#‘remember your own father and pity me Achilles’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smallraindrops-blog · 2 years ago

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Wake Me From This Dreaming

Word counts: 8.1K

Hypnos x male reader

Warnings: violent, trauma, family issues, war, cursing, drunkness, talk of death, death, sex work, no beta.

Notes: First off, I just want to say thank you to everyone who has been waiting for this part. I swear to god, Yall are the most patient readers ever.

The second half of this part will hopefully be out soon.

Please heed all warnings.

Again folks, thank you. ♥️

Patroclus’ last letter

I hope this letter will never be read. That somehow even against the will of the gods and fates themselves, we will all live. I hope we will return to the house as a family. That we will never pick up another weapon for the rest of our days.

If you are reading this then I suppose the gods had gotten their wishes.

I am lucky to say I have loved and been loved in return. Both wonderfully heavy burdens I will never trade anything for. Not even the gods can take that from me now.

To my beloved.

Achilles, if you are reading this with our son, I love you more than I can put to words. I can remember the first time I saw you, young and beautiful and bright. Fingers playing on a lyre, golden and divine in the afternoon light. I still see you like that even all these years later. My Achilles. My beloved.

Take care of our son. He admires you so much. I remember watching him when he was still a very young lad, trailing behind you and trying to walk just like you. His footprints were so small next to yours.

I love you. I will see you again.

To my son.

I never thought I would have a child. The idea of it seemed impossible. Then we found you and you found a place in my heart, in my very soul. Loving and raising you was the easiest and greatest thing I have ever done.

You are my child and I am your Pa, no matter how much time has passed. Don't you ever doubt that.

Be a good lad. Mind your footwork and don’t forget to eat. Eat for our sake if you need a reason. Should I be the first to go, then take care of your father and forgive him for what to come. His heart was always too big for him.

My child, I love you. Be good. Be brave.

The urn was simple with geometric borders on the top but you could tell from the sturdy craftsmanship that it had been brought before the war had started. You sighed, rubbing your eyes.

It made sense to plan for one’s death, just as your parents had done, even if there was a small childish part of you that didn’t want to admit it, wanted to hold on to the anger of being left behind. You thought of the pitying looks the others gave you, even Peros who for once didn’t have anything to say.

You pulled your hand away and started again at the urn.

At least your parents were together now and no longer in pain. They will be placed in the tomb together and if the afterlife did exist, then they would be together.

What more could a son ask for?

You heard footsteps, the clink of armor and turned around to see Pyrrhus lifting up the tent flap and coming in without even offering a greeting. You saw the faint outlines of bodies outside the tent. So Pyrrhus made sure to come with bodyguards even while dressed in his own elaborate armor and his sword by his hip. You thought he looked rather garnished compared to yours and everyone else.

You were glad you kept your own simple armor on, Achilles’ spear close by. You also knew where all the weapons were, the ones on display and the ones hidden away.

Pyrrhus made a faint sound of disgust, his neat red braid spilling over his shoulder as he studied the tent.

It was still a shock to see him. He really did look a lot like Achilles, but not perfectly so. It was more than just his red hair. There was something off with the way he looked at people, of the way he smiled, all teeth. It was like Pyrrhus knew what he was supposed to do but couldn’t muster up the actual feeling behind it.

It puts you on edge.

“This is the tent my father spent his time in?” Pyrrhus scoffed, putting weight on the word ‘my father’. You wanted to laugh. Pyrrhus sounded like a child even if he was older than you.

“Father preferred more simple details.” You replied, trying to keep the tension out of your voice. It was the truth. Achilles would scoff over Agamemnon and other kings for fancy silverware and chairs in their tent. The only times your father bothered with details was when he was getting a gift for your Pa.

Pyrrhus grunted, clearly not believing you. With his hands clasped behind his back, he began a slow lap around the tent. The look of faint distaste on his face only added to his arrogance. You stayed by the table, only moving your eyes to follow him.The urn hidden behind your back.

“I heard rumors, you know.” Pyrrhus offered up airily, like you and him were old friends. “That you were actually his slave’s son and not his. I must admit, we look nothing alike.”

“It is no secret that I am adopted. And Patroclus wasn’t his slave.” You said, letting the implications hang in the air. It felt wrong to call him by that and not by Pa but Pyrrhus wasn’t the first to try this. Most would understand what you were saying, their eyes darting away for a moment then looking back at you in a new light.

Your so-called brother only scoffed. “So I have been told. I highly doubt it, not when there are plenty of beautiful spear brides.” You noticed his eyes lingered on of the wars prize Achilles had claimed, beautifully made swords and shields. Below those were a simple wooden chest, filled with jewelry and gold.

If that was what he wanted, then so be it. You couldn’t care less. Then Pyrrhus turned back to you and slowly made his way.

Pyrrhus stopped in front of you, almost to your chin. You shouldn’t feel so smug for having quite a few inches over him. Not even you knew Pyrrhus hated you- was jealous of you for daring to share the title of son with him.

You had pitied him at first. It must hurt to know that your father had raised another child while being sent away and one not even of his own blood. Now with him in front of you, you just hated him. He may be of Achilles’ blood but he was not his son.

“I won’t allow some paupers’ orphan the honor of being my Father’s son, nor do I plan on calling you my brother.” Pyrrhus said, his tone final. He was used to people obeying him and it showed. He was waiting for you to bow your head, to acknowledge his sole claim to Achilles' legacy.

Your mouth twitched up in a grim smile. “I don’t think that is up to you. Father signed the paperworks, he had named me as one of his heirs in front of society and not even you can change that.”

You leaned closer as Pyrrhus snarled quietly, his white teeth bared and his blue eyes burned into yours. It was also the first real emotion you saw from him.

Hatred.

“Call me brother or don’t. I don’t care.” You told him quietly. “Far I am concerned, this war has already taken everything I cared about. So run around like a foolish child carrying the legacy of a dead man like it was yours when we both know it isn’t. I hope this nightmare of a war is everything you wanted, Pyrrhus.“

Pyrrhus was breathing heavily and you saw the faint shaking of his lips. You moved back, the urn still safe. Your parents’ ashes untouched by this madness.

“Leave.” You told him. “Now.”

“I finally read up on that philosopher, Protagoras. Did you know that he was Plato’s teacher?” Hypnos said, running a hand through your hair. His nails lightly scratched your scalp. You blinked up at him slowly, taking in his words. Your head pillowed on his lap with your limbs spread out lazily. It was ridiculous how large Hypnos’ bed was, that you had enough space to spread out.

Hypnos didn’t meet your eyes, staring thoughtfully at the constellation of Virgo. You stole the moment to simply admire the line of his collarbone and his bare chest.

“I actually didn't.” You said, turning your head and pressing a kiss against Hypnos’ soft belly and getting a squirm from him. He smacked your shoulders with a huff and you fought a grin as you returned back to your place on his lap. “I must admit I don’t see his influence on Plato. Old man seemed happy to accept only his truth.”

Hypnos laughed, his hand going back to running though your hair. It made you feel like a pet but you found you didn’t mind, not from Hypnos. His bright golden eyes found yours and no, you definitely didn’t mind.

“There is such a thing as objective truth though.” Hypnos told you matter factly with a smile. He made a point to tap his finger on your nose and you scowled. You caught his hand before he could pull away and placed his hand on your chest. Your hand was broader than Hypnos’ and covered his effortlessly.

Idly, you gave a squeeze, soaking in the warmth of his palm against your chest.

“Pluto misunderstood, maybe willingly so. He was a wealthy, educated man who was comfortable in his place of the world.” You replied, running your thumb along his. “Who gets to decide what the objective truth is? Kings? Farmers?”

You paused then quietly. “Gods?”

Hypnos raised a brow but said nothing. However there was a faint smile on his face, as if encouraging you to continue.

You licked your lips, thinking. You weren’t good at debates but you always liked Protagoras’ line of thinking. It made sense to you, everyone lived differently, have their own experience coloring how they view the world and therefore everyone have their own truth, their own code.

“I don’t know but I think he was right to tell the others to listen to everyone, not just the wealthy and powerful.” You paused, “I do know that I don’t know what the objective truth is but I know what mine is. Protagoras had a saying, ‘Man is the measure of all things.’”

There was a moment of silence and you wondered if maybe you said too much. You did directly insult a god while in his lap. You risked a glance at Hypnos’ face and only saw fondness.

Hypnos pulled his hand back up and cupped your face and you swallowed. You were unable to look away from him, his eyes bright and lulling. His white curls fell around his face, cloud-like and you almost told him he really did look like a dream, soft and pretty and unreal.

”You are a good man, do you know that?” He whispered as he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss on your lips. His lips were soft against yours, tasting faintly sweet. Before you could return the kiss, make him stay with you, he pulled away with a smile.

He resumed running his hand through your hair, humming a lullaby. You knew this one even if there was no name for it. The song called for simpler times, of bonfires and laughter.

You closed your eyes, and let the world drift away.

Asphodel was an unfamiliar place to you. When you were alive, you had heard of its verdant plains and flowers. You had always thought it sounded nice. You weren’t sure where you would end up but you had hoped for Asphodel since it had sounded far better than Tartarus and you weren’t worthy of Elysium.

You eyed the molten magma warily as you followed Thanatos. You saw two children, an older girl and a younger boy huddled on one of the rocks. The boy was tossing pebbles in the magma but the girl stared at you and Thanatos with wide, dark eyes.

You winced and looked away.

You had heard of the river Phlegethon overflooding Asphodel from your father. Zagreus had mentioned it as well but you haven’t realized how bad it was. You saw a group of elders huddled together, staring off into nowhere.

Surely Master Hades or his queen must be trying to do something for these people. These weren’t the monsters that haunted Tartarus. As far as you knew, most of the people here were farmers or craftsmen with their families. Simple folks who just lived their lives yet they were being punished for it.

“Mortal, stop gawking. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can both return to our duties.” Thanatos snapped. You scowled as you met his hard stare. It still amazed you that Hypnos and Thanatos were twins. Their eyes may have the same golden color but Thanatos’ stare was hardened and narrowed with his mouth tight in disapproval.

“I thought Tartarus was supposed to be the place of punishment for mortals, not Asphodel.” You snapped back. “And I have a name, god of death.”

“Watch it, mortal.” Thanatos whirled around, looming over you but you remained in place, meeting his glare with your own. There was a beat of silence as you and him stared each other down.

You opened your mouth to say something but you didn’t. You shut your mouth, lips tightening.

It was only the memory of Hypnos’ nervous glance between you and his twin that held your tongue. Do it for Hypnos’ sake, he was worth putting up with Thanatos for however long this took.

Thanatos hummed, unimpressed and turned back around. You didn’t immediately follow, you took a deep breath - thinking of Hypnos, of the promises you made- and let it out. Then you made your legs obey.

Magma boiled and spilled over rocks, uncaring of the warring mortal and god in its wake.

You debated pulling away the bottle of wine from Achilles’ fist but you knew it would be a fight you would lose. Achilles was a good fighter and had a fast left hook on a good day. You eyed the first empty bottle that was close to the end of the table, normally any wine you did have was with dinner and watered down.

You just weren’t expecting to find your father alone in his and Patroclus’ tent, drunk as a skunk. You had never seen him drunk before. But things were different in war, you supposed. You had been treated as a man since the first battle, marching back into camp with prizes - some made of gold, some weeping as they held onto their daughters- and dried blood smeared on your helmet.

It was weeping and pleading that followed you into nightmares. It even drowned out the sounds of screams.

So you joined him, planning on just one drink and helping your father sober up.

You felt light for the first time since arriving so you polished off your third- no fourth drink. You let him pour another cup for himself and you. You told yourself to sip, to slow down. You took a gulp without meaning to, a pleasant fuzzy warmth in your stomach growing.

“I can’t tell you how many times over the years I have thought about bringing Pyrrhus to come live with us.” Achilles said out of nowhere before he swallowed half of his wine.

You blinked, feeling lightheaded. “Pyrrhus?”

“My firstborn. Your older brother. I think. I used to not be able to say his name. ”

You wrinkled your nose, taking a sip of wine then blinked when you realized you already finished off the cup. How many have you had already?

You let your Father pour you another drink. “I don’t have a brother.”

“Yes, you do.” Achilles snapped. You scowled but said nothing. You blinked at the red wine, the taste of it thick on your tongue. For a moment you thought of the baker’s son back home, of how the wine would taste on his lush lips. You didn’t love him but you enjoyed how his mouth felt against yours.

Then Achilles sighed loudly with a rueful grin. You took a drink, embarrassed that you have forgotten where you were.

“Well, no I guess not, huh lad?” He said, taking a deep drink of his wine. “Can’t call him your brother if I only acknowledge him when I have to. Today is his birthday.”

You said nothing. You wanted to go find Pa and get him to make your father act normal again. You frowned, realizing you haven’t seen him all evening.

“Where is Pa?”

“Hm?” Achilles blinked then waved a hand. “Saving lives. In the medical tent. Being useful unlike the rest of us. If I had any skill at politics, I could have given him a school. He likes teaching. Brilliant and handsome. All I had done was hurt him but he kept me anyway.”

You sighed and then you poured him and yourself a drink. Achilles rubbed his flushed face with a sigh. You were willing to bet that yours looked similar. “You know what, lad? He didn’t want you here in the war, Patroclus wanted to send you to Chiron. But I pushed for it. If you can make a name for yourself here, you will be set for life.”

“I know Father.” You said quietly. Achilles had told you this before. Making a name for yourself. Glory to gods and his parents. You didn’t feel like there was much glory to be found among the mud and bodies.

Achilles scoffed, his blonde hair spilling over his shoulders. “Father. Some fucking father I am. I wasn’t there at the first one’s birth and I sent my other one to dance with death.”

“You are not a bad father! You’re just having some stupid useless old man regrets.” You snapped, slamming a fist on the table, causing hairline cracks in the thick wood. The empty bottle rattled and broke on the ground. You and Achilles blinked at it for a long moment. Then you reached, placing a hand on his shoulder causing him to look at you again.

“You are not a bad father. Pa wouldn’t let you.” You repeated. “Beside. We all know I would have followed you both all the way here if you did try to leave me at Chiron. At least this way we are together.”

Achilles blinked sluggishly then a warm, drunken laugh bubbled out between his lips. You found yourself doing the same, both of you filling the tent with laughter.

“You would have, you little shit.” Achilles hiccuped, sounding helplessly fond, throwing an arm on your shoulder and pulled you into a clumsy hug. You nodded, still laughing as you pulled away and lifted your drink. Achilles did the same.

An hour or so later, you heard Patroclus come into the tent. You blinked at him, realizing dimly you were on your back on the cold ground. You grinned at his shocked glance. Achilles snored from under the table, a hand still curled around his cup.

Patroclus opened his mouth, but you pressed a finger to your lips. “Shh. Father is sleeping.” You told him loudly.

“I can see that, my son.” Patroclus said dryly. You laughed at his tone, not seeing his frustration turned into soft amusement as he watched you laugh.

Patroclus ran a hand down his face, walked over to the table and downed what was left of yours and Achilles’ drink. You couldn’t help but laugh again. He walked over the bed and grabbed a pillow and blanket before returning to you.

“Lift your head.” He ordered. You obeyed, sighing as your head landed on softness and the blanket rested on you, pulled up to your chin.

“Father isn’t bad.” You slurred, sleep already pulling you under. “Just… life doesn’t work like it should sometimes.”

Patroclus stopped, his dark eyes softened as he leaned down to you. He brushed your hair out of your face. And you felt like a small child again. You swallowed, desperately wishing you were. Life was so much easier.

“I know lad. Be good and go to sleep. You are going to have a headache tomorrow.” Patroclus said, his words fading. You hummed, eyes closed.

Past the magma and rocky cliffs, what you saw only made your guts twisted in shame. While so-called heroes fought and partied among the beauty of Elysium, there were whole families suffering right under them. Even the house should be ashamed, living and working in such comfort themselves. You swallowed the knot that formed in your throat.

You will have to talk to Hypnos about this. If you were pathetic for wishing to hear Hypnos’ easy and cheerful voice to smooth away the shame you felt then pathetic you shall be.

You shook your head, clearing your remorseful thoughts. Right now, it was no use to anyone.

Walking around like this was a waste of time. This land of fire was unfamiliar to you, and you suspected that most of Asphodel was unknown to Thanatos as well. However, the locals would know far more and would remember anything unfamiliar.

“Thanatos.” You called out, “We should try talking to some of the shades here. We clearly aren’t getting anywhere by just wandering around.”

The god ignored you.

Of course.

You bit back a snarl and marched ahead and got right in front of him. “I know you heard me.”

Thanatos gave you a cool look. “Do you think you have the right to address me by my first name, mortal?” His sentence ended with a pointed tone.

You sucked in a long, deep breath. And remind yourself this was Hypnos’s brother and you couldn’t reach for his neck and strangle Thanatos because Hypnos loved his twin. Thanatos watched you with an almost smirk on his face and you got the sense that he was pleased at your anger. As if it proved something to him.

“I truly don’t understand.” Thanatos continued, driving the needle deeper. “My brother still acts like a childish brat with a toy but I thought the shine on you would have worn off by now.”

“Shut your mouth.” You warned, the words slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t care what you say about me but not even you are allowed to speak of him like that. Not to me.”

Thanatos’ golden eyes grew wide in anger, his hands tightening around his scythe.

You should apologize, bow your head and accept your punishment. You knew it. But you didn’t and you won’t. You had thought maybe Thanatos and Hypnos had reached an understanding since they were talking more but apparently you were wrong.

“Hypnos loves you. For some reason that is beyond my mortal understanding.” You said quietly, “He makes so many excuses for you and your cruel words to him. Yet you can’t give him even a smile in return.”

A beat of silence, only bubbling magma and the faint cries of small Hydras filled the area.

Then Thanatos pulled back, an unnerving calm taking over his face. You stayed in place, you faced worse things than this god.

“If it came between his family and you, do you really think he would pick you over us?” Thanatos spat out. His hand still wrapped around his weapon, ready to strike you down.

It hurts to even hear it, let alone the thought of it. You feared that day more than you feared the end of time itself. You shoved the thought away. You won’t let Thanatos see how deeply those words dug in.

“I love him enough to not make him choose. Can you say the same?” You replied, sounding more calm than you actually felt.

The air grew thick and uncomfortable, neither of you backing down. Something flickered over Thanatos’ face but it was gone before you could put a name to it.

You opened your mouth to continue, hoping -praying- that maybe you can finally break past Thanatos’ defense.

“Thanatos! Y/N!” A familiar voice broke the silence, and you and him both turned. Zagreus waved, on one of the few boats. When the boat got close enough, Zagreus took a flying leap and landed on solid ground with a cheeky grin.

The unspoken words hang heavy between you and Thanatos, enough so that even Zagreus’ smile diminished. Anything you saw on Thanatos’ face had disappeared, lost to you now.

“What are you doing here?” Thanatos asked, watching as Zagreus hurried over. His footsteps left black footmarks against the hot ground. He flashed another grin once close enough. You saw a faint blue trailed behind him, carrying the smell of the sea with it.

