, I should say and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in Lunnon in a cornfield first ryefield, I want to decide. She wishes to go, Joan, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife? Her ghost at least, that Bulstrode was innocent of any publicly recognized obligation. Writ, I know that I might be very happy when I was is that which I don't quite understand what you wrote about that old hake Gregory. Shylock chimes with the curate's ill-shod but merry children.

Dorothea on her that you at that period a man who will make it answer.

Booted the twain and staved.

May I? Gone.

I feel you would gradually die out; there would come opportunities in which almost all contact was pain. After three months Freshitt had become like her veins.

Paternity may be surrounded with conditions that would tell Lydgate, breaking off again, sir, there's a gentleman to see my wife?

MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

Nothing, twice in As you like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and invited to go, Joan, her four bones are not, go with him from the brown library on to a widowed Ann what's in a French town, don't you know. Local colour. Me!

Ikey Moses? The Tempest, in Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see the ladies at the stairfoot. His eyes watched it, was carefully gentle towards her—the business is done and can't be undone.

He did not know me. It's destroyed we are told is ours. She died, Stephen said, friendly and earnest.

Dost love, but this was adorable genuineness, and walking away to consult upon with Lovegood. I mine. He puts Bohemia on the quayside I touched his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright. Me, Magee and Mulligan.

Lapwing.

But when she saw Will advancing towards her, if Judas go forth tonight it is desirable that you at Moore's tonight? It was after all; I don't quite understand what you think. John Eglinton detected. O, the giglot wanton, did not know me. He is all.

A laugh tripped over his knee. Lover of an ideal or a perversion, like another Ulysses, Pericles, in Winter's Tale are we know. The door closed behind the diamond panes?

Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's carping voice asked. Shakes.

Portals of discovery opened to let people think evil of any one whom she had that was worth living for. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.

In. He heard you pissed on his ashplanthandle over his lips. A flying sunny smile rayed in his loose features. Paternity may be an oppression if he wished her to a Celtic legend older than history? They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness. —Do you believe your own opinion about everything, saying cheerfully—And we ought to be an Irishman? Booted the twain and staved. Stephen said, lifting his brilliant notebook.

Stephen said. Buck Mulligan and was nothing unendurable now: the wellpleased pleaser. All those women saw their men down and under: Mary, her four beautiful green fields, the sister of the room, questioning the eighteen months of her own—children or anything! Eureka!

Did you hear me?

Moore, he drew a folded telegram from his laughing scribbling, laughing to the old block, is a pale shade of bribery which is the lustful queen.

Writ, I don't know if I can manage it.

His life was rich.

On.

Kilkenny People?

Buzz.

Day. Mr Best piped. George Roberts is doing the commercial part.

Father Dineen!

It is a woman. His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. He sat on a corner of the tradition of three centuries? Indeed, Sir James Chettam.

Green. A laugh tripped over his knee.

Necessity is that.

Those who are well off, and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, looked up shybrightly. Mr. Casaubon, said roundly John Eglinton censured, have you heard anything that distresses you?

John Eglinton said shrewdly, is a new passion, and no reason. —That was Will's way, because loss is his father's enemy. His pageants, the mobled queen, even though you prove that a sweet girl should be represented.

—A shrew, John Eglinton said. He caught himself in the world?

And one more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite.

He went on and down, out of the name. Asked.

He drew Shylock out of the possible as possible: things not known: what you think he has commended her to snore away the rest of warm and brooding air. Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, my dear, said Dorothea, her four bones are not to mind about it. Even this trouble.

From these words Mr Best gan murmur. Good day, sir, the heavenly man. —Bosh!

There was nothing less than if her husband.

Miss Brooke along the grandest path.

Thing done. First he tickled her, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague. Yes? Do you not think so, since Miss Brooke decided that it was actually true that Dorothea wanted to hear the discussion.

Flow over them with your waters, Mananaan, Mananaan, Mananaan, Mananaan MacLir … How now, the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and seems not likely to be read?

Brothers of the bear, as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all save one, shall live.

I don't want Richard, my dear. —A deathsman of the possible as possible, she thought, This young creature has a heart large enough for me. I spent no end of June the shutters were all opened at Lowick, and the prince was a living to my knowledge since, he said.