“I heard from my parents what you guys were trying to do and thought I could help out.”

“Didn’t Master Hades-“ Thanatos spoke but Zagreus waved his words away with an easy smile.

“This is more important. We can’t have a shade, even if he was a hero, attacking and disrespecting members of the house like the way Pyrrhus had been lately.”

Zagreus turned to you. “I know there are some family issues, maybe I can help you guys with that. Gods knows, my father and I had our share of disagreements. We still do. ”

You twisted your mouth, “I appreciate it but this isn’t one of those issues that can be helped.”

Zagreus raised a brow but said nothing. You almost rolled your eyes, Zagreus was nosy enough that he could even the most busybody aunties a run for their money.

You glanced at Thanatos, “I was telling Lord Thanatos we need to speak to the locals, they would notice before anyone else if something is wrong. No one can hide from every pair of eyes.”

Thanatos side-eyed you using his title but shook his head. “And I was telling the mortal that it was a waste of time. We need to go deeper in. They won’t be walking among the other mortals otherwise we would have already found them.”

You noticed he still didn’t use your name, rolling your eyes and from the brief frown on Zagreus’ face, he did noticed as well.

“Then we should split up.” Zagreus offered. His back was straight and his face was calm, not giving anything away. He looked like a prince, confident in his own authority. He had grown since you first met him. You were torn between a moment of pride and wanting to reach over and ruffle his already messy hair.

“I think both of you are right. Sir y/n, are you comfortable going to the villages on the outskirts? Words will spread faster if there are gods looking for Pyrrhus. We might end up losing them.” Zagreus nodded to Thanatos, “We can keep going this way since we both know this area better.”

You and Thanatos glanced at each other then nodded to Zagreus.

You knew he wanted to get away from you, just as you wanted to get away from him.

It was obvious you were one of Hades’ workers yet the townsfolk didn’t do much beyond sparing you a glance. Some of the elderly shades eyed you from over their chessboard but said nothing.

You couldn’t help but be glad to see some form of civilization. It was a small town, broken by rivers of magma and jutting rocks. But it was proof that mortals had found a way to cope.

You hung back, resting against one of the rocks as people moved around. There were mothers chatting among themselves as children played a game of hopscotch. You heard a shade pushing his wares, promising the finest rugs. You saw some men, talking about the latest fight in Elysium as money exchanged hands.

It felt like a painfully normal town. Which meant it if one knew how to, it could be easy to hide among the shades. There had been raids but from the lax feeling you got from the townsfolk, it hasn't happened here. Not yet.

You didn’t talk about it, not to your parents or Hypnos even. You didn’t want them to know what you did on the run from Pyrrhus. You had learned how to watch people during that time. Your life depended on it but it always sounded like a pitiful excuse to you. You didn't want to see the disappointment mark their faces. Especially not Hypnos’.

But what was done was done.

So you watched and waited.

Some of the shades glanced curiously in your direction but otherwise went on with their business. A dark-haired woman with kohl lined eyes and an almost sheer chiton smiled at you but with a shake of your head, she gave a playful pout then moved on.

You wondered if you could talk Hypnos into wearing something like that. Maybe with the circlet…

You reminded yourself firmly that you were here for a reason.

It wasn’t long until you a man moved a little too easily between the crowd, sure of his place in the world in a way that spoke of noble upbringing. It stood out amongst the common shades. He must have felt your eyes on him because he turned his head and stared in your direction with narrowed eyes.

You watched how his eyes widened when he saw the mark of Hades on you. He quickly ducked his head, and hurried off. You pushed off from the rock and trailed after him.

You hung back, scowling at shades that brushed against you. It was only when the town became more broken up and you had weaved around carefully over boiling magma, that you worked where he was going. It was a cave, men made from how perfectly circled the entrance was.

You saw the sign for brothel and cursed under your breath. You just hoped Hypnos would be understanding. You followed the shade in, spotting a warm light far off. The shade turned around and saw you but just before he took off, you caught him by the back of his cloak and slammed the shade against the wall.

The man, young and round face, stammered. “What is the meaning of this?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Are you really going to try that with me?”

The man laughed nervously “I don’t-“

“Sir Y/N. Let him go.” A raspy voice broke the tension and you and him both looked at the source. It was an older, plump woman, her thin lips were a bloody red with a clay pipe dangling from them. Her silver hair was pulled into a bun with strands framing her wrinkled face. She had been beautiful once.

She scoffed, deeply unimpressed by both of them.

“Madam, I didn't know-“ the man rushed to speak but she held up a wrinkled hand and he quieted down immediately. He looked more scared of her than he did of you. You eyed him but loosen your grip and the man took off like a shot, out of the cave and your sight.

Madam looked you up and down with her dark eyes, her face impassive. “So this is what Lord and Master Hades sent us to deal with the roaming band of thieves and rapists? A house pet?”

Then she paused, a smirk curling around her pipe. “I forget my manners. I mean Greece’s greatest and most honorable heroes of course.”

“Just me, Madam.” You said, nodding your head. The less knowledge she had on you, the better. You didn’t like that she already knew your name somehow. Or being called a house pet.

She huffed a puff of smoke out. “Follow me.” She turned and didn’t wait for you, her silver hair gleamed in the light.

You hesitated for a moment but this was likely the only real clue you have of Pyrrhus’ whereabouts so you followed.

Very, very reluctantly.

The cave twisted and turned, with curtains for privacy here and there. You ignored the sounds of moaning. You kept your eyes firmly planted on the woman ahead of you.

“I was a young whore when I saw one of your fights, Sir Y/N. Never saw anything like that again. It was over so quickly. Every single one you fought that night.” Madam said thoughtfully. You blinked, trying to place her but you came up with nothing. Not surprising since you barely remembered anything, just trying not to get caught.

Then you grimaced, there was easily several decades between yours and her death.

“Do I want to know how young?”

Madam snorted in a very unladylike way that made you want to smile. “No, you don’t.”

“I thought this village had been untouched by the raids.” You said. “Normally a place is emptied out afterwards.”

Madam asked in front of a wooden door and turned to you. “You’re right. For now, we have been lucky because we have my business here, and plenty of luxuries the others don’t have.”

She took a deep drag on her pipe. “I handle a lot of problems for these fine folks of this town, even before the gods left us to burn in the magma.”

“I’m sorry.”

Madam shrugged. “Gods will do as gods please. I’ve let the men stay here with the promise they will leave this town and my people alone.”

You bit the harsh words of letting raiders stay and just nodded. She saw the look on your face and pointed a finger at you. “It was more than what the gods have done for us. And it meant safety for us.”

You let out a breath, she wasn't wrong. “What changed?”

Madam sighed, “Pyrrhus.”

Which told you everything and nothing at the same time.

Madam turned to the wooden door and pushed it open, and you followed her. You blinked when you saw several warriors chained to the wall, dirty and pissed off.

“You fucking old hag, let us go!” A blonde man ordered and you jerked in shock. You knew that voice. You stared at the blonde man, he was older now with silver in his hair and a thick belly on him.

“Simon, son of Andreas?” You said quietly, and Simon blinked wide eyes at you. There was a beat of silence as the rest of the group worked out who you were. You looked at each of their faces and were dismayed that you recognized all of them.

You knew all of them. All four of these warriors had been under Fathers’ then your leadership during the war and now they were chained up in some whorehouse.

“Simon, Chremon, Gallup, Leon.” You stated, your disappointment clear. All of them winced at your tone. You heard a faint hum of approval from Madam then she stepped out, leaving you alone with them.

“Thank the gods!” Simon cried once the door closed. “Y/N, quick get us out of here.”

“Simon, shut up. He isn’t here to help us.” Chremon snapped at Simon. He glanced at you then at his feet, his jaw tight. Simon blinked at him then glanced at you then he looked toward the other men for support. He found none.

You walked close, just out of kicking range. “What the fuck happened?” It was rare for you to swear but you were at a loss of what else to say.

Of course, weak willed Simon kept talking. “It was Pyrrhus’ fault, we were just doing what we were told to do! He offered gold and whores for days and something else to do besides rot up there In Elysium.”

You pitched the space between your eyes and reminded yourself you couldn’t punch him, not yet anyway. The other men stayed quiet so you looked toward the rest of the group.

“Well?” You asked, dropping your hand back down. They said nothing, their eyes downcast. These were men you had led into battle with death all but a promise yet now they acted like cowards.

You scoffed, “All of you realized that none of you won’t see Elysium ever again? Master Hades personally sent me to handle this. He is not pleased.”

That got their attention and even Simon was quiet. Their faces were grim. Surely they knew it would have caught up with them eventually?

You heard Madam return with another footstep trailing behind her. She rejoined the room, her expression cool. You didn't doubt that she had seen countless power plays, and likely been part of them herself.

“Did they tell you?” She asked you calmly. You shook your head, frustration clear on your face. You needed answers, not this whatever this game was. Madam waved for the other person to come in and you frowned, a growing pit of dread in your stomach.

It was a pretty young man though his beauty was nothing compared to Hypnos’. He had ashy blonde curls that framed his face and pale skin. He was slender in the same way as Hypnos and he bit down on his bottom lip just like Hypnos. His icy blue eyes were almost round as Hypnos’ as he glanced at you then back to Madam.

It was bizarre how similar they were at first glance. He could easily pass for a faint vision of your beloved. But you saw the eyebrows were wrong, the apple of his cheeks not high enough, his nose too sharp and his mouth was locked into a pout, unlike Hypnos’ sweet, cheerful grin.

Nowhere close enough.

“Alex. Tell Sir Y/N what happened.” She ordered. Alex nodded, and you saw in his eyes there was a sharpness that Hypnos thankfully lacked.

“I came in for my shift, and I heard from the girls how rough Pyrrhus was. And that he was looking for a particular type among the girls, innocent and slim with curls.” Alex’ lips twitched ruefully as he waved a hand toward himself. “I went to try to give the girls a break from him since I thought I might suit. And I can handle some rough manhandling.”

Then any amusement he had dropped from his face. He tugged down the top of his chiton, and you saw faint shining light from chest down to his stomach. It had mostly healed but it still looked painfully deep. “That asshole took one look at me, fucked me without paying and kept asking what kill gods- like I would bloody know-than he tried to kill me while I tried to clean myself up.”

You stared at the ugly mark, the words sinking in. In your mind’s eye, you saw torn flesh and golden blood spilling. Of bright eyes dulled.

“He's been acting disturbed the last few days.” Leon spoke up, his voice quiet in his shame.

Gallup laughed, a harsh and barking sound. “Disturbed. Pyrrhus had gone bloody mad is what happened.”

You refocused on them, white-hot blinding rage bubbling in your chest. You stalked over to them, hands tighten into fists. It wasn’t like you attacked a bound man but you wanted to strangle them for following along with whatever mad idea Pyrrhus came up with. They saw the dark look on your face and flinched back, they knew what you could do to a man.

You heard Madam ordered Alex out, to get something. You lost her words among the buzzing in your ears. You stood in front of Gallup and his brown eyes wouldn’t meet yours for a long moment. Not ready to face his old commander. What a fool. All of them.

“Gallup. Look at me.” You ordered, glad you were able to still sound somewhat human. He swallowed thickly and with a stiff upper lip, he met your eyes like a man marching to his death.

“Each of you is going to tell me everything. “ You snarled, your rage poorly hidden. “You will tell me where Pyrrhus is. Then You will answer Lord and Master Hades for your crimes in his domain.”

The more they told you, your rage and dread only grew.

Pyrrhus had gone off the deep end after the fight, the shamed warriors told you. He had started talking of gods and devouring flames and talks of appeasement and honor as he paced endlessly in front of the fire. He spoke of his birthright. Pyrrhus would grab a girl and look at her face before throwing her away to the other men.

Too Ugly. Too Wrong. He would call all of them that. You thought of Alex and his pale curls and your stomach twisted. You didn’t want to know what Pyrrhus had seen.

“He wouldn’t fuck of them now.” Simon said carelessly. “We would have to wait if he had a girl we wanted but after that fight with you and him, he wouldn’t even grope their tits.”

“Afterwards his thing with the boy, Pyrrhus tried to run out, some of the other men got away but we were…” Leon paused. “Busy. And drunk. Before we knew it, we were chained up here.”

“So you don’t have a fucking clue where he is do you?” You said quietly.

“No, commander Y/N.” The old name slipped, unplanned from what you could tell by Leon’ surprised face but you and everyone else ignored it.

“I do.” Madam spoke up.

“Take me to him.” You ordered.

You had told Hypnos war stories eventually but you never really went into depth about it. You didn’t tell him of the villages. Of the crying women and girls as the men were killed. As they were sold off like cattle.

You didn’t tell him how blood carried a smell once enough was spilled or how human organs looked just like animals’, slimy and useless in the dirt. Of being too aware you were made of meat, tendons and bone under metal but you acted like you weren’t a mortal man killing other mortal men.

Sometimes you thought if you could see into time itself, you would be still there on an everlasting battlefield, bloodied and golden. Immortalized by mud and blood.

You used to wonder if Pyrrhus found whatever it was he was looking for on that battlefield. Some ugly part of you knew he never did, never would and was pleased by it.

Hypnos had told you were a good man once. You weren’t strong enough to tell him he was wrong.

There was a period when you were still new at the house where you and Hypnos weren’t exactly friends but he would say you and him were even cold as you were. You didn’t want to admit he was right.

“Did you like being a commander?” Hypnos asked, chewing on an unused quill as Zagreus ran laps.

You should probably tell not to do that, it would make the quill worthless and unable to write. You didn’t. There were plenty of quills tucked away in your desk and a handful on your person. If Hypnos wished to chew on his writing quill so be it, you more than enough for him. At least this one didn't have ink on it.

“No.” You said flatly. A warning.

You heard Zagreus yelled out the number ten, at least he had learned to keep track this time.

Hypnos frowned and you saw the war behind his eyes, to prod for more or to pull back to let you have your space. His nosiness won in the end. He looked you over and crossed his arms, just like you have yours and straightened his back.

“Why?” Hypnos replied in a deeper voice, trying to imitate your flat tone. Your lips twitched and you fought it down from becoming a full smile.

You told yourself you weren’t amused by his copycat behavior. It was childish and unbecoming of a god. Even if there was something boyishly innocent about Hypnos’ beauty.

Zagrues yelled out the number eleven, his voice still clear. You knew by lap nineteen, Zagreus would be panting for air.

You also knew by the pleased glint in those golden eyes, Hypnos thought he won. So you asked him, “Why do you think I didn't like it?”

Hypnos actually scowled at you for a moment and you smirked which only upset him more. Hypnos scoffed loudly, his shoulders relaxing. Then he seemed to stop and think about it.

“I guess I wouldn’t want to be the boss either.” Hypnos said, tapping a finger on his cheek. “Bad enough when they try to give me more stuff to do on top of all the paperwork.”

This time, it was your turn to scowl. “You do understand that I had to actually think beyond my own life? I had men, real breathing people who didn’t want to die. And I had to make sure they didn’t. If they did, it was on me. This was more than paperwork, for us it was life or death.”

Hypnos was quiet and you thought you had shut him up with your sharp words. You watched Zagreus and heard him yell out number fourteen. You saw black footprints in the dirt, already fading away.

You should be glad you finally shut this little god up, to make him see how spoiled he was. You should be happy but a heavy and familiar weight of guilt settled on your chest. You wanted to apologize even though you did nothing wrong. He should know this wasn’t a game for mortals. Lives were ruined over that damn war.

You felt a warm hand brush on your shoulder which made you look at him. Hypnos’ face was solemn and it looked wrong on the cheerful being. You wanted to wipe it away, to bring out the cheerful smile you were getting used to.

Very quietly, Hypnos said. “It wasn’t on you. You weren’t responsible for starting the war. You weren’t even a prince or anyone with real power.”

You sighed but you could say that it wasn’t that simple, Hypnos spoke up again. You saw his wing flutter nervously before laying flat against his curls as Hypnos bit his lip. You hated that you thought it charming.

“I don’t understand the mortals' fear of death. But I guess that is easy for me to say. I have never experienced it, it is just part of the mortal cycle to me and I know all forms of deaths personally so- I’m rambling. I’m sorry for my careless words. I should have been more thoughtful.” Hypnos said then he gave you a small and hopeful grin.

It looked painfully sweet on him.

There was a lot you could say but you didn’t want to talk about the war or the men you failed. Of the hard calls you had to make while you were still a boy. There was a whole list of stuff you didn’t want to talk about.

“You never experienced it?” You asked.

Hypnos shook his head, blinking his wide golden eyes. You had tried to place where you had seen that shade of gold. You suspected if you allowed yourself to get close enough to, you would find every single shade of gold melted into a harmonious hue.

But you won’t. You can’t.

Zagreus yelled out ‘nineteen’, his breathing heavy.

“Good.” You told Hypnos. You were surprised by how much you meant that. “I’m glad you never have.”

What you didn’t say that you hoped he never will.

There was another wooden door just several more paces down. However this one had a deadbolt on it.

Madam paused in front of the door, her eyes met yours. You kept your body loose and face impassive. You already fucked this up once. You won’t do that to Hypnos, not again. If Pyrrhus had gone mad as they said, being reckless would only put Hypnos in harm's way.

“You look calm but don’t think I don’t see that storm brewing in those eyes, Sir y/n.” She said, her pipe dangling from her red lips.

You tipped your head, not disagreeing with her. “If you are worried for your and your workers’ safety, you have nothing to fear. My only job is to bring him and his followers to Lord Hades.”

She didn’t believe you but she undid the lock and stepped to the side. You gave her a nod and pushed the door opened.

It was pitched black and it took your eyes a moment to adjust. The room was small and bare. You stepped in and with the candle light from the hall, you saw the glint of metal scattered on the ground.

Broken chains.

Pyrrhus was gone.

You took a sharp breath, heart pounding as a sharp and bitter fury overtook you. You whirled around causing Madam to take several steps back, fear on her face for the first time as she stared up at you. You loomed and with teeth bared, you spoke softly. Deadly. More beast than man.

“Where is he?”

#wake me from this dreaming #hypnos x male!reader #fanfic #self insert

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petrichortrees · 4 years ago

Text

the ghost of patroclus speaks to menoetius

Are you proud of me father

From the moment I was born you looked at me

With only disgrace in your eyes

I was an unsightly inconvenience

An irritant born from a pitiful marriage

You longed for a mighty son

And when you were given one you sent him away

You cherished your kingdom and your glib nobles more than you did your own blood

Did they tell you I fled to find Achilles

When he left to train with Chiron

I don't know why I humour myself with the thought

I am an exiled prince with no father or kingdom

Instead I have one boy

And he has me

And I would follow him to the ends of the earth

To the mouth of Hades

I would bring him the lyre of Apollo if he so desired

Just to see his emerald eyes light up

And for the soft curves of glee to carve his pink lips

Did they tell you of my travels

From Phthia to Scyros

From Scyros to Aulis

From Aulis to Troy

Wherever Achilles went I would follow

Because I know what it's like to be alone

And there is nothing worse than the thought of the life in his verdant eyes dying out

Or for the joy of youth to be ripped from his face

So no matter how much it pained me

I went with him

And I loved him

And I tried to preserve the boy who used to whisper to me in the centaur's cave

Did they tell you of what Troy was like

Of what it did to Achilles

Of what it did to me

I was ordered to guard his honour

For that is what will be left of men

So I did as best as I could

But nobody warned me of what pride does to men

Nobody speaks of how it twists and contorts the mind

And my demigod had submitted to his hubris

Letting it consume him

I fought Trojans

But I also fought death in the tent flooded with our wounded

Thanatos lingered outside the door

And I did my best to keep him at bay

But my best, as always, was hardly enough

Did they tell you of how the men cried to me

And of how I cried to Achilles

I kneeled at his feet and I wept before him and I held his hands close to my face as the tears streamed down

I pleaded and I sobbed and I begged

He was conflicted

And I hoped his love would prevail

I wanted the boy who used to juggle figs and craft songs by the beach to resurface

But the Fates care not for fruits and melodies

No matter how sweet they are

Did they tell you of my final moments outside Troy

Of how I killed so many

And let my hubris consume me

Apollo knocked my wits from me and Achilles' armour fell with them

There was nothing I could do when Hector plunged his spear into my stomach

And it still hurts

Because I had been the one to seal Achilles' fate

Did you mourn for me father

The men did

Achilles did

He let his grief cradle him in place of me

His vanity had fled

Replaced now by a heavy guilt

I could do nothing but watch as he unleashed his wrath on Hector

I heard the Gods selfishly fear for themselves

His fury could've brought down Troy

Maybe even Olympus

That is how he will be remembered

A tragedy composed of rage and arrogance

They do not know of the sweet boy

And a lilting voice sweeter than Orpheus'

They do not know of his smile

Delight sharpened by the childish hints of mischief

Will you remember me father

Will you tell others of how I found love in a boy doomed to fame

Will you tell others of how my pining heart fought for him

My father

Menoetius

Doomed might

Your son

Patroclus

Glory of the father

I have your might and have made it my own

My tenderness drove me to battle and gave me strength

And it doomed so many

I am called many things now

Beloved

Gallant

Philatos

But to you I will always be Patroclus

Slow, stumbling, stuttering

I will be the son you traded for the brief guarantee of a reign free from the stain of disgrace

To Achilles I will always be worth his life

He cannot be without me and I cannot without him

He is half my soul and my very own

Are you proud of me father

Your answer does not matter

I have been taught pride has no worth

And if you did not love me in life, your affection holds no sincerity in death

#writeblr #my poetry #the song of achilles #patroclus #achilles #menoetius #the iliad #patrochilles #patroclus x achilles #achilles x patroclus #poetry

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

Text

Vár (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Vár: spring (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: A little bit of insight into the aftermath of Chapter 36 and his perspective of the events of Chapter 37

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: 18+, references to smut and explicit bits. My boy is a sub and I am unable to write him in any other way, it seems. Then, just the usual for the story.

A/N: So yeah, companion piece to 37!

And listen, lemme share a secret with ya: I tried my hardest not making Ivar a bottom/sub in this, I truly did, but...I failed. So, if sub!Ivar ain’t your thing (it’s not explicit exactly, but it’s there, and I am sometimes bothered by descriptions of him in a very dominant position so I’d understand if the opposite happens to you, which is why I’m warning you), feel free to skip past the first ____ and you’re good. Thank you!

To say that in the last few days Ivar has grown fascinated -addicted, you’d argue- to exploring your body and every sound you make would be an understatement.

There’s a surge of pride inside his chest that hasn’t left him since that night, a satisfaction at knowing he can satisfy a woman, at knowing the most beautiful woman he knows, the woman they all want, wants him.

Ivar cannot get enough of the sight of you lost in the throes of the pleasure he gives you, and he loses his breath alongside with his mind each time your voice turns rougher and your hand -delicate, soft hand that somehow has the strength of Fenrir’s bindings when you touch him- grips onto his own as his fingers curl deep inside of you, your free hand pushing him down against the bed, sometimes close enough to his throat that Ivar has to grit his teeth to keep a plea of your name from leaving his lips; when you, in all the arrogance and the might that he hates and loves in equal measure, still his movements with a wrap of your fingers around his wrist and instead of having him give you pleasure you take it, you demand from him whatever you want and…Gods, that’s a sight he doesn’t think he will never get enough of.

And he’s addicted to the taste of you; to the sounds you make when he works his mouth and his tongue against you, chants of his name that reverberate through his chest and make him almost tremble with the realization that he is the reason behind them, that leave him warm and proud because he made you feel this way, and your moans and sighs and whimpers are gentle praise washing over him; to the way you grip and tug at his hair, bordering on pain and making shivers and something else run down his spine, and your thighs shake, and your back arches off the bed, and you come apart, and it is because of him, only he can do this to you, only him is who you want to do this to you, and he knows he is addicted, he knows there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this, for you.

There’s still a part of him -and there will always be, a part of him that grows louder some days- that resents that this also has to be different, that not even in sex he can be normal.

And that part of him, a part of him made of snarls that demanded answers from the Gods and of wrath and promises of death whispered in the ear of a slave; that part was quietened, pliant, satisfied, in your arms that night when you kissed him, stealing his breath and his mind and his heart, and reached down to touch him.

He once wished he had the words to tell you to do with him -with his body, defective and lacking as he sees it- what you wished, to tell you to claim the rest of him as ruthlessly as you claimed his heart; and it is that need, and that awe at the unwavering woman that kissed him until he ached and unwaveringly whispered more than any other man in my life, I want you; that made him take so long to stop you, that night.

He still remembers what it felt like, surrendering to you in that brief moment. He still remembers how it felt like his head was filled with noise and his heart and breath was out of his control.

He remembers how he could feel everywhere you were touching him, your lips on his neck pressing soft kisses in the places you had bitten and licked, your chest to his side almost holding him up when he leaned into you, your hand squeezing softly and moving over him with increasing pressure, making electricity run down his spine and heat coil low in his stomach.

And he remembers allowing himself to give in, and how good it felt. How he surrendered to falling and yet he didn’t, because you were there, soft breaths and gentle touches; how your delicate hand was so different from…that woman’s cold and distant touch, or from his own rough and desperate grip as he tried uselessly to prove to himself that night had been a mistake, a nightmare.

Ivar remembers how good it felt, and how overwhelming, and how easy it would have been to surrender then. For once, it could have been easy, because he trusts you and you love him and you want him and…

But no, no, it couldn’t be. Because he would fail, and he’d see the disgust in your eyes, and he’d feel the shame and the pain again, and couldn’t. So he stopped you. He had to.

He had to. Right?

Yes, of course he did. He needs to remember what his reality is, he needs to remember what failure feels like, and he needs to remember it would burn all the more if it were you he failed.

You could never fail me, Ivar, no matter what, you told him, and he knows you meant it, he trusts you, but saying something is not the same as knowing it.

And it is easy, it always is, to remember what that night felt like. The dawning horror, the pain, the humiliation, the anger. It is easy to remember, it is easy to still feel the burning shame, the anguish, the desperate need to curse and plea with the Gods for a reason why.

And because it is so easy to remember, and because his mind sometimes torments him with dreams of being in that situation again only it is your eyes looking back, and it isn’t false comfort from a slave, but your voice unfaltering and biting as you snarl at him the words he thinks of himself sometimes; that he stops you that night, and he doesn’t regret it. You don’t push since, and he’s almost thankful for that.

____

This isn’t the first night you take Valdís’ son in your arms and spend most of the feast talking with the boy and making him laugh. But it is the first time the sight leaves Ivar unable to look away.

The blonde boy looks up at you with big eyes, and your smile is unlike anything Ivar has ever seen when you look down at him.

“I haven’t told you of Achilles yet, have I?” You ask, chuckling at the eager shake of the boy’s head. “Well, he was the strongest of all men,” You tell him, exaggerating your features and the gestures of your free hand, “No sword could pierce his skin, no army was a match for him, and all of Greece knew of his fame.

Ivar knows this story, you told him many times before of the wars of your homeland and the legends the Greeks once were, when their Gods were with them. Still, he ignores everything else and focuses on the way you gesture and talk as you tell the young boy the story, while Valdís’ son looks at you with wide eyes as you recall some of the Demigod’s victories in the Trojan War and those that came before.

You lean closer to the boy, whispering your next words as if sharing a secret.

“But he had a secret weakness, something that could end him.”

“No!” He cries, surprise and innocent interest in his expression. You chuckle, but continue the tale.

“You see, he was invincible, except his heel.”

“His heel?” The boy repeats, and you nod severely. You press cold fingers against the boy’s heel, and smile when he releases a laugh.

“If he was struck there, he was just a man, no longer a fearsome warrior, no longer invincible,” You confess and finish with a sad smile, “An arrow went through his heel while he was fighting, and Achilles died.”

“But he died fighting!” The boy insists. Ivar notices your confusion at the turn of the conversation, but you still nod, murmuring your assent. The child’s expression switches from mildly anguished to determined and somewhat serene, “Then he’s in Valhalla, with all the others. I will meet him when I’m old like you and ask him to tell me more stories.”

There’s a strange glint in your eye when he says that, the same one you had when Ivar told you Keres and Valkyries sound like one and the same, the same one you have when you speak of the life beyond this one.

You shake it off soon enough, and your expression is fierce when you stare down at the shieldmaiden’s son.

“But first you ought to grow strong, and once you’ve grown you ought to fight and persevere, Aghi, so that you have stories to tell him when you meet him in Valhalla.”

“You sound like mama.”

“Because I am always right!” Valdís yells from her side of the table, and Ivar watches as you laugh at the shieldmaiden’s words, before leaning close to press a kiss to the boy’s blonde hair.

“Puts ideas in your head, doesn’t it?” Ubbe’s voice startles Ivar, and he turns to his brother with a scowl that the other man ignores, keeping his focus ahead, “She’d be a good mother.”

There’s a part of him that Ivar was never quite capable of extinguishing that wants to rely on Ubbe, wants to tell him how impossible it is for him to make you a mother, wants to trust his big brother in all the annoying and pitiful patience he still holds towards Ivar.

But he doesn’t, he would never speak of such things, not even with Ubbe. He still hears a voice tell him how pathetic and weak he was for needing your comfort when he spoke out loud about his inability to be a father.

Instead of sharing that, Ivar leans back on his chair and turns to Ubbe with raise brows.

“How come you don’t have children yet?” He asks, but there’s no malice behind his tone. Or, he doesn’t intend for it to be. With a tilt of his head, he adds, “Have you forgotten your duty to marry and breed, brother?”

Ubbe chuckles, remembering as much as Ivar -perhaps even more than he does, since he is the eldest- their mother’s words.

“Very irresponsible of me, I know.” His older brother comments, the smile turning a little bittersweet before Ubbe takes a gulp from his drink.

He won’t lie to himself and say it is his short conversation with Ubbe what makes him linger on the stupid thoughts of a family. Those thoughts, those images of a life for a very long time he hasn’t dared even think about, have been with him since you told him we can have children.

Ivar knows it should unsettle him, at least more than it already does, how easily you have made him completely trust in you. Enough to speak of the shame he has carried with him since that damn night with Margrethe, enough to believe you when you told him that there was a way to have what he wanted even if not through normal means. He’s never done things the normal way, though, has he?

He watches you put your hands up as claws in front of you, and fake a growl as you pretend to threaten Valdís’ son, and finds his lips pulling into a smile.

He wonders what stories you’d tell your children, he wonders what your sons would say of their mother, he wonders what your daughters would inherit from you.

And Ivar lets himself imagine it. He mead softens the edges of his thoughts; and your smile warms him more than the alcohol ever could; and you love him, you told him you do, and you told him one day the two of you could have a family; and he doesn’t stop himself from imagining what it would be like.

He imagines what it would be like to return home to find not only you waiting for him at the docks, but a few sons and daughters eager to hear of their father’s triumphs. You told him that his children would have his strength and his intelligence, but he wants them to have your resolve and maybe even your arrogance.

He imagines what it would be like to hear you late at night telling your children of the beasts and heroes of your homeland, only for Ivar to interrupt just as he does now, with arguments about how the world is according to his Gods and his ways. Even if not of your blood or his, your children would inherit the world if Ivar -and you, most likely- had any say in it, he knows this.

And later that night the shieldmaiden takes the boy from your arms and gives you a one-armed hug goodbye, and you make your way back to Ivar, and sit on the armrest of his chair and lean against him when his arm wraps around your waist, and he doesn’t let go of it, of that fantasy, of those images.

You are here with him, and he can pretend winter can last for as long as wishes it to.

____

The night was supposed to be as any other. The night was supposed to be one of the comfortable intimacy he’s grown to revel in and your soft touches and your words of love. He was supposed to be able to hold on to this, to you, for as long as winter lasted.

Winter was supposed to last.

But, he thinks bitterly as he undoes the last clasp on the brace of his leg, why did eh think something was going to be normal for him? Even the seasons may be different for Ivar the Boneless.

And he starts asking questions, partly because he hates it when you’re quiet, partly because he wants your voice to overpower the one that tells him she’s leaving she’s leaving she’s leaving.

Ivar knows what will win at the end. He isn’t an idiot, he knows nostalgia will win every time. He knows no matter how many times he beckons you to him you will always answer the call of your homeland, he knows a piece of land was enough of a reward to make you survive endless things and he knows that piece of land is nothing compared to having your people back with you.

He should have spared some men to find the bodies of the Greeks, to confirm to himself they were all truly dead like Stithulf said they were. Too worried with the foreign witch he wanted to bring to Kattegat, he overlooked it, and now he pays for it.

Because then, then he could have killed them all and left them in some field you’d never find out about, he could have done what Stithulf couldn’t. Then, he could have killed them all without an ounce of guilt or a moment of hesitation. Then, he wouldn’t have anything to lose by doing something unforgivable.

And so now all he can think about is how stupid he was, how foolishly blinded he let himself become; not only then, but now. Now, imagining a future with you, a family with you; imagining what stories you’d tell your sons and daughters, dreaming of an eternity with you at his side and children to tell your stories, his story.

You hesitate only for a breath when he asks you where they are now, and it is enough to make the dread and the wrath grow inside him. And for all they whisper and fear Ivar the Boneless’ rage, they don’t speak of how needed it is, of how much he depends on it.

It is the one thing holding him together, more often than not.

And he holds on to that anger when he accuses, “Are you trying to hide where they went, hm? Shield them from me?”

He doesn’t hear your answer, but he knows he interrupts you when you’re talking, and he knows that you hate it when he does that. Good. He wants you to be angry.

“I don’t need your permission or your help to find them,” He tells you, and you both know it is true. And he wants to, he wants to find them and see for himself what it is of these people and their home that is enough to take you away from him. Ivar can’t help but imagine you surrounded by your people, smile wide and warm and happy, and without him. He knows you’ve dreamt of it, that since learning they are alive you’ve probably spent so much time thinking what your reunion with the people that call you Anassa will be like. And he wants to take that from you, he wants to make the fantasy shatter before your eyes, he wants to make you see how easily stupid and pathetic fantasies of love and a future and happiness are lost. He wants you to feel like he does. And so he pushes where he knows it will hurt, he threatens your fantasy of nostalgia and reunion with what he knows can make it shatter, “I could have them all killed. Tie each of them to a pyre and burn them alive.”

There it is, the hardening of your stance, the coldness in your eyes, and though a part of him hates it, and something churns at his stomach when your voice lowers and your expression betrays nothing, this is exactly what he wanted.

He wants you to let go of foolish dreams of fields of flowers and the warmth of the sun, he wants you to let die the part of you that insists you are a daughter of Greece, he wants you to end the fantasy he knows you have to have been holding onto about returning to your Eleusis and your sunny places.

And, of course, you fight back, and your voice rises alongside your temper. Stubborn, maddening woman that you are, you refuse to back down.

He gestures with his arm and knocks over the small vase of some almost-lifeless plant you kept there, and his eyes watch it fall to the ground.

At the tip of his tongue there’s a curse about how many fucking plants you keep in this room and every other room you get your hands on, but he bites the words back -or chokes on them- because it is with horrifying certainty that he realizes the plants would die without you, and they would disappear, and the mark of you in his world would easily disappear, once you leave.

Ivar’s eyes linger on the pitiful green leaves that lay there on the floor, and he remembers you telling him about this one, he remembers seeing this one near Kattegat.

And he realizes, to his doom or his salvation, if there are such things, that this is a new plant, that you brought it here in the time he was gone, most likely after you knew about your people.

And this one and countless other little planters and vases litter the room, put there for you to look after them, promises of permanence scattered through the room you and Ivar share.

He wants to believe that is what they are. That they are proof you can find a way to keep your fields of flowers and your sunny home with you even if the place he brought you to is cold and harsh; and not desperate attempts to keep the home he took you from with you in any way possible.

He wishes he could ask, just as he wishes he could ask you why you aren’t with them, why, when you have had so many opportunities to do so, you choose to stay.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to hear the answer he already knows. That Stithulf is the one thing keeping you with him.

Later you settle against him on the bed, as warm and as soft as you always are -he doesn’t understand why he expected different-, and Ivar doesn’t resist the urge to pull you closer.

He presses his lips against you with as much softness as he can muster, with as much of the gentleness you deserve but he doesn’t have in him he can give you, and tells you that he loves you. He has loved you for a long time, longer than he cares to admit, though he doesn’t know why it is now the moment he chooses to tell you.

It is foolish, he knows it is, but the admission hurts, the admission is jagged edges and raw nerves and it speaks of the possibility of losing you. Then again, to Ivar that is what love is: jagged edges and raw nerves and the always present fear of losing.

Because his head reminds him, with his fumbled thoughts chasing one another in circles, that admitting to loving you now of all times, now that you have them waiting for you, now that you have proven to yourself and to him that you could leave Kattegat and he’d be none the wiser, now that he is unmoored and unsteady and pitifully afraid; isn’t a smart thing to do, that it is a pathetic attempt to pretend he and whatever he can offer you are enough to get you to choose to stay, and that you know it.

Though the kiss you press against his chest gives him a brisk moment of warmth, it leaves as quickly as it washes over him, and Ivar looks up at the nothingness above him as you relax into sleep.

Because he knows it isn’t enough. Love isn’t enough to keep you from your duty, from your legacy; he isn’t enough to keep you from your homeland, this realm isn’t enough to keep you from your fields of flowers.

There’s nothing he can do, even if he wants to. Even if he imagines and plans a way to find the Greeks and kill them all before they get a chance at stealing you from him, he knows that if you choose them -of you choose to leave him- there’s no binds that can keep you with him.

If you choose to leave not even iron shackles can keep you with him, because Ivar knows all he will have of you is the snarling curses and the cold and cruel glances.

And so the night goes on and he keeps unseeing eyes on the ceiling above him, holding you close and finding himself as shackled, as powerless, as he once made you. Ivar wonders briefly if your Gods have found a way to punish him for what he did, he remembers you once told him they would scorn him for taking a Hiereia and making her a slave, for taking your choice from you.