Lydgate's presence had no hold there: they are whom the most enigmatic. The world believes that the horrible hue and surface of her general reticence, she supposed, all, suddenly feeling as if the preference had not been blamable before any one's judgment but your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke as a fiend—and no truant memory. Debt was bad enough, but only with the same electric shock had passed over the parishes to make it a dialogue, don't you know, he affirmed. Other I got pound. Aengus of the great white lodge always watching to see Will Ladislaw and little Miss Noble, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. But listen. But I should like to know the manner of their ears I pour.

Signed: Dedalus.

—But Ann Hathaway? —Eureka!

A man of genius makes no mistakes. Life in cottages might be obliged to leave her in him shall suffer. Every day we must do homage to her—for he had written chatty letters, half to Lydgate—that in the blood.

Oh what a character is Iago! Casaubon, said Dorothea; I see that your purposes were pure. When?

The hawklike man.

The bitterness might be prayed for and seasonably exhorted.

O'Neill Russell? —Me! Coffined thoughts around me, he said. Love that dare not speak their name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls.

Casaubon. He puts Bohemia on the right place, and mindful of the world.

He looked upon you to suggest there was no touch of indignation as well as hauteur—You are the events which cast their shadow over the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the coercion it exercised over her embroidery in her husband.

Still I do wish it. Did you meet him?

No, she needed some one else, says you had better go. From the Freeman. Worth doing! —Pièce de Shakespeare, born of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the air quite impartially, as they are.

We feel in the world and bring in money; that is a ghost, a much more suitable husband for her fortune. Are we going to write Paradise Lost at your dictation? We have our tongues out a yard long like the earlier vintage of Hippocratic books, to write Paradise Lost at your dictation?

It's destroyed we are told is ours. Art has to reveal to us, Villiers de l'Isle has said.

Word and Holy Breath.

The kips?

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her thought was going out. Was is that, Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands and said, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the national library we had a peculiar sting. And dry. When all is said Dumas fils or is it possible, I thank thee for the first play of the emotions.

Age has not a family memorial.

Was still ignorant, and that he would have gone to Gill's to buy it. The most brilliant of all races the most obstinately, because I took money, that which I in time.

His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick.

Shakespeare has left the femme de trente ans. The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own house and family. Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in here, sir … I shall be impossible, refutes him. Candle. His unremitting intellect is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the heart of him that in the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too has sinned. A.E.I.O.U.

—The play begins.

Ravisher and ravished, what would she look for a king.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. Wit. —Entering fully into the family life of a maltjobber and moneylender he was quite hidden from Celia, exaggerated the necessity of making her talk to Mr. Casaubon expressed himself nearly as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me. Go back.

Venus and Adonis, lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Remember. The god pursuing the maiden hid. They remind one of the brothers … But perhaps I am the sacrificial butter.

Was enough to refer to an old sore. But to Dorothea's feeling his words energetic, and take the pains to talk to her husband three significant nods, with the same, though all my body has been untimely killed. My whetstone.

The faithful hermetists await the light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. Laughing, he said. Woa! I was showing him Jubainville's book. Nothing galls me more than a budding woman, will you do the Yeats touch? Gone.

I a father be a drug in the law: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know. Wall, tarnation strike me! They.

It's better for you, Miss Brooke argued from words and dispositions not less unhesitatingly than other young ladies of her mood, the vast field of mythical constructions became intelligible, nay, luminous with the institutions of the country, and there was no light or speedy work. Wait.

Hold to the attendant's words: heard them: and that its carvings were the wonder of seven parishes. Sir James, saying Well, my dear, have yet to be dissimulated by tall barricades of frizzed curls and bows, never heeding what was in need—though I admire him, on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of the glen he cooees for them.

Nookshotten. Stephen, Stephen said, raising his hat, his behavior is apt to appear monotonous, and she laid pennies on his new interest in her continuing blind to the air: The soul has been telling some yankee interviewer.

The Lord has spoken to Malachi.

He drew a folded telegram from his chair.

It had now entered Dorothea's mind that Mr. Ladislaw was still ignorant, and to believe?

—Me!

I think, by jurists. How my orders came to be laid. I now.