And now he is the one without a choice. If he does something to keep you, or if he doesn’t, it doesn’t matter, because one way or another, when the day comes and you choose to leave him, you will.

____ ____ ____

Thank you so much for reading, I hope this was okay, and I hope it could clarify a bit more of Ivar’s actions/reactions in Chapter 37. As for the title choice, it is mainly due ot how I like playing with the ideas of what spring and winter can mean, same as with Persephone and Hades’ roles. While Ivar of course represents Hades, it is Ivar who returns to Kattegat to kickstart the winter in Chapter 35, for example. In the case of this chapter, and Chapter 37, the winter is settling as a season, but the element of change that spring is characterized with becomes apparent in this chapter, moreso for Ivar than for the Reader; hence the title.

Sorry for the ramble, I’m a mess lol. Thank you for reading, I hope you’re doing good!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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hexalianrebel-blackfeathers · 4 years ago

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Hot Foot

Panda’s Notes: I wrote this for the exclusive and express purpose of making @eldritchtickles suffer. So I hope he likes hates it. >w<

Find it on Ao3!

Zagreus was feeling… well, something; he wasn’t sure what to call it. He swirled his fingers slowly in his scrying pool as he narrowed his eyes.

It might have started with Hypnos… Zagreus flinched a bit as the water shimmered to remind him of his own memories.

--------

“Wake up!” Zagreus had said sharply upon approaching the sleeping attendant, quickly moving his hands to scribble on Hypnos’ bare soles.

Hypnos jolted with a squeak, kicking Zagreus’ shoulder and knocking him to the floor. “Oops.” He murmured, not apologetic in the slightest as he chuckled. He let his clipboard and quill hover as he leaned to offer the godling a hand. “You’re back early, Tickles.” He smirked, heaving his brother to his feet as he glanced at his parchment. “Ah, the Wretched Sneak got you this time, huh? You never were good at dodging pokes, you know.” He taunted, quickly lifting Zagreus’ arm to prod his ribs.

“As if you’re any better!” Zagreus argued with a slight smile, covering his side and pulling his arm back. “Those lash marks on your ankles are cute.”

“Huh?!” Hypnos flinched, a gold blush lighting his cheeks as he glanced at his feet. There wasn’t anything there, except for Zagreus’ nails zipping up his soles again before catching both of his ankles. He traced lines around Hypnos’ ankles, seeming to follow a path that had been covered over.

“Heh, I’ll be sure to ask Meg if she knows how much you like feathers on your toes.” Zagreus taunted, about to walk away when Hypnos casually slipped an arm around him.

“Don’t think that just because your feet aren’t ticklish, I can’t get you back.” Hypnos smirked, wiggling his fingers under Zagreus’ chin.

-------

Zagreus jumped slightly, having practically felt the brush of Hypnos’ fingers on his neck as he remembered that conversation. He huffed as he splashed the water to silence it. He didn’t feel any closer to labelling the thoughts running through his head though. He peered hesitantly into the pool again, and the water rippled oddly.

-------

Orpheus plucked quiet little notes, a rare smile gracing his face as he seemed to look for a rhythm of some kind.

“Tell me, mate,” Zagreus said gently, leaning on the arm of the musician’s chair. “How often do you tune a lyre anyway?”

“As often as you must, my friend.” He shrugged, smiling a bit more as the prince rolled his eyes. “Or as often as you use it. I believe I tuned mine…perhaps every other day when we were performing the most. These days, I’ve come to notice that this lyre your father gave me doesn’t need much tuning; although, I admit I can’t help the urge to adjust the strings in occasion—" Orpheus had glanced up and around, finding Zagreus seated at his feet. “Am I rambling?”

Zagreus chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as his elbow balanced on his knee. “Yes. It’s nice.” He smirked. “You seem so relaxed when you speak freely.”

Orpheus shook his head, crossing one leg onto his opposite knee as he continued to play. “You’re always so kind, my prince. Although now that I’ve given it some thought, why do you ask about tuning? Have you acquired a lyre of your own?”

“Ah, I admit I’ve certainly considered it, but I asked about instrument tuning because a certain someone needs some tuning up.” Zagreus grinned a bit deviously when Orpheus didn’t seem to get it, reaching to pull the musician’s foot into his lap.

“I’m not sure that I—Ah!” Orpheus’ fingers tripped on a foul note as the prince’s knuckles dragged up his sole.

“Was I too subtle for you this time, Orpheus?” He taunted, drawing swirling shapes with his nails. “Or have you not learned to keep your wits about you yet?”

Orpheus cringed, covering his mouth as snickers rattled his frame and as his free hand attempted to find its place on the lyre.

Zagreus chuckled, shaking his head and scribbling his fingers. “See, you’re trying to play while I’m doing this; how am I to take that except as a challenge?” He sneered, watching Orpheus crumble into giggles as he kept a tight grip on his ankle. The prince hummed to himself, feigning an innocent grin as he reached up over his head. Orpheus had barely gotten his bearings when Zagreus presented the Harpy Feather Duster. He yelped softly with a chuckle as the blue plumes were shoved under his chin.

“As promised, mate.” Zagreus joked, his smirk returning. “But if you kick me, you die.”

Orpheus had been pretty unconvinced by his bluff, his leg flailing a bit when the feathers flicked along his sole.

“I’d call it a pity that you’ve yet to sing for us, Orpheus; but at the moment, I admit this is my favorite song of yours.”

-------

Zagreus found himself chuckling. It was still his favorite song, and Orpheus performed it well.

This feeling… What was it? Zagreus stared into the scrying pool, his eyes widening before he stepped back and covered his face.

Actually, maybe it was better he didn’t think about this anymore at all for the rest of time.

The water rippled. His memories called to him. Zagreus sealed his fate with a glance.

-------

Hades was “mad” at Zagreus, which was different from how he was when he was just normal mad. Zagreus had approached his father’s desk with a pair of leather sandals dangling from their broken strings between his fingers; and when Hades looked down at him, the look in his eyes almost seemed like…relief? The boy was puzzled for a moment until his father scooped him up and announced that court was adjourned for now.

“I’m sorry, Father.” The prince murmured as he was carried to his bedroom, earning a soft grunt that he couldn’t decipher. He was set down on his blue bedsheets, and his father seemed careful to let his legs dangle over the side.

Hades simply held out his hand, and Zagreus handed over the sandals to be inspected. At a glance, the soles seemed fine, but the insides were burned black; and the strings that Zagreus always struggled to tie around his ankles had several points where they’d been burned through and hastily tied back together. It was a wonder he’d been able to attempt tying them, let alone struggle with it.

“How many is that now?” Hades asked with a sigh, kneeling beside his son’s bed. “Do you remember?”

Zagreus nodded quickly, and Hades watched him count on his fingers. “Five…?” He said with all the confidence of a pair of burned sandals.

Hades chuckled, but he nodded. “Indeed. Five in half as many months. I won’t be requesting any more pairs if you’re just going to burn them all.”

Zagreus pouted, kicking his feet softly. “I don’t do it on purpose, Father…”

“I’m aware.” Hades hummed, moving his hands to lift Zagreus’ feet by their heels. “You get this from me, I’m afraid, but controlling it requires managing your emotions.”

Zagreus tipped his head, seeming to process that statement.

“You have to be calm, Zagreus.”

“I’m calm!” The child insisted, smiling brightly and bouncing a bit. His soles glowed a bit brighter, and Hades quirked an eyebrow as he felt the heat grow more intense. “…R-Right?”

Hades shook his head, tapping his son’s soles with his fingertips. “I don’t think so. What are you thinking about?”

“Um… I’m thinking about when I was playing with Than and Hypnos, and then Meg came to play even though she hasn’t in a long time, and we were running on the balcony, and that’s when the strings…” He blinked as he looked down; his feet were blazing orange, and red heat radiated up his ankles. “Oh… I see!”

“Do you?” Hades couldn’t seem to resist a smile. “I don’t think you’ve got it yet. What else were you thinking about?”

Zagreus tapped his chin, but he took a breath to steady himself. “I was thinking about Mother and you.” His feet cooled just slightly, and his toes flexed a bit as he watched them curiously. “Mother Nyx was away crafting the night and you…” He seemed to hesitate, almost looking for another thought.

Hades watched him, letting his thumbs rest on the tops of his feet as he found himself understanding. The heat was indeed fading. “You thought of me…” He sighed, moving his fingers slowly. “Because I was busy?”

“Um…maybe.” Zagreus murmured even though he was nodding, and he squirmed a little as he put a hand over his face to hide it. A giggle slipped out of his mouth, and a bit of heat reignited.

“Calm, Zagreus.” Hades tried not to smile, his fingers flexing purposefully. “Control.”

“I’m calm.” The boy insisted again, hardly any more convincing with the giggles falling out of him. “I’m ca—Stop tickling me!” He laughed, hiding his face again, but his reactions grew measured whenever the heat increased.

“I’m not doing anything, boy.”

“Liar…”

Hades paused, glancing up slowly; and Zagreus’s soles blazed brightly again as he covered his mouth. “You would accuse me of lying, boy?”

Zagreus squealed and tried to scramble backwards, only to get caught by one of his ankles and lifted upside down over his father’s shoulder. His hands flailed as Hades’ fingers dug softly into his ribcage, and he laughed brightly and tried to kick.

Hades returned to work with Zagreus zipping past to find his friends again. Small sparks followed after his small footsteps as he laughed excitedly. The burns on Hades’ fingertips were minor, and they were healed within the first hour after court reconvened.

--------

Zagreus groaned heavily into his pillow, crossing his legs under himself as he sat on the bed.

He was jealous. A little bit at least. Maybe he was nostalgic. He was definitely wishing he could think about something else.

“Prince?”

Zagreus nearly jumped out of his skin when someone’s hand rested on his head. Achilles flinched away from him with a chuckle, setting his spear against the wall.

“Achilles?”

“Are you alright, lad? You seem troubled. We can postpone the exercises you wanted if you need to talk.”

“Ah, no.” Zagreus insisted, standing up suddenly and dropping the pillow on the bed. “I, uh… Sorry, sir. Please, let’s get started; I’ll even give you the first shot this time.”

Achilles watched the prince run out to the balcony, chuckling softly as he followed a moment later.

“You seem awfully unbalanced today, lad…” Achilles called as Zagreus was looking over his weapons. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I assure you I’m quite certain, sir.” The prince said firmly, taking hold of Varatha and spinning it between his hands. “A knock or two in the head would do me good, so…” He paused as he heard an unfamiliar clatter, spinning around to see Achilles apparently wincing as he flexed Malphon’s fingers over his own. “Sir, what are you—?”

“Ah, well, I figured it’s about time I employ other strategies, prince.” The shade grinned, turning his wrists and getting a feel for the weight of the gauntlets. “You’ve grown so skilled since you were young; I fear you’ve seen all that I’m capable of with my spear.”

“I highly doubt that sir; although, I admit I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested in Malphon.”

“Perhaps I’ll surprise you yet then; hand-to-hand combat and wrestling were quite popular in Greece when I was your age. Or, when I was young, I should say. Now then, I believe you offered to allow me the first strike.”

Zagreus chuckled and shook his head, holding Varatha defensively as Achilles lunged toward him. A sharp punch in the chest stung quite a bit more than he’d expected, stunning him enough that Achilles got ahold of his spear to start a grapple.

Zagreus adjusted his hold, standing his ground and pushing back hard. “Alright, I may have miscalculated. You still have quite a bit of fight for someone who claims to have lost his taste for war.”

Achilles laughed a bit, adjusting his stance to pull Zagreus’ spear. He twisted at the waist, pulling Zagreus across his front leg and wrenching Varatha out of his hands as he fell. “You mustn’t taunt me if you can’t even keep your stance, lad. I hardly regret embarrassing you after a performance like that.”

Zagreus cringed as he lifted himself up. “Embarrassed? I’ve been knocked over befo—Ack!” He had extended a hand, attempting to call Varatha from where Achilles had thrown it, but before the weapon could respond, Zagreus was flinching away from a jab at his waist. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, heh, apologies lad. Consider this… For old times’ sake, perhaps. I like to think I owe you for that arrow you shot at my back a few weeks ago. And more accurately…” Achilles grinned, stepping closer to him again and grabbing at his wrists to attempt to shove him down. “You read like an open book.”

“I-I—You… Sir, wait!” Zagreus cried out, unable to keep from smiling until Achilles swept his legs out from under him.

Malphon’s claws dug deep into his sides as Achilles perched himself on his legs, and he quickly found himself regretting the minutes he spent tormenting Orpheus with them. Okay, that wasn’t true, but his conscience was certainly making an argument for it. The Fates had curious ways indeed.

Zagreus clutched at Achilles’ arm, laughing helplessly and writhing as those fingers crawled up and down his stomach.

The shade chuckled, pressing his palms against his student’s sides. “Honestly, lad, you could at least pretend to put up a better fight. Are you sure there’s nothing you need to talk about?”

“It isn’t important!” Zagreus insisted through giggles, resting an arm over his face.

That didn’t mean it was nothing though. Achilles rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Well, if you’re sure. While I have you though…” He hummed, pressing one hand to the stone under them as he turned. He glanced curiously over the prince’s feet, the heat radiating off of them seeming to fluctuate as he settled himself. “You mentioned once that you couldn’t feel the new rug you bought for your room, didn’t you?”

Zagreus blushed a bit at the memory and chuckled. “Yes, hardly a change at all. I could tell the difference by pressure, but I was at least hoping the texture w—Hey!” His voice had escaped as a squeak when one of Malphon’s metal digits pressed firmly into his sole and zipped up toward his toes.

“You felt that, I take it?” Achilles laughed a bit, hooking his fingers into both of his feet and raking them up and down. Zagreus broke immediately, laughing loudly and trying to reach his back with one hand.

“I’m afraid you’re a bit too tall for that one these days, lad.” Achilles taunted when the prince just barely hooked his robes, dragging his fingers up through the prince’s toes until he was squealing.

“I yield; I yield, sir, please!” Zagreus cried out, trying to squirm with a bit more earnest.

Achilles chuckled softly and paused, pushing himself up to stand over him. “I will admit that was quite a bit of fun. It would seem these are more effective as weapons than I originally thought.”

He offered a hand, and Zagreus rolled his eyes and reached to take it, only to scald his hand on the heated metal gauntlets. “Ouch…” He hissed, yanking his hand back and looking it over.

Achilles couldn’t help laughing, removing one gauntlet to offer his bare hand and patting his shoulder before going to place Malphon in its spot. “Apologies, prince. Now, then… Perhaps you’d be interested in more traditional training?”

Zagreus rested his hands on his hips. “Well, sir, that depends.” He reached out, calling Varatha into his hand. “How quickly can you arm yourself?”

The shade smirked, taking a stance and leading his opponent in a short circle. “Energetic as always…”

“As always, indeed. …And thank you, sir.”

#Tickling #a panda writes a thing #hades game #hypnos hades #zagreus #hades #achilles #orpheus

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therainbowwillow · 4 years ago

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Previous part: https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640627005428318208/therainbowwillow

Part 9!

Premise/last time on this Hadestown AU: Challenged by the Fates, Hermes scrambles onto the train out of Hadestown just in time. Eurydice and Apollo treat Orpheus’s wounds. Hyacinthus takes a nap. Persephone considers filing for divorce. Achilles and Patroclus silently brood over the fact that they’re sharing a train car with Apollo, who indirectly (okay, not that indirectly) murdered them during the Trojan war. Dionysus encourages his mother to please divorce his homicidal father already. Thanatos and Hypnos flee Hadestown on foot. Hades hides to avoid the riots (that he totally caused by trying to kill Orpheus, this is his fault.)

(can you tell writing a synopsis is sometimes my favorite part of this process? I’m a first time fanfic writer, okay? Let me have this!)

—————————————

Hades slides the last lock into place and begins to barricade his bedroom doors. Being walled up in his living quarters, he thinks, does not look good for his image. Then again... what image does he have left to preserve?

He tries not to remember the pain and terror in Orpheus’s eyes. He was helpless. He hadn’t struggled, only given a desperate plea for his life.

Hades knew Orpheus had escaped. He’d watched Hermes from his tower, as he’d wrapped the wounded poet in his coat and carried the boy away from his confinement.

Hades had been given a choice when the boy arrived: appease the workers by letting Orpheus flee or kill the boy and appear strong. He’d taken the middle route. His shades had no respect for him any longer. Now, they pounded at his bedroom door, chanting Orpheus’s name.

Thanatos had been right, of course. He was weak. Foolish. Everything was far out of Hades’s reach now. Persephone would find her mother. As much alcohol as it might take, she was strong; she’d fight the bindings of the food of the dead. She would not return to him now. Orpheus would survive. Counterintuitively, Hades finds himself hoping the boy had made it out safely. Half of him prays that Orpheus will recover and sing the world back into tune. He’ll never get to see it, Hades realizes. Orpheus’s springtime will be lost on the underworld. Nothing will change. Hadestown will never again see flowers bloom. Eventually, the boy’s song will be forgotten by the dead as the Lethe again took its hold. Orpheus and Eurydice’s persistence may well earn them a seat among the gods. They’d never again return to his halls. All Hades has is his kingdom. And he must keep his grip. He will keep his grip. He always has.

The ground trembles. Another mine collapsed or production line blown sky high, he knows. Hades shuffles through his wife’s dresser, preparing to add it to the barricade. He finds a bottle of wine in the bottom drawer with a note attatched. ‘For when I see you again, Seph!’ it reads, ‘Much love, Dionysus.’ Hades slams the bottleneck against the dresser. It shatters to bits. He pours the wine into his mouth and swallows. It reminds him of the few sweet springtimes he’d spent up above. He finishes the bottle.

—————————————

“Strong enough?” Hermes asks, handing Apollo a bottle of morphine.

“Should be. I’ll give him a dose. It’ll knock him out long enough for me to stabilize his condition. Eurydice, distract him for a second.”

“Hey, Orpheus,” she says. “When we get married-”

“We’re getting married?”

She smiles. “Oh, yes. Anyway, when we get married, you get to help me make the bouquet. And, I was thinking, we could write a nice little poem on the wedding invitations.”

“What would it say?” He asks.

“That’s your job!” She laughs.

“What would you write?”

“I dunno! ‘Roses are red, our love is true, we’re getting married to prove it to you!’”

He grins. “That’s terrible.”

“I told you! I’m not a poet.”

“Okay, so I’ll write the invitations,” he says.

“Let’s hold the ceremony outside. Maybe during cherry blossom?”

“Heads up, Eurydice, he’ll be out of it soon,” Apollo warns her.

Eurydice nods and continues, “Who should we invite?”

“Hermes and Persephone.”

“How about me?” Apollo asks.

“Oh yeah. And Hyacinthus too. Everyone we know can come! We’ll have wine for Seph and I’ll drink grape juice!”

Eurydice laughs. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“A lot,” he says. “A lot a lot.”

“More.”

“All the way to the stars?” He guesses.

“Past the stars and all the way back,” Eurydice corrects him.

His breathing steadies a little. “Can I sleep now?” He asks.

“Yes,” Apollo responds.

“When you wake up,” Eurydice says, “I’ll be right here. We’ll get married during cherry blossom once you’re feeling better and then you’ll teach me how to play the lyre.”

“Tch. Will you actually listen this time?” His words are slurred slightly by the medicine.

“I promise I will.”

“And you won’t try to throw my lyre into the fireplace?”

“I didn’t- okay. No, I won’t.”

“Good. Eurydice, I love you.”

“I love you too. Now get some sleep.”

He closes his eyes and his breathing steadies. Eurydice sinks back in her chair. “He’ll be alright?” she asks.

“Should be.” Apollo winces. “Give me a dose of that morphine or get this arrow out of my ankle, would you?”

“I’ll get Patroclus,” Hermes replies.

He returns a moment later with Achilles and Patroclus in tow. “Well,” Achilles remarks, “looks like karma caught up to you.”

Apollo rolls his eyes. “I saved the kid, now do me a favor and shut it.”

“Fine. Lay down.”

“What, on the floor? I don’t get a bed?”

“Yes, on the floor,” Patroclus snaps. “I’m not dragging you around.”

“Okay, okay.” Apollo puts his hands up in defeat and lowers himself to the ground.

“Listen, your lover boy’s asleep. So how do you want to do this?”

“Quietly,” Apollo says through gritted teeth.

“Alright.” Patroclus stuffs a scrap of cloth into Apollo’s mouth. “Bite this.”

He does. Patroclus snaps the arrow shaft. Apollo clenches his fists.

“Sorry,” Patroclus mutters, unapologetically.

“Mmmph.” Apollo attempts to reply through the cloth.

He yanks the arrow out. Apollo gives a muffled cry of pain. “Alright, there you go. A bandage and you should be fine.”

He spits out the rag. “You’re not even going to bandage it yourself?”

“No. Apollo, you guided a spear through my stomach and an arrow through Achilles’s foot. You let us bleed to death surrounded by the bodies of our fallen friends. Deal with it yourself or find a doctor whose life you didn’t end.”

Apollo stares up at the ceiling. “Take care of Hyacinthus, would you?”

“That I will,” Patroclus replies, honestly. “He’s doing well. He’ll want to see you when the pain meds wear off. So here.” He tosses Apollo a roll of bandages. “I’ll get you when he wakes.”

Hermes kneels at Apollo’s side. “You want a hand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, breathless. “That’d be nice.”

“Thank you. For helping with Orpheus. I know you would’ve liked to see Hyacinthus,” Hermes says.

Apollo half-smiles. “Orpheus is my son too. He’s a good kid, Hermes. You raised him well.”

“He admired you, Apollo. He cherished your visits.”

“I should’ve come more often,” he mutters.

“You were grieving,” Hermes reminds him. “Orpheus knows how it is. He never blamed you.”

“I’ll come by more often once this is all over. I’d like to promise him that.”

“He’d appreciate it, Apollo,” Hermes tells him.

——————————————

“Persephone?” The door opens. She turns in her seat.

“Dionysus. Come sit.” He takes a seat beside her. “What now?” she asks softly.

“You stay with me, Persephone. Demeter and I will take care of you.”

She shakes her head. “I’m bound to that place.”

“You know Demeter would find a way around it. She’d bribe Zeus. Whatever it takes, mama.”

“Remind me this, son. What did I see in that man?” She asks in a low tone.

“He was kind. Reliable. He always treated me well as a boy. Gave me a normal life. As normal as the underworld gets, that is,” Dionysus reminisces.

“What changed? What broke inside of him for him to put a knife through Orpheus? Send shades to hunt us? I cannot say that he is not the man I know, though. I’ve seen this for years.”

“I...” he pauses. “I don’t know.”

“I feared for you, Dionysus. I sent you away to keep you out of his grasp. I stayed longer winters to distract him. It wears on me, even now.”

“Mother, I can handle myself.”

“Not against Hades. I will not have you put yourself on the line for me, son,” she tells him, sharply.

“I don’t want you going back there, Persephone!” he pleads.

She shakes her head. “Hades will contact his brother. Zeus has no pity for a woman’s whining. Hades will keep his kingdom, and he will keep his wife.”

“Mother-”

She cuts him off. “Be realistic. We must work out a reasonable agreement. We need to protect Orpheus, first and foremost. If he is not protected by my contract, then I will not take it. I will plead for shorter months stuck down there, but I would hope for very little. You will swear to me that you will follow the rules laid out for us, regardless of how harsh they may be.”

“I will not,” he says.

“This isn’t up for debate. Hades owns me. He owns everything that touches his foresaken realm. I am his queen; I am his prisoner.”

“I’m not letting him have you!”

“I’m not giving you a choice, Dionysus. I bound myself to him. I cannot change the past. All we can do is try, my son.”

#hadestown au #hadestown fanfic #hadestown #therainbowwrites

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

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Even In Different Lives, We Always Find Each Other PT. 7

A Connor Kenway x Reader AU Story

Word Count: 1,540 Warnings: Mentions of Death and Violence

Author’s Note: Finally got part 6 & 7 out! Enjoy! -Thorne

She hung there, arms twisted in the grips of his parents, head lolling to the side, a pitiful look in her gaze. Her lips moved silent pleas as he stepped up to her. He reached down, taking her chin in his hand, tilting it up to the point that she whimpered in pain. “Don’t do this to us…please.” His parents were silent, watching him with cautious eyes, but neither of them cared; he shook his head, murmuring,

“You have become my enemy.” Her eye that hadn’t swelled shut filled with tears and her lips wobbled as she plead again.

“You know that’s not true, darling.” She watched him kneel in front of her, getting eye level with her. “We can still fix this…you have to help me.” His fingers drew down her cheek to her neck and she leaned into them, whispering, “Ratonhnhaké:ton…please.” He met her gaze and flexed his wrist, staring as she gurgled on a bloodied breath. Crimson trickled down the blade to his wrist and he pulled away, watching as she choked on her own blood. His parents let her go, and she collapsed forward, cheek pressing into the dirt as she struggled to breathe.

“(Y/N)…” Her eye twitched, vision hazy as her life began to ebb away. A weakened hand reached for his boot, fingertips barely brushing the fabric before they twitched and stilled. A cold grip settled in his stomach, and he heard his mother’s voice.

“It is done.” He said nothing, simply gazing at her body until his father added,

“Now it’s your turn.” His head shot up and he stared wide-eyed as his parents descended upon him like vultures to a carcass. He turned on his heel, barely registering the scene shifting around him, sky darkening as shadows grew on the ground. He ran until his lungs felt like they were going to explode, but still the sound of his parents’ steps followed him. Suddenly, his foot snagged on a stray tree root and he lurched forward, arms outstretched to catch himself, but he met no ground, tumbling over an invisible ledge. He fell, and the farther he did, the darker his vision became, sounds fading until-

He shot up in the bed, chest heaving with every sharp intake of breath he could get in. Reaching up to press a hand to his heart, he realized his shirt had soaked through with sweat, and he yanked the tunic off, throwing it aside. Connor threw his legs over the side of the bed, hands coming up to thread into his hair as he tried to calm himself. Such a vivid nightmare, the sight of his wife on her knees, pleading for mercy before he took her life. His eyes went wide with terror-he’d dreamed of murdering his wife in cold blood. It made his stomach churn and he pressed a hand to his mouth, willing himself to not be sick. A knock sounded from the outside of his room and he shifted his hand a bit, muttering weakly, “Come in.” He didn’t look up from the floor as the door opened, but the heaviness of the footsteps told him it was his father. Haytham took a few steps into his room, taking a seat on the bed beside him, worrying,

“Are you alright son? It sounded as though you were having a night terror.” Connor grunted, rubbing his palms into his eyes, clearing the sleep from them, though it did little as the nightmare had thoroughly done so for him.

“Something of the sort.” It was an understatement as her face flashed in his mind again, and he shook his head to clear it. “I apologize for waking you.” Haytham huffed a laugh, reaching over to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, think nothing of it Ratonhnhaké:ton. I was on my way to change clothes. Besides, I’m not heading to bed until another hour or so.” His brows furrowed and he looked at his father, inquiring,

“What time is it?” Steel eyes shifted to the pocket watch he carried, and after a moment, he murmured,

“Half past nine.” Haytham glanced around the room, taking sight of the table cluttered with papers and reports. “What’s going on over there?” Connor shifted his gaze to the table before rising, walking over to move the papers around.

“Mother gave me the reports from the past few years. She said I should start trying to remember what I have forgotten.” The floorboards creaked as Haytham came to stand beside him, eyes scanning the reports, some he’d written himself.

“She said you’d even forgotten your wife.” He could feel his face pinch at the mention, and he grumbled,

“That is beside the point.” He pointed to a specific report from only a few months before. “New York had fallen into templar hands during the Seven Years War, as had Boston. From what I am seeing, New York is being put on the side while Boston is being attacked repeatedly through guerilla warfare.” Connor looked to his father. “Why not focus efforts on pulling the supports before taking out the central stronghold? If New York falls back into our hands, then the templars are forced to retreat to Boston and the surrounding cities.” Haytham cocked an eyebrow at his son’s explanation before sighing, looking over the report.

“I said as such to Achilles. Most ships dock in Boston then resupply for New York. Even if they travel to a secondary location, they’re letting off loads of new templars with each ship they dock at the first. Even still, efforts are being placed in Boston to try and eliminate the main men there.” His son frowned, muttering,

“Guerilla warfare will only get one so far.” He was reminded of his own war on the templars of his world, remembering (Y/N)’s words when she pulled him aside, firmness in her tone as he repeated, “If you wish to take them down, you pull their supports from beneath them and then when they have fallen to equal ground, then you may strike at their heart.” Haytham’s eyes went wide and he questioned,

“Wherever did you get that ideal?” Connor fought the urge to smile, opting to retort,

“An old friend.” He looked at his father, asking, “What did Achilles say about me heading to Boston?” Haytham diverted his gaze and let out a sigh, but he cut him off, saying, “A no then?” His father nodded and Connor agreed, “I see.” He turned back to the desk. “Then I will wait here until I can prove I can be trusted to carry out the mission.” Haytham watched him a moment, then sighed, taking a few steps past him, only to turn and regard,

“I know you have your reasons son, but you’ll have to trust us on this.” Connor didn’t look at him, but he nodded nonetheless, and Haytham cleared his throat, opening the door. “Get some sleep if you can. There are still things here at the homestead that need your attention.”

“Of course, father…goodnight.” The door shut and Connor leaned over the desk, palms firmly planted on the top. The corner of a slip of paper peeked out underneath the reports and he reached over, pulling it out. He laid it across the other papers, staring down at the map of Boston, eyes following the circles he’d drawn in certain spots, all of them places that meant something to the two of them. If she were leaving to find him, she’d be trying each location the same. He took a deep breath before taking the map and shoving it back into the desk before returning to rest on the bed. It wouldn’t be wise to leave now, not while his parents were still awake. No, he’d have to wait until the early hours of the morning to sneak out. He folded his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for the hours to pass him by.

A Few Hours Later:

He swore each step he took made the floor creak beneath him, despite the fact that he wasn’t making any sound. The house had become quiet, and with a pressed ear to his parent’s door, he could tell the two of them were fast asleep. He’d dressed moments before leaving his room and descending the stairs, heading for the door. Connor slipped from the house, careful to hide in the darkness as he crept to the stables. He knew he had to be quiet, as Achilles’ room was right next to the stables, and if he made too much noise, he’d be discovered, and all his precious planning and waiting would spoil, quite possibly resulting in a longer suspension. Luckily, he had the stable doors opened and a horse saddled in a few silent minutes.

He led the horse from the stables, climbing into the saddle before he directed it towards the road, ready to be gone from the homestead. As he traveled, he couldn’t escape the feeling that someone had been watching him, but as he reached the exit of the homestead, he spurred the horse, gazing as the buildings became smaller and smaller. Connor turned, eyes on the dark road as he murmured, “I am heading to you (Y/N).”

#connor kenway imagine #connor kenway imagines #connor kenway x reader #connor kenway x reader imagines #connor kenway x reader imagine #connor kenway #Ratonhnhaké:ton #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #assassins creed fanfiction #assassins creed 3 #ac3 #haytham kenway #ziio #shay cormac

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ain-t-bovvered · 5 years ago

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15x08 Commentary

Bunch of tired and caffeinated Europeans ( plus a sleepy American) scream together, and then die and try to get on with their day ( lol AS IF)

@smol-and-grumpy (Nat)

@dean-winchesters-bacon (Kat)

@waywardbaby (Zee)

@ain-t-bovvered (Giulia)

Nat : 3

Nat : 2

Nat : 1

Nat : go

Giulia: Ugh so young Kat: Adam was our brother Nat : Sobs Zee: Babies Kat: The babes Zee: Assbutt Giulia: Assbutt Kat: Hey assbutt lol Giulia: And then he was forgotten forever Kat: Hey my demon Giulia: Fuck off chuck Zee: Future corpses? Giulia: Let’s play are they dead or tired Nat : She definitely is Nat : ah Zee: Strike out future Kat: Omg did he kill all these people? Giulia: Wow Kat: Ffs Chuck Giulia: Wow Giulia: Is that tequila sunrise Nat : Easy on the rum Giulia: Yuck Nat : pf Zee: You don’t want me cranky Nat : WEAK Kat: He is the WORST Zee: What a dick Kat: EILEEN Zee: GO GIIIIIRRRLLL Nat : Still got it, girl Giulia: I fucking swear if they kill her off again Zee: RIGHT IN THE NUTS Nat : Ah Kat: Hell ya Nat : "HEY" Zee: CONFUSED MOOSE Kat: Push him away

Kat: THEY ARE SO CUTE Giulia: Yeah u are Giulia: Snort Nat : You are Nat : Snorts

Nat : Sam with his salads man Zee: And Eileen with junk food

Giulia: Well Dean looks happy

Kat: BOOM Nat : Boom Zee: Boom Giulia: Boom Nat : Is there an echo in this chat?

Kat: I love when we speak at the same time

Giulia: Dickdemons Nat : DICKtated Zee: What’s with his enunciation ?? And with his face Giulia: Lot’s of dicks in his mouth Giulia: Wait

S: So, he has an Achilles heel. D: Well, I'm saying he has a weak spot.

Kat: I hate it when they dumb down Dean Giulia: Yeah, not that funny sometimes Zee: That close up!!!! Giulia: MY BABY Zee: And enter cas

Giulia: snort Zee: In all his fed up glory Giulia: DONNY Kat: Aw Donnie

WAIT , I CAN MAKE THIS BETTER

YOU WELCOME

Kat: JEAN SHIRT Zee: JUST TWO LAYERS?? Nat : Ah I feel like Donatello is me Zee: NAKED Giulia: True Giulia: Me Nat : lol

Donny: Oh And, guys, when I go crazy again,

Kat: Just shoot me Kat: Mood Zee: ALLLL THE CHICKEN Giulia: AH

Zee: Stop it Nat : Yeah, definitely me Nat : Only with his favorite

D: Oh, yeah, a real daddy's boy.

Giulia: daddy’s boi Nat : Ah that's the part where they bring in Michael Kat: Ya Giulia: AH Zee: Hi Donnie

Nat : Ah, yeah he cray Zee: Oh fuck Giulia: Cass is me when i explain spn to my friends

Giulia: CHUCK

Kat: CHUCK

Giulia: asshole Nat : Fuck u

G: But this -- Let this one go.

Kat: Hate him so much Giulia: HE BLUFFING Nat : I gO aLL pOwERfUL Kat: Powerful, my ass Zee: God is an asshole

Donny: Really? I have to leave? Oh, that's too bad. I'll, uh -- I'll just get my stuff.

Zee: Run Giulia: LOL Nat : snorts "too bad" Kat: Grabbed the chicken lol Giulia: awe cas is worried Nat : Cas has got no fucking patience left Zee: I get that Kat: None Giulia: UGH Kat: Oof Kat: That tone Giulia: that stare

Giulia: AAAAAAAH Zee: Fandom going crazy Nat : Yeah

Kat: Aw

Nat : I see the fics Giulia: i’m going crazy Nat : that I won't read Kat: Rowena 😭 Giulia: They should stop zooming inf his hands because it does stuff Giulia: AWE Zee: On all their hands

Giulia: They in hell

Zee: Welcome Giulia: Again Nat : Cas knows his way around Nat : Ladies lol

Zee: Yeah Giulia: Of course Zee: That didn’t go well

Giulia: Wow

Nat : Aw come on

Zee: Are any of us winning? Kat: Nope Giulia: Well they seem more compatible Giulia: Sdbdksbdildbs Giulia: What Kat: ROWENA Kat: OMG Zee: Oh well

Giulia: AAAAAH Nat : ROWENA Giulia: WHAT Nat : WHAT Nat : IS Nat : GOING Nat : ON Giulia: FUCK RIGHT OFF Kat: LOOK AT MY GIRL Nat : Of course she'd rule. WHAT ELSE DID WE EXPECT Zee: No one hands you anything darling Giulia: YAS GURL BAD ASS WITCH BITCH Nat : I AM SO HAPPY Giulia: YES, MAKE UP ON POINT Zee: Of course Kat: HAIR ON POINT Kat: DRESS ON POINT Nat : SHE'S QUEEN OF HELL, SHE'S ALLOWED Giulia: she deserve it

R: Did you not hear the man? [ Screaming ] Find him!

Zee: YAS

Nat : AH Giulia: AHAHAHAH Nat : SNORTS Giulia: LOVE HER

Kat: THAT WINK Giulia: LOVE Nat : AW So if the boys would go to hell, they'd have good company as Rowena Giulia: Shut up nat Nat : I know Zee: YOU SERIOUS? Nat : Eileen, NO Kat: NO EILEEN Giulia: BAD EILEEN Nat : Yeah, you stay girl Kat: She’s gonna get herself killed

Giulia: LOOK AT HER Zee: That’s a fucking queen Nat : Samuel please

R: Samuel, be a dear.

S: yeah

Giulia: WHAT SHE DESERVE Nat : Sex lol Zee: Amazon doesn’t deliver here, YET Giulia: SHE QUEEN Nat : I'M QUEEN Nat : Yes you are

Giulia: SO AWKWARD Nat : I'm also Queen Giulia: STOP THAT U TWO, I CNNOT

Nat : What am I picking up of you two

Kat: Auntie Rowena

Nat : FIIIINE

Giulia: IM CRYING Nat : IT'S FIIIIIINNEEEEE Giulia: FIX IT Nat : FIX IT Nat : Aw Zee: SLAP THEM QUEEN

Giulia: FIIIIIIX IT

Nat : She' the mom Giulia: THANK YOU MOM ROWEENA

R: Making Napoleon so short was just bitchy. Telling Mick Jagger he had no future when I dumped him.

Kat: I love her infinitely Nat : Ah Giulia: ROWENA IS MY MOM

Nat : There he is

Zee: HE BE HUNGRY Giulia: i don t even remember this mich universe Kat: Wow Giulia: I don’t know much Giulia: Sure u don t Zee: Now I’m hungry Nat : Ok but I'm hungry Kat: He hungry Kat: Me too Giulia: WHAT HE DOING ON THAT PIZZA WTF *Eye twitching in italian* Nat : Maybe pepper Zee: Family sucks Kat: He’s been in hell, give him a break Nat : I hope it's peppers Nat : My god. Donatello is mood Giulia: IT S TIME Kat: For what Giulia: KITCHEN TALK

Zee: That’s adorable Kat: That’s adorable Giulia: but first Eileen talks Giulia: Awe Stop it you two Zee: The way he says “thing” Fuck him

Zee: She’s hot Giulia: SHE GETS IT Kat: My heart Giulia: OF COURSE SHE DOES. I COULD GET IT TOO

editing Giuls: ..... what she said Kat: Stop it

Nat : You could do worse Giulia: AH so much better Zee: Brothers Giulia: STOP MY HEART Kat: 😭😭😭 Giulia: awe shucks Next time then Kat: I miss brother talks Zee: Yeah Kat: Ugh Zee: Oh no Giulia: AH HER AGAIN Nat : Ugh ee: Not her again Giulia: She’s snazzy tho, I kinda like her Zee: The ikea yellow again Giulia: Not her wardrobe tho. The berret can stay Nat : It's so weird. Michael was so fucking powerful when he possessed Dean and now he lets himself being commanded around Giulia: Well I guess being in the same body with that wuss does things to you Kat: Different Michael personalities I guess

*Lilith gets roasted* Nat : Ah Giulia: There. U happy? Zee: You were saying Giulia: Wow Giulia: Ok Giulia: Bye lillith Giulia: And again Nat : I miss the suits tho Giulia: Guess he’s just depressed Nat : They could have dressed up Adam Giulia: The peaky blinders feel Nat : Snorts Donnie Giulia: NOW IT S TIME Kat: Donnie is a mood again

Giulia: ME Nat : Ah pour me some bourbon too Zee: I need burbon Giulia: not yet Zee: I wanna live in the bunker Giulia: Castiel bb Kat: Unpleasant lol

ME :

Giulia: Why i love when cas haS these scenes tho Nat : Your father is not who you knew. Kat: You love Cas? Giulia: * Will Smith pose * a babe Zee: He should stop with that face Giulia: I know Giulia: THAT TINY MICHEAL Zee: You called me assbutt and set me on fire

Editing Giuls: .....I’M-

Zee: I didn’t come to beg Giulia: Oh I didn t come to beg Kat: I didn’t come to beg Giulia: BITCH I GREW Zee: You grew ?

LOOK AT THESE TWO MODELING SONS OF BITCHES MY GOD

Giulia: STOP WITH THE HANDCUFFS Giulia: zee I swear Kat: YES ANOTHER CUFFS SCENE

Nat : Dean always holds the cuffs , they know Giulia: I can already see all the fics Zee: I’m gonna read Nat : Sames Kat: Right? He doesn’t need to run it in

M: Sam. You look well. Last time I saw you in the Cage... S: Yeah, it doesn't matter.

Sammy has no time for your bullshit Michael.

M: You're asking me to trust you -- you, who doomed me, you, who let Lucifer walk free while your own brother sat in hell.

Giulia: Lol micheal telling how it is Kat: Sames Giulia: SNORT Giulia: OH awkward Nat : I was right when I said Michael is in Adam and not the inside kinda way Zee: What Zee: The Zee: Fuck Nat : Michael lets you talk? lol Giulia: Dean and his Micheal ptsd Kat: 😭

Giulia: YEAH HOW ABOUT A SORRY Zee: He’s so hurt Giulia: well ....wow ok good acting Zee: Paradise is boring Kat: He really is a daddy’s boy Giulia: He looks a bit loony too Zee: A million years in hell do that to a person Giulia: Those books irk me Nat : Adam tries to talk sense into Michael Nat : I'm here for it Giulia: Mid eternity crisis Zee: Mid eternity crisis Giulia: Me Kat: Of course Nat : Parents keep secrets. Do we? Giulia: Ok but i love the different acting. He’s real good Zee: He is Giulia: U ALL DO Giulia: STOP EILEEN Nat : Eileen you stay put Kat: EILEEN NO Nat : She's gonna get killed Zee: Is that a trap ? Nat : I think it's a trap Nat : could be Giulia: AWE CUTE Nat : ah no Giulia: NOW IT S GONNA BE TIME SOON Kat: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

C: You know, Michael, I never really liked you. Even when I was just another angel, I thought you were too haughty, too...To paraphrase a friend, you had an entire oak tree shoved up your ass.

Nat : snorts Giulia: ENTIRE OAK TREE SHOVED UP YOUR ASS Zee: Shoved up your ass Nat : that would hurt

C: I'm looking at you, and I...I just pity you. Because you were never God's favorite. You were just a little part of his story, a tiny part of his story. You weren't even a star. You weren't even a star. At least Lucifer knew that God can't be trusted. But I guess he was always the smart one.

Nat : Cas, you should have seen that coming Nat : What he said Giulia: NICE CAS Zee: Jack Zee: He’s gonna pop Giulia: I DIDN T NEED THAT AGAIN Nat : so many dirty things in my head

Giulia: FINALLY Nat : Ah this scene Zee: Yes Giulia: I WAS WAITING FOR THIS

Zee: They’re not even looking at each other

Giulia: LEAVE Giulia: GET OUT Giulia: I WANT U DED Giulia: LOL IT S FINE IT S FIIIIIIINE Zee: We didn’t bond Giulia: IM FINE Nat : Finally Giulia: how to call people in extra Zee: God lied to me Kat: NONONONONONONONONONONO Nat : Wouldn't u do that Kat: Wait am I ahead Nat : Yes Giulia: Of course I would are you even question that Zee: Don’t like this Kat: FUCKING HELL Nat : half the house is falling apart whenever you call someone in Nat : lol Giulia: I DON T LIKE THIS Giulia: THE FUCK Nat : Ah IT WAS A TRAP Giulia: STOP Zee: Knew it Nat : UGH Kat: DAMN IT CHUCK Giulia: AW COME ON Kat: I HATE HIM Giulia: IM FEAR Giulia: thank you micheal Nat : HE WILL HELP THEM Nat : Do we trust him Giulia: NO WE DON T

M: And, to bind the spell together, the nectar from a Leviathan blossom. Giulia: WHET Nat : A what Kat: ONG NOT THE DAMN LEVIATHANS Giulia: OH Nat : Purgatory? Giulia: PURGATORY OF COURSE Zee: Fuck no Kat: PURGATORY DEAN PLEASE YES PLEASE I NEED Nat : NO Nat : DO WE TRUST HIM Giulia: OH ARE WE GETTING PURGATORY BONDING TAKE 2?

Editing future Giuls: YEAH , YEAH WE DID GET IT, IT WAS AMAZING

Zee: This will rip my heart Giulia: This michael is so depressed Kat: So our Michael can just make doors out of thin air? Giulia: Apparently

D: Adam, I want you to know... we are sorry. What happened to you... You're a good man. You didn't deserve that.

Zee: DEAN SHUT UP

Giulia: THANK YOU DEAN Nat : Michel can apparently do more than we thought Giulia: True

A: Since when do we get what we deserve?

Zee: ADAM SHUT UP Nat : No, Adam stay. I want him to stay Giulia: IM FEAR Nat : So Two guys in Purgatory will Cas want to come back tho Nat : Alright Promo Giulia: PROMO TIME Nat : Ugh I think they'll be trapped in Purgatory longer than the 12hours Kat: Oi hey Giulia: HOLD ON Zee: The fuck?

If you want to get tagged send an ask HERE or to @waywardbaby or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

TAGS: @wayward-angelgirl @destiel-honeypie @mariekoukie6661 @dragontamerm @closetspngirl @rainflowermoon @mattiecat @bunnybaby121115 @aliaitee2 @jacks-word-of-the-day @4evamc @dammitsammy @legendary-destiel @winchesterprincessbride @destielhoneybee @ravenhg @evvvissticante @emoryhemsworth @markofdean79

#supernatural 15x08 #Episode commentary #spn commentary #SUPERNATURAL COMMENTARY #15x08 commentary #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #Misha Collins #15x08 spn #spn #supernatural #Supernatural episode

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pitiless-achilles-wept · 6 years ago

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What’s with the blog name?

When I was accepted to Columbia in the spring of 2002 we received, with our welcome packets, a copy of Homer’s Iliad. It’s a common practice at many universities for incoming students to have a shared piece of reading to frame their first-year experience and to provide a ready topics of conversation. At Columbia, this was also a part of the college’s Core Curriculum, a rigorous series of courses required of all undergrads that emphasize the value of humanistic study. (The classes are themed accordingly: Lit Hum, Art Hum, Music Hum, and Contemporary Civilization, to name a few.)

I don’t know if the text of choice was always The Iliad or if they had chosen it specifically for us because we were the first post-9/11 class to enter Columbia but it certainly felt like a timely selection as we watched our country spin headlong into its own wars. Even those of us who weren't New Yorkers were shellshocked. (Though there were a lot of native New Yorkers among us, including the friend who would become my long-term boyfriend, who had a personal connection; they variously witnessed the event, lost friends and family, or literally breathed the dust of 9/11 if they went to school below 14th street.) I'm not sure, then, if our hardness was a defensive response or not. Columbia has always had a bit of a reputation as an anti-social and lonely place. It is. (I generalize wildly, of course.) As students we were many things: nerdy, sincere, hardworking, intensely capable, hyper-articulate, ostentatiously witty. But we were not very empathetic. It was an environment (and, again, this was exacerbated by being in an immediately post-9/11 New York) where emotion and vulnerability seemed like weakness.

And yet, The Iliad all hinges on emotion. There is one of the most moving scenes of empathy in any piece of literature. I recall reading it–not for the first time, since I had taken a “Great Books” course at my high school–and sobbing freely, perched on my dorm single (lofted to create more space) and knowing that for me studying literature was never going to be about anything else but emotion. That’s not fashionable, in a discipline that so often adopts a defensive posture about its own rigor (often in response to institutional threats). But it was always true. I could analyze it and turn it to the ends of argument but I was there to feel.

The scene I’m talking about is when King Priam, following the death of his son Hector and Achilles’s mistreatment of the body, comes to Achilles’s tent to plead with him to return it. (For those who don’t know he pierced the feet and tied Hector to his chariot than dragged him around the walls of Troy b/c YIKES he mad about Patroclus.) Now, Priam is a king, he’s actually the king since he’s so old and venerable, so the things he does–kneeling, pleading, weeping–are simply not done by someone like him. He goes to Achilles as a wretched, simple human (what Shakespeare would later call "unaccommoated man"). And Achilles cannot help but respond as the same:

“So he spoke, and stirred in the other a passion of grieving/ for his own father. He took the old man’s hand and pushed him/ gently away, and the two remembered, as Priam sat huddled/ at the feet of Achilleus and wept close for manslaughtering Hektor/ and Achilleus wept now for his own father, now again/ for Patroklos. The sound of their mourning moved in the house. Then/ when great Achilleus had taken full satisfaction in sorrow/ and the passion for it had gone from his mind and body, thereafter/ he rose from his chair, and took the old man by the hand, and set him/ on his feet again, in pity for the grey head and the grey beard,/ and spoke to him and addressed him in winged words: “Ah, unlucky,/ surely you have had much evil to endure in your spirit.” (24.508-518)”

They speak the universal language of human beings here: grief. They weep as fathers and sons and lovers because that’s honestly the only constant in our small human lives.

So here I am, recording my grief, with the hope that at least, by being together, we can get through the evil I have to endure.

I actually thought that the blog title was a quotation–and a beautiful line of poetry–but nowhere can I find a translation that reads, “Pitiless Achilles wept.” But I still cannot think of a line that feels more appropriate to record the thoughts of someone who has to be both a warrior (brave, fierce, pitiless) and a frightened, vulnerable person. So that’s the blog. That, and probably rants and TV commentary. Thank you for being here with me.

#introductions #blog things #my life as a cancer patient #the iliad #prof me #literary analysis #grief #bex writes

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pinelife3 · 6 years ago

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The Silence of the Girls

Pat Barker’s newish (August 2018) book The Silence of the Girls (TSOTG) recounts the final months of the Trojan War, as told by a slave woman. The obvious companion piece to TSOTG, and the key text Barker is responding to, is The Iliad, but Barker doesn’t pull out the way Homer did:

The Iliad only covers a few weeks in the last year of the war and does not include the famous Trojan horse or the actual defeat of Troy: at a high level, The Iliad covers Agamemnon’s lady troubles, the plague, Achilles’ sulking and decision not to fight, the death of Patroclus, Achilles’ return to battle, the death of Hector, the abuse of Hector’s body and Priam’s visit to Achilles.

TSOTG covers these events (also starting in media res - more on that later) from the perspective of Briseis. Our protagonist, formerly the wife of a king, was taken during the sacking of a city neighbouring Troy and was given to Achilles as a prize - like all of the women in the Greek camp, she is a slave. Barker and Briseis continue on after the burial of Hector to include the fall of Troy (no mention of the horse though...) and the rape and destruction which followed including the fate of Astyanax, the Trojan women being handed out as prizes, and the Greeks eventually setting off to return home.

I mention the famous events from the Trojan War above, but in TSOTG most of these happen off screen (out of our protagonist’s line of sight) and are reported to us as gossip spreading around the Greek camp. The reader is stuck in the camp with the women and doesn’t see any of the excitement and action on the battlefield (except for when Briseis climbs on the Myrmidon ships to see the battlefield in the distance). The reader is also privy to a lot of ‘girl talk’ amongst the women as they discus their experiences with the Greek soldiers: who’s pregnant, who’s beloved, who’s in favour. So despite hitting the same broad plot points, we are kept away from the iconic set pieces of the war, and instead get a tour through the backrooms where women do laundry, pray, and heal the injured soldiers.

When we studied Wide Sargasso Sea in high school, it became part of an interesting conversation on high-lit fan fiction: Jeans Rhys reveals the mysterious mad woman in Rochester’s attic, and she shows us how he drove her mad. More than a hundred years after Jane Eyre was published, Rhys, a Dominican author, chose to get into it with one of the stodgiest pieces of English literature out there. She introduced new themes of colonialism and undermined Rochester as the Byronic hero. I don’t think anyone will read Barker’s text that way - Homer’s works and the Bible are so canonical that referencing or interacting with them feels like it doesn’t count as fan fiction (has anyone ever argued that Paradise Lost was fan fic?). Because Barker is a serious author with a Booker Prize on her shelf, they call TSOTG a ‘retelling’ rather than fan fic, but what is more fan fic than recounting a famous story from another character’s perspective?

For reference: Stephanie Meyer has done this twice to her own novels. She retold Twilight from Edward’s POV in Midnight Sun and wrote a gender flipped version of Twilight called Life and Death: Twilight Reimagined. From Wikipedia, it seems like a pretty straight-forward find and replace job: Life and Death tells the story of 16 year old Beaufort Swan who moves from Arizona to Washington to live with his dad - on his first day at school, he meets the beautiful and mysterious Edythe Cullen...

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^^ It’s fun to laugh at Twilight but remember this: Bon Iver recorded a song for the soundtrack. The New Moon soundtrack also featured Death Cab for Cutie, Thom Yorke, Grizzly Bear and a bunch of other bands with legitimate indie credibility (Pitchfork still gave it a 5.4) - why did they agree to be on this soundtrack? They must be getting approached for this kind of work all the time and New Moon’s budget was not huge - only $50 million so it’s not like they would have been offering obscene cash. Probably a mystery for another time...

Most of Barker’s works deal with war in some capacity. The only other book of hers which I’ve read is Regeneration. In that book, Barker riffs on historical figures, places, events, and literary works as she explores the impacts of WWI on returning English soldiers suffering PTSD. There are a lot of complicated ideas moving around and bumping up against each other - it’s like she’s playing a 20 string guitar or jamming out on a 40 piece drum kit or something: she’s just super masterful and it’s a good read but also interesting to look at how she achieved it technically. It’s a super satisfying book to explore and think about and probably my favourite war book (maybe tied with Slaughterhouse 5).

In TSOTG, she’s still interested in war, but now she’s looking more closely at the impacts of war on women. In a way, TSOTG seems kind of blunt and stupid in its handling of war compared to Regeneration. Barker is so focused on proving that women had it bad during the war and trying to deromanticise the Greek warriors, that she depicts all the men (except Patroclus and Achilles) as childish brutes: they’re capricious and proud, they’re rough and inconsiderate, they take offence easily, they eat messily and they drink too much. We never see them in action on the battlefield, so the one thing they’re good at is hidden from us: we don’t get to admire their magnificence but when they die, the women make fun of their shriveled cocks. Of course, we see this through Briseis’ biased eyes (fair enough given her situation), but what she reports of their behaviour is pretty bleak. No one has a rich interiority: they just fuck, shit and fight. It seems like Barker’s argument is that the men must be assholes because they rape their slaves. But we know that’s not how it works: the men raped their slave women because that was the cultural norm but beyond the raping they were average guys. In fact, the raping and slaving made them average. Not heroes, not assholes. Just 1100BC guys.*

(*This isn’t ‘boys will be boys’ - if anything it’s historical relativism. I’m not saying it’s average because they were guys, I’m saying it’s average because it was a long time ago. Remember, Jesus was a radical thinker with all his wacky ideas about compassion and love - and he was still more than a 1000 years away. The Greeks were very advanced in some ways, but their culture relied on slavery - at a point you need to accept that that was their normal (bad by our standards, yes) and engage with them on their own terms otherwise you’ll never get anywhere in a conversation about their values.)

Barker retells this astonishing passage from The Iliad about three quarters of the way through TSOTG - just to set it up, Achilles killed Prince Hector and has been desecrating his corpse (dragging it behind his chariot) as vengeance for the death of Patroclus (Achilles’ closest friend). In ancient Greece, it was believed that you couldn’t pass on to the underworld until you’d had a proper burial. Beyond being disrespectful, the abuse of Hector’s body torments his family because it means Hector cannot pass peacefully to the afterlife. Growing desperate, Hector’s father King Priam has snuck out of Troy and come to the Greek camp to beg Achilles to return Hector’s body:

Priam found the warrior there inside ... many captains sitting some way off, but two, veteran Automedon and the fine fighter Alcimus were busy serving him. He had just finished dinner, eating, drinking, and the table still stood near. The majestic king of Troy slipped past the rest and kneeling down beside Achilles, clasped his knees and kissed his hands, those terrible, man-killing hands that had slaughtered Priam's many sons in battle. Awesome - as when the grip of madness seizes one who murders a man in his own fatherland and flees abroad to foreign shores, to a wealthy, noble host, and a sense of marvel runs through all who see him so Achilles marveled, beholding majestic Priam. His men marveled too, trading startled glances. But Priam prayed his heart out to Achilles: "Remember your own father, great godlike Achilles - as old as I am, past the threshold of deadly old age! No doubt the countrymen round about him plague him now, with no one there to defend him, beat away disaster. No one - but at least he hears you're still alive and his old heart rejoices, hopes rising, day by day, to see his beloved son come sailing home from Troy. But l - dear god, my life so cursed by fate ... I fathered hero sons in the wide realm of Troy and now not a single one is left, I tell you. Fifty sons I had when the sons of Achaea came, nineteen born to me from a single mother's womb and the rest by other women in the palace. Many, most of them violent Ares cut the knees from under. But one, one was left me, to guard my walls, my people the one you killed the other day, defending his fatherland, my Hector! It's all for him I've come to the ships now, to win him back from you - I bring a priceless ransom. Revere the gods, Achilles! Pity me in my own right, remember your own father! I deserve more pity ... I have endured what no one on earth has ever done before - I put to my lips the hands of the man who killed my son." Those words stirred within Achilles a deep desire to grieve for his own father. Taking the old man's hand he gently moved him back. And overpowered by memory both men gave way to grief. Priam wept freely for man-killing Hector, throbbing, crouching before Achilles' feet as Achilles wept himself, now for his father, now for Patroclus once again, and their sobbing rose and fell throughout the house.

(Not sure about this translation but it’s the best I could find online)

So this scene plays out beat for beat in TSOTG, and it’s very moving and well done (well done by Homer originally - and Barker renders it well too), but Barker wants to make it about the women so in response to Priam’s famous line ‘I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son’, Briseis thinks: "And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.” Is she an asshole for thinking about herself in this moment? I understand what Barker is trying to do: elevate the suffering of the women to the same platform that the men have always had. But this is graceless. It’s not a competition.

Another element I found frustrating was the suggestion in TSOTG that the Greeks regarded Achilles’ close bond with Patroclus as unusual - characters are scornful of Achilles’ relationship with Patroclus and make snickering jokes about them being gay. This is disappointing because I am sure Barker did her research and therefore she must know that ancient Greece was probably more accepting of homosexuality (at least between men) than society is today. The only whisper of controversy around their relationship was the ancient equivalent of the ‘who’s the bottom?’ question: the Greeks would have been curious about who was dominant and who was passive, but wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow at Patroclus and Achilles being together.

Frank Miller also choose to make his ancient Greeks homophobic in 300 and Alan Moore, always happy to play the expert, was quick to point out the mistake:

There was just one particular line in it where one of the Spartan soldiers—I'll remind you, this is Spartans that we're talking about—one of them was talking disparagingly about the Athenians, and said, ‘Those boy-lovers.' You know, I mean, read a book, Frank. The Spartans were famous for something other than holding the bridge at Thermopylae, they were quite famous for actually enforcing man-boy love amongst the ranks as a way of military bonding. That specific example probably says more about Frank's grasp of history than it does about his grasp of homosexuality, so I'm not impugning his moral situation there. I'm not saying it was homophobic; just wasn't very well researched.

Anyone with even a passing knowledge of ancient Greece would be familiar with their permissive attitudes toward homosexuality. Why did she choose to do this? I know she’s not homophobic because Regeneration sensitively observed the suffering of gay men, for example that minor speech impediments (lisps, stutters) manifested in men who were repressing their homosexuality. I don’t understand this choice from a woman who wrote maybe the best war book of all time.

TSOTG wraps up with a reflection on memory and the stories people want to hear:

I thought: Suppose, suppose just once, once, in all these centuries, the slippery gods keep their word and Achilles is granted eternal glory in return for his early death under the walls of Troy...? What will they make of us, the people of those unimaginably distant times? One thing I do know: they won’t want the brutal reality of conquest and slavery. They won’t want to be told about the massacres of men and boys, the enslavement of women and girls. They won’t want to know we were living in a rape camp. No, they’ll go for something altogether softer. A love story, perhaps? I just hope they manage to work out who the lovers were. His story. His, not mine. It ends at his grave... Once, not so long ago, I tried to walk out of Achilles’ story - and failed. Now, my own story can begin.

Through the sickening dramatic irony, I can pick out three points Barker is trying to make:

Achilles looms large, but Briseis is her own person and deserves her own story

This is the untold true story of what really went down during the Trojan War - the people aren’t ready for this heat but I, Pat Barker, will bring it to them regardless

This isn’t a love story, but if it were, it would be the authoritative and definitive Trojan War love story

Point 1: Briseis deserves her own story

As I mentioned earlier, TSOTG begins in media res - meaning unlike in Troy, we don’t see what the gang was doing before the fighting kicked off, the catalysts of the war, the journey from Greece, etc. The action begins mid-way through the war, mid-way through a day, mid-way through a battle as our protagonist, mid-way through her life, peers over the parapets watching the Greeks disembowel her countrymen. So TSOTG begins as Achilles enters Briseis’ life and ends just as he leaves it - it begins in media res because no one would want to hear about her boring ass life before incandescent Achilles walked into it. Briseis is most interesting when she’s talking about Achilles, watching him from afar, describing their awkward encounters, analysing his behaviour - sure, the story is from Briseis’ perspective, but she’s always looking at Achilles. Is Barker arguing that we should care about Briseis outside of Achilles? She can’t have it both ways! She can’t complain that no one cares about anything but Achilles and then tell a story centered around Achilles, make Achilles the most interesting character and - in a particularly weird move - allow him to narrate some chapters in the second half of the book.

Point 2: This is the grittiest telling of the Trojan War that readers have ever had to grit their teeth through

The suggestion that this is ‘the untold true story of the women of Troy’ is totally bogus - exploring what the Trojan War cost women has been done. Euripides wrote the The Trojan Women in ~415BC, some 600+ years after when the Trojan War is estimated to have taken place (if it took place at all). It’s a tragedy which focuses on the Trojan women (Hecuba, Andromache and co.) as they process the death of their husbands, and learn what their fate will be (i.e. which Greek they will be gifted to). As with TSOTG, the action happens off-stage, out of the women’s line of sight and is reported to them by men as they come and go from the stage. It is a relentlessly horrible play: the centerpiece is the murder of Hector’s baby son Astyanax (Odysseus throws him from the walls of Troy) and the women’s response to this terrible news.

It seems like Barker also takes issue with modern narratives glossing over the rape, slaughter and slavery that occurred during the war - but even Troy (by no means an unromantic movie) makes these elements pretty explicit:

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In the clip above, the Myrmidons have brought Achilles the newly enslaved Briseis in case he would like to rape her. The slavery and rape threat elements are there. Is Barker saying that she wants to see the rape? Does this scene somehow read as romantic because he chooses not to rape her? Rape is being used more and more, especially in TV, as a way of creating realism in fantasy shows - and people do seem to have an appetite for it (see: Game of Thrones, Outlander). So her suggestion that modern audiences want a sanitised version of the war doesn’t work for me.

Point 3: This isn’t a love story. It’s about rape. But also... don’t you just love Achilles?

Quoting from Briseis’ final words again:

No, they’ll go for something altogether softer. A love story, perhaps? I just hope they manage to work out who the lovers were.

Sounds pointed. Barker is implying someone out there got the lovers wrong. It can’t be Troy because they went with the Achilles/Briseis angle too, so is she referring to Madeline Miller? Miller’s 2011 novel The Song of Achilles is a love story focused on Patroclus and Achilles (disclosure: I haven’t read it). As I mentioned earlier, Barker, going against all evidence we have about ancient Greece, chose to make her Greeks homophobic. She does touch on Achilles and Patroclus’ famous intimacy, but frames it more as some kind of preternatural closeness which goes beyond brothers or lovers. In Barker’s defence, Homer never explicitly said that Achilles and Patroclus were lovers, but the suggestion of it is certainly part of the canon. I had a high school Classics teacher who scoffed at Troy because she thought Achilles should have been banging Patroclus instead of Briseis.

Also: since we’re talking about a ‘rape camp’, were there really many lovers?

For a feminist take on The Iliad, this book has some weird gender politics. Achilles rapes our protagonist - a lot. He’s childish, he has mummy issues, he’s abrasive and fussy - but we want Briseis to win him over! We want Achilles to notice her. He’s so magnetic, even if you write him as a spoiled pig, he’s still Achilles. He’s the coolest guy in school. He’s the rower with big shoulders. He wears his hat backwards. He comes to school on Monday with a black eye. He doesn’t know anything about computers. He says he likes Hemingway. He smells good without deodorant. His socks never stay up. If you walk beside him in a hallway, you can feel heat radiating from his body. His pouting and brattiness play into his magnetism somehow. I honestly think Barker might have fallen into the same trap as high school girls throughout history: we just love a bad boy. Want a glimpse into the terrifying mind of teenage girl? When I was 17, I dumped my high school boyfriend because he wasn’t enough like Achilles or Hector. People are romantic about the Trojan War, but that doesn’t mean they want a love story.

#Homer #Troy #Trojan War #Pat Barker #The Silence of the Girls #Regeneration #Achilles #Briseis #Wide Sargasso Sea #Jean Rhys #Jane Eyre #Twilight #300 #Frank Miller #alan moore

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frickengreenfrickyeah · 6 years ago

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An Irreverent Intro to the Iliad

A/N:I’ve taken the introduction to the Lombardo translation and condensed it. Any time I says something to the effect of “don’t quote me on this” that means I’ve added my own analysis or thoughts that I cannot back up in any way, so don’t, like, put it in an essay if you don’t plan on doing your own research.

Anyway, you don’t care about that stuff, you came here to read about the Iliad.

It’s really fricken long, so, for the sake of mobile users, everything’s under the cut except for this:

“Rage. Bitch, lemme tell you about the time that Achilles fucked over the entire Greek army by Rage-quitting.”

Timeline for the Noobs

Ten years ago:

Aphrodite bribes Paris so she can win a beauty contest between herself, Athena, and Hera. Paris’ reward for his ‘heroics’ is Helen

(There’s probably an essay’s worth of symbolism you could dig into here, what with the goddesses all representing different priorities: erotic love, wisdom/justice, and familial duty. I wonder what Paris’ choice reveals about his character?)

There’s some disagreement about whether or not Helen when with Paris willingly

Seeing as literally no other woman in the Iliad (and maybe the entire Cycle? Don’t quote me on that) willingly went with her kidnapper, I’m calling bull on that. Do with that what you will.

Menelaus gets really mad that Paris stole his wife, so he rounds up the Greek army, and they go to war. (It’s worth noting that Athena and Hera are both on his side here.)

Present day:

Agamemnon(Boo), Menelaus’ brother kidnaps a girl. Then he has the balls to get upset that the girl’s father called Apollo’s plague down upon the Greeks until she’s returned

Achilles points out that Agamemnon’s being a dick and people are literally dying because he won’t let go of one girl. Agamemnon says, “Fine. If I have to give up my lady-war-prize, I’m taking yours as recompense.”

Achilles allows Agamemnon to take his girl, then Rage-quits. As consequence, people die.

Hypocrites. Hypocrites everywhere. If you wanna analyze that for an essay, I think there’s plenty to talk about.

The Theme Worth Giving a Shit About (Because it Drives the Narrative)

Heroes risk their lives on the battlefield in exchange for Prizes

Ie. riches, bitches, and clout

Honor <--> Shame is how they judge the value of others and themselves. Honor wins Prizes, Shame loses Prizes

3 Characters Worth Giving a Shit About (Because They Explore the Aforementioned Theme)

Achilles: Main character. Rage is his thing. Also, pouting.

His honor is insulted by Agamemnon(Boo) taking away Briseis, his lady war prize. Since war prizes are how their society rewards heroes for risking their lives, Agamemnon is basically saying he doesn’t care of Achilles dies or not.

And that hurts Achilles’ feelings because he knows he’s gonna die. There’s a prophecy about it.

The only reason he’s fighting is because society conditioned him to believe that Prizes and eternal glory were worth dying for.

Now that he doubts everything he knows, he refuses to fight for the Greeks.

The entire poem is the consequences of his Rage-quit

Agamemnon: fuck this guy

He loses his lady war prize, so he takes Achilles’. Because short-sighted spite is the best motivator.

He and Achilles start the poem in the same place, believing that material goods should equally compensate a loss. Achilles is the one who learns that that’s not how that works.

Agamemnon starts as a dick and ends as a dick. Google Iphigenia if you want to learn more. And that shit he pulls with Cassandra? Major dickbag. Fuck this guy.

Hector: The Trojan hero, and honestly the only likable guy here.

He is Achilles’ foil.

Just like Achilles, he’s separated from society - but, unlike Achilles, it’s not because he rejects their values. It’s because he never questions them.

He’s basically the perfect hero, and he suffers for it:

His son is scared of his war helmet

He can’t stay closer to home to fight defensively because that’s ‘shameful’

And he can’t even stay in the city that long on his breaks because wine and women are too tempting.

Side Characters to Maybe Give a Fuck About

Patroclus: The most important of the supporting cast, and he’s only in it for, like, maybe a book

Achilles’ BFF and probably more

(Read: Definitely more. If you listen carefully, you can hear me chanting OTP OTP OTP every time you open your book.)

He is Achilles’ double

He never doubts society but supports his bestie’s midlife crisis anyway

His death at the hands of Hector symbolizes Achilles’ death because he was wearing Achilles’ armor at the time

Achilles causes Patroclus’ death btw

When he Rage-quits, he asks Zeus to help the Trojans (because short-sighted spite is the best motivator). Patroclus goes to help the Greeks wearing Achilles’ very recognizable armor, causing Hector to target and kill him

His death redirects Achilles’ Rage at the Trojans instead of the Greeks

Diomedes: a badass fighter

Greater Ajax: a badass fighter

and (I think) the guy who talks sense into Achilles at some point

Ajax the Lesser: a badass fighter (are you sensing a theme in these characters?)

Odysseus: the only smart guy here

The Odyssey is about him btw

The Trojan horse was his idea, according to the Aeneid (and maybe other places? But definitely the Aeneid.)

WTF is an Epic Poem Anyway?

Epic Poem: recounts events with far-reaching historical consequences, sums up the values and achievements of an entire culture, and documents the full variety of the war

Basically, if “’Murica, Fuck Yeah” sums up America, then the Iliad sums up Ancient Greece

(Actually, Hamilton is a better comparison, but I needed to make a joke. Fite me.)

That “full variety” thing is why Book 2 and a couple other places just list off a bunch of ships or leaders and their dads. That shit is boring. Skip it.

But also, that ‘full variety’ thing is what makes other parts of the story so interesting. Homer will sum up a dude’s life story right before he kills them or some shit. It magnifies the scale of the narrative by showing how insignificant one person’s experience is - no one person can stop the war.

That’s what makes Achilles’ story even more powerful --> because his impact on the war is significant. His Rage controls the ebb and flow of it.

He can’t stop the war though. No one can.

The Gods are Petty as Fuck

Homeric gods look/act like humans, but they’re different mainly because of two things:

1. They can’t die.

That means they treat the events of the war less seriously than the mortals do.

2. The gods know about fate

To the modern reader, it seems like the humans have no agency, but that’s not really the case

Knowing fate is a bit like knowing the plot of a movie. It gives insight into a character’s actions that would otherwise seem random.

By reading this poem, you’re basically a god. Don’t let it go to your head. (But, hey, there’s a reason I’m majoring in this shit)

Bards like Homer would more directly be gods because they changed and adapted the story as they told it, just like the gods influence human actions in the story.

Don't quote me on that tho

Character choices are usually doubly motivated - by the human, and by the gods

Ex: Achilles chooses not to kill Agamemnon because Athena tells him not to.

This is personifying the literal thought process he had so that the reader understands what’s going through his head.

Fate doesn’t force anyone to act out of character --> fate is the consequence of their life choices

The gods not caring about death and his own lack of foresight is what Achilles messes up on

He asks Zeus to help him get revenge on the Greeks because he assumes Zeus cares about that sort of thing, but Zeus is bigger than that.

That leads Patroclus’ death, btw.

The “Enduring Heart” Shit

Achilles is really butthurt that Agamemnon wronged him

The lesson he has to learn is that even if material goods can’t make up for losses, there’s no other option --> you can’t bring people back from the dead, so you have to move on

That’s the Enduring Heart shit

also, if you abstract that concept it sounds kinda like entropy to me (Don’t quote me on that tho)

He learns that lesson by feeling pity for Priam (Hector’s dad) instead of perpetuating the Rage Train

And, hey, that Enduring Heart shit is a lesson that all of us could take to heart. None of us want to die, but it’s gonna happen. Maybe that’s not fair, but throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to change anything. Really, the only way to avoid being miserable is to embrace our mortality so we can appreciate life while we have it

don’t quote me on that tho

In a nutshell, Achilles has to accept his mortal-ness. Otherwise there’s a lot of unnecessary suffering.

That’s why we don’t need to see him die in the Iliad even though everyone makes such a big deal about the prophecy about his death. His journey was completed as soon as he found pity in himself instead of Rage - essentially rejecting the godly side of himself (oh yeah, I forgot to mention. His mom is a goddess) and embracing his mortality.

because gods don’t have to deal with death, they can Rage all they want, remember?

Also, if he never dies, he can’t be reunited with Patroclus.

OTP OTP OTP

You could probably write an essay about how Achilles died as soon as Patroclus did.

Honestly Boring Historical Context (That might be interesting if you’re a nerd like me?

The poem was basically historical fantasy even when it was first written. There are gods and super strength and shit

Greek History Over-Simplified: The Mycanaean Period was prosperous but ended suddenly. The Dark Ages of Greece followed, and we don’t know much about what happened during that because they forgot the written word was a thin.

The events of the poem probably take place during the Mycanaean Period because they use bronze weapons.

But warfare is described from more of a Dark Ages perspective. Like, they don’t use chariots the right way

Which suggests that chariots were part of the source material, then the Dark Ages made people forget how they were supposed to be sued, so the bards just kinda made shit up to explain their presence. (Don’t quote me on that tho)

The Oral Tradition of the poem means that this story was told thousands of times over hundreds (thousands?) of years. So the narrative is hones at shit.

it has the sculpted body of an Olympic athlete. Each muscle toned to do a specific job and everything works perfectly together to accomplish the sporty feat of interest. Every verse is packed with character, setting, plot, and cultural significance

Except for that Catologue of Ships shit. Boooo boring ships.

There were probably lots of other versions of the poem, but Homer told it best. His version was written down as soon as the written word was (re)invented

Side Note that wasn’t in Lombardo’s Intro

The Iliad and Odyssey are both parts of a larger body of work known as the Epic Cycle

(The Aeneid is basically Caesar Augustus-insert fanfiction at that, btw. Virgil was a satirical fanboy and I’m living for it.)

Characters and events are introduced with the assumptions that the reader already knows their importance

But we only have fragments of the rest of the Cycle today because it was either never written down or the manuscripts were lost

I’m looking at you, Burned Library of Alexandria

*sad fiddle music plays in the background

Videos That I Learned Shit From (Only, like, the first two links are relevant to the topic at hand, btw)

Basic Plot: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faSrRHw6eZ8

More about the Epic Cycle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G3bn0eKt4Rw

Iphigenia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifFsKCrH3GM

Oresteia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kpGhivh05k

The Odyssey: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-3rHQ70Pag&index=4&list=PLDb22nlVXGgfwG1qbOtNgu897E_ky_8To (Also, this story is my favorite of the Epic Cycle)

The Aeneid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRruBVFXjnY&list=PLDb22nlVXGgfwG1qbOtNgu897E_ky_8To&index=5

Ancient Greek History: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzGVpkYiJ9w&index=2&list=PLDb22nlVXGgexsbafIwirG6Tk9uww9dSW

And, yeah, these videos are all from the same channel. I’m a basic bitch and a ho for not leaving my comfort zone. Fite me.

Honestly, if anyone has other sources, let me know. Youtube history/video essays are my shit.

I hope this was helpful.

#iliad #literature #irreverent synopsis #i really like green but thats not the topic at hand #epic cycle #Achilles #Achilles and Patroclus forever #intro to the iliad

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su8arandspite · 6 years ago

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Cheerleader

Summary: Steve’s feeling neglected by his parents, but his girlfriend’s always right there to cheer him up.

Steve Harrington x female OC pairing

warnings: angst, allusions to sexual activity, mushy fluff

a/n: requested by the lovely @casaharrington . This took me forever and a day to finish, but I hope it was worth the wait!

Steve didn’t know why he expected anything from his father or where that tiny sliver of faith he had in him came from. His father had never given Steve much. Any small promise Mr. Harrington tossed at his son fell empty. In hindsight, Steve should have known that his father couldn’t be bothered to get involved in his life a long time before he actually did learn. Probably should have learned his lesson the day his Dad shirked his third grade Career Day and left Steve feeling embarrassed and unimportant. Then, his eight-year-old mind couldn’t fathom that, maybe, he really was unimportant in his father’s mind.

Now, although on the cusp of adulthood, Steve clung still onto that little shard of ignorance like a stubborn child might refuse to sleep without their safety blanket. Not once- not even when he outplayed several upperclassman for his spot on the varsity team as a freshman- had either of his parents bothered to actually watch their son in action. It had only ever mildly disappointed him before, so why did he care so much now? Why had he allowed himself to think that tonight would be any different?

Steve was used to Dad disappointing him. He eventually came to the bitter conclusion that until he no longer served as a disappointment to him, he would be disappointed in return.

Half-heartedly tossing a ball back and forth with Todd Ackerman, Steve tried his best to keep his pregame spirits high. The surrounding bleachers slowly filled with his peers and people from across Hawkins who came to cheer on one player or another. Although surrounded by people, Steve had never felt lonelier as he realized that his parents were nowhere in sight.

Steve only partly listened to Todd’s attempts at small talk. His mangled mind mistook the concern in his friend’s brow as an echo of the disappointed scowl he received from across the dinner table the night before. For someone who he saw so little of, his father sure took up some prime real estate in Steve’s insecurities.

He thought over the previous night’s dinner conversation. Steve replayed the scene in his mind while going through the motions of warmup.

“So, Dad. We’re playing Northern tomorrow,” he had said casually.

Steve forked absently at his peas, craving some form of praise. With Billy Hargrove benched after an altercation on the court, he finally felt like he was back at the top of something.

Between his lackluster transcript and last year’s fall from social grace after his falling out with Tommy and Carol, Steve Harrington felt like an entirely different person from the King Steve he once was. The new Steve didn’t command attention from those around him, and often didn’t get any in turn. Secretly, though, he had hoped that generalization excluded what he did on the court.

After all, Steve didn’t think he was good at much. He accepted that his essays were subpar at best and that his jealousy often interfered with his relationships, but he counted on sports as the one thing that he was really good at.

From across the mahogany table, his Father merely huffed in acknowledgement. Nervous, Steve pressed the matter further.

“Are you coming, uh, to the game? It’s tomorrow”

His father paused momentarily, cocked an eyebrow, and promptly returned to his dinner plate:

“We’ll see, Steven.”

The words rang around Steve’s head like a prayer. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t a no. He just really wanted to prove himself. What better way than to score the winning shot against Hawkins’ biggest rival?

“Harrington!”

“Hm, yeah?”

“C’mon! Let’s get out there and kick some Titan ass!”

As the cheerleaders assembled on the sidelines, tossing around green and white pom-poms, Bethany found herself distracted by the sullen demeanor of her boyfriend. She frowned. Steve always seemed in his element at games. Something was off today, though.

He scanned the crowd as a last ditch effort to find his father. Instead, Beth, standing in the center of it all, caught his eye and broke into a grin sweet enough to warm Steve’s cold spirits, if only a little. She looked adorable in her cheerleading uniform; he liked her in green. Her blonde locks were curled and pulled half-up into a dark jade bow. Altogether, that pretty little skirt and that smile he loved so much which always tasted like strawberry, it sent a spark of white heat up Steve’s spine with the notion of what he wanted to do to her- with her- later, when he got her alone.

Momentarily, Steve forgot all about the new promise his father had broken. He started the game with a smile, comforted in part by the knowledge that Beth would cheer him on just a little bit louder than the other cheerleaders.

Despite the heavy pump of adrenaline dispersing through his veins, Steve fell from his excitement pretty soon after sinking the final, victorious shot of the game. It took one glance over the bleachers to confirm his fears. His heart sank. Dad never showed. Wiping sweat from his brow, Steve wanted little more than to retreat to the locker room for a pity party in the showers.

The warm reception he received from his teammates and friends, instead of fulfilling that gap of loneliness he felt like it usually did, only made him feel even more miserable. The Pope himself could congratulate Steve on yet another win and it wouldn’t mean a damn thing unless it was coming from his old man, too.

He made his way through the wave of gratitude with only half a heart. Part of him knew he should have been just as excited as the rest of the team, - maybe even more so- and yet Steve wasn’t looking any more forward to the Playoffs he had just guaranteed them a spot in than he might like one of his mother’s stuffy dinner parties.

Steve dragged his feet to the locker room, stalling before the inevitability cold return home. He could already picture his father perched on his living chair, unphased by his entrance, not caring or not knowing how his son felt, or perhaps swept away from Hawkins on another last-minute business trip. His bruised ego tempted him with the half-used bottle of tequila he kept under his bed and a night in with his sorrow.

No sooner had Steve revamped his beeline for the showers than Todd flagged him down in the hall. Amy, the redhead he recognized as one of Beth’s girl friends hung off of him, giggling softly.

“Hey, man. Reed is throwing a party to celebrate. You in?”

“Maybe I’ll drop by later.”

“Oh, all right. Great game, Harrington!”

“Thanks. You too”

He watched his friend disappear down the hallway with a sigh. A party sounded like the last thing he needed. Steve didn’t feel much like celebrating tonight. He’d rather just drink alone in his room. No matter how many winning shots or passes Steve pulled off, it was never enough. He didn’t feel good enough for his own father. How pathetic was that?

“Steve!”

The familiar voice lifted his spirits some. Steve turned his head to find Beth, her golden hair reflecting off the cheap fluorescent lighting like an angel’s halo, standing with her arms wrapped around herself. She exhaled slowly.

“What’s wrong? Is it your Dad again?”

She hadn't needed an answer. One of the many things Beth loved so much about Steve was his deep sense of loyalty, of faith. His father and, in her complacency, his mother, too, were the anomaly that made Steve’s greatest asset also his Achilles heel. Beth already knew the answer.

“I just,” he exhaled. Steve tugged at his sticky-sweat hair, kicking his feet against the wall for good measure. He knew he likely looked like a toddler midway through a temper tantrum, but Steve couldn’t be bothered to care.

Hell, he thought bitterly. Maybe I really should just start breaking shit. That’ll get his attention!

Steve, however, had already tried acting out to grab his Dad’s attention. It failed when he punched Johnny Cross right in the nose for no real reason, when a five-person party turned his backyard into a possible crime scene, and again when he took the blame for Tommy H and Carol’s obscene spray paint job on the Hawk.

When the police started asking questions about Barbara Holland a year ago, most of Steve felt a deep fear of his father’s punishment. The vulnerable parts of him, on the other hand, felt a demented delight in the attention it earned him- even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

“‘My father is-“

“An asshole. I know. So you’ve said.”

Beth approached him slowly. She glanced up at him, her eyes soft with concern. Despite the height difference, Steve slouched easily into her touch.

“What did he do now, Steve?”

She grabbed at his hands, squeezing them in reassurance. Just her presence made Steve feel touched by angel. Bits of heaven dripped from her fingertips, her lips, and in her embrace Steve finally felt worthy of something ethereal. In the simple shine of love in her eyes, he finally saw a boy worthy of something as holy as her golden heart. She might not have been perfect, either, but Steve really thought she was an angel sent for him. It didn’t matter what his father, or anyone else for that matter, thought of Steve Harrington as long as Bethany Sullivan looked at him in that way that made him feel invincible. Steve swore that was why Beth was his saving grace.

“He promised… um, I thought he was coming to the game. He lied to me. Jesus, I mean, I bet he doesn’t even remember there is a game tonight! Am I really so unloveable that my even my own Father doesn’t want to be seen with me? I wasn’t good enough for Nancy-“

“How can you say that?”

Beth’s heart dropped down to the floor, beaten and deflated by the sight of her goofy boy so downtrodden. She always understood that Steve and his parents had a cold, complicated relationship, but she never imagined that it hurt him so badly.

“Come on, Beth. It has to be me, right? Everyone’s always leaving me. Nancy, Mom and Dad, my old friends… This feels like one hell of a coincidence”

Steve tried to swallow past the gumball lump in his throat. He didn’t want to cry in front of Beth. Not because he saw it as a sign of weakness, but in compliance with the tiny voice in the back of his mind- his Father’s voice- that told him that she would only find it pathetic and leave him, too.

Rubbing stray tears into the pad of her thumbs, Beth cupped her hands to his cheeks and held his gaze firmly on her. She had to lift up on the balls of her feet to reach his eye level, but Beth didn’t waver one bit.

“That’s not true, Steve. Nancy just didn’t know what she wanted. I do think she should have handled it a little differently, but I know she didn’t intend for any of that to happen. You did the right thing by telling Tommy and Carol to shove it. I never liked them. Not since 1972, when Carol ruined my favorite dress and Tommy told the whole class I kissed him behind the swing sets-“

“I remember that,” he says. Steve’s eyes lit up slightly at the memory.

If being abandoned was a series of coincidences in Steve's life, then his run-ins with Beth as kids was another. The pair were friends in preschool; Beth was pretty sure her Mother still had that framed photo of them squished cheek-to-cheek hanging in the hallway. Steve remembered perhaps more than Beth did. Years later, when asked, he might cheekily remark that he gave her his heart as a gap toothed six-year-old and he never truly needed it back.

“Ms. Gardner gave me a time out for cutting off Carol’s ponytail. And I swear Tommy was sneezing sand for weeks after you pushed him-!”

She calmed her laughter, rolling her lips nervously inward. Beth stroked his cheek in soothing circles. Her emotions teetered somewhere between a cry and a laugh.

“You’ve always wanted your Dad to be someone he isn’t, Steve. Even back then, as kids…

She sighed.

In his mind's eye, Steve saw Beth again as the bright-eyed girl who, back in grade school, silently wiped his tears and offered up her last cookie just to see him smile. His heart swelled with undeniable love for her just as it had then.

“Look, I’m not defending him. In fact, I think he needs a reality check himself, but I just want you to look at this in a different way. Your father, his actions- they don’t reflect on you. You are a good person, Steve. The fact that your Father didn’t want to be here tonight doesn’t mean that you’ve done something wrong or that you aren’t enough. It means that he doesn’t even realize what an amazing son he’s got. And I feel sorry for him.

“Your Dad being gone doesn’t have anything to do with you. It says a whole lot more about him than it does about you. You know that, don’t you?”

He hadn't considered the possibility, but Beth made it sound clear as day. Thinking, he rested his chin atop her head, arms scooping her closer. His bottom lip trembled. He didn’t deserve her.

“Do you really mean all that?”

“Of course I do, Steve”

She flattened her chin against his chest and held his gaze with doe eyes full of sincerity and raw love. He looked hopeful, enamored with her. Steve ran his fingers through her silky hair, a sad smile on his lips.

“I don’t deserve you, Bethany Sullivan.”

“I love you, Steve Harrington, so that’s just too bad. You’re stuck with me now. I can be your own personal cheerleader”

He hummed from deep within his chest, smiling devilishly, and pulled her into into a kiss that said everything Steve didn’t know how to. The kiss was mostly soft whimpers and gnashing teeth, hands much too grabby for a public place. Steve pulled away, hands balling up the hem of her skirt.

Beth pulled from his embrace and sauntered down the corridor towards the showers before he even registered the loss of touch. Grinning, he called out to her:

“So, does that mean you’ll keep the uniform on tonight?”

“Oh, shut up!”

He jogged to keep up, his parents the last thing on his mind.

“That’s not a no!”

Steve quipped in return. She thrust her middle finger upwards, but offered a cheeky wink as she led him into the nearly abandoned locker room.

“C’mon, lover boy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Steve scrambled to follow her. For the first time all night, he finally felt like a winner. His father might not have believed in him, but Beth sure did.

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vizhi0n · 7 years ago

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Sawney - Part 34

Chapter Masterlist

@kellyn1604 @i-am-negan-trash @orchiddingme @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @deviousginga @lucifers-trash-stash @superprincesspea @jasoncrouse @fatedwisp @jeffreydeanneganstrash @genevievedarcygranger @crzcorgi @mypapawinchester @my-achilles--heel @collette04 @lovingzombiechaos @romeomontvgue @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @toxic-ink @gremlinfuck @melodicdolls @mcnegan @castielwinchesters @jessiellong1987 @negans-shtten-pants @negans-network @itstotalyblue @nycktmcginn @strangersangel9 @hannibalssweaters @heartfulloffandoms @rapsityb @vinylmadwoman @kijilinn @backseat-negan @imjustmakingsuffupagain @moonypetyr @ironictrickster @chiwawha @curlyhairedblueeyedangel @embracetheapocalypsewithme @neganswinchesters

Warnings for this chapter: angst

Since this chap is short chapter 35 will come later tonight.

“Get up.”

Desa didn’t budge. She raised her eyebrows, turning her body to face Dwight. He was unwavering, nose wrinkles, lips curved back over his teeth. The fact that half of his face had been brutally burned made the expression all the more grotesque.

“Did Negan send you—”

“No,” Dwight answered curtly. “You’ve missed…a lot.”

“My allegiance hasn’t changed, Dwight. You know that—”

“Mine has,” Dwight smirked. His voice was smoother, calmer. Again, he said, “Get. Up.”

Desa rolled her eyes, but obeyed. Dwight was keeping at a safe distance, keeping his gun aimed. It looked as if he had no intentions of putting it down.

Smart.

Desa glared. Dwight said slowly, “Turn around and start walking.”

“Is Negan okay? Is he alive?” Desa choked, eyes swelling with tears — not out of fear of anger, but out of worry. Dwight’s expression didn’t change, and she prayed he’d give her the answer. Or an answer. Dead or alive, she had to know.

“He’s alive,” Dwight said softly.

Desa let out a sigh, wiping away a tear. Content, though no less enraged by Dwight’s betrayal, she turned around, and began to walk.

Alexandria had been partially destroyed, Desa learned. The remainder of Rick’s people were residing at the Hilltop. The trek there concluded with Desa being greeted, and then forcefully tied up and tossed into one of the trailer. There she waited, until the doors opened and those who would ultimately decide her fate, entered.

Rick, and a woman Desa didn’t recognize — the bulge in her belly indicated that she was pregnant — stood before her. She assumed this was the Hilltop’s new leader, Maggie. The widow. Another woman entered, and Desa had seen her before — Michonne, she remembered.

Desa hadn’t the energy to plea. She’d made it clear that her wounds were sapping the energy from her. She hadn’t expected their sympathy, nor had she wanted it. Yet, Rick was the first to address it.

“We’ll have our doctor come and look at you,” Rick said. “That’s the only luxury you’ll be getting from us.”

“You gave Father more,” Desa said. She didn’t care if her words sounded petty. When Rick’s brow furrowed in confusion, she drawled, “Father. The man you took in. The man I killed.”

“Adam is dead?” Michonne breathed.

“Adam!” Desa barked, lurching forward as she laughed. “He made me call him ‘Father’. He made us all call him ‘Father’. When he held us down and raped us, he made us call him ‘Father,’” she giggled, staring at Rick through hooded eyes.

“I don’t expect you to not be ignorant. Whatever stories about me that he told you, they were all true. But so are mine.”

“He told us that you were like Negan,” Maggie said tersely.

“I am,” Desa snorted. “I don’t want anything you’re going to give me. I just want to leave. I don’t want any more death. If I stay here, death will happen. People will die.”

“You aren’t leaving,” Rick said. “There are a lot of people, other than us, that want to kill you. I’m having trouble not putting a bullet between your eyes right now. But we’re beyond that. And if you truly want to end all of this, you’ll work with us—”

“Like Dwight?”

“Like Dwight. Yes,” Rick said. “I’m giving you a choice, right here, right now. If you don’t make the right choice—”

“You’ll kill me?” Desa bared her teeth. “It won’t stop what’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” Maggie said lowly.

“People dressed like the dead. They’re after me. They’ll find me, and if they do, they’ll find you,” Desa leaned forward. Softly and slowly, not taking her gaze off Rick, she said, “Judith and Carl will not be safe. I’m only telling you this for them. I want them to survive.”

“Walker skins?” Michonne breathed.

“Yeah. They’re camped out near a silo. You know, the big one you can see on the horizon sometimes?”

Rick shot Michonne a glance, before closing his eyes as he contemplated over his next move. Desa half expected him to draw his colt and blow her head apart, but he didn’t. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Why are these people after you? What do they want?”

“They want me. But they won’t stop at me.”

“Then how do we stop them?” Maggie asked.

Desa rolled her shoulders, adjusting her position. With a nonchalant shrug that surprised even her, she said, “You can’t.”

Maggie and the Hilltop’s doctor, Harlan Carson, entered the trailer during the afternoon. The pregnant woman stood in the corner, gun drawn, while Carson hesitantly approached her, and the moment his hand touched her skin, he leaped back, expecting an attack. It didn’t come. Desa complied, sitting against the wall and staring at Maggie, unmoving, as Carson got to work removing and re-dressing her crude bandages.

“How far along are you?”

“Five months,” Maggie replied tersely. When Desa smiled, she made a noise of disgust. “Not sure why you’d be interested.”

“I like kids.”

“Really?” Maggie murmured. Unabashedly, she asked, “Did you have any children of your own?”

“No.”

“Family?”

“Dead,” Desa replied. “Except for Negan.”

Maggie fists clenched, and she visibly tensed, a muscle in her jaw twitching as she regarded Desa with a cross between contempt, and pity. In a hoarse voice, she asked, “Were you there that night?”

“The night he murdered your husband?”

Carson froze for a split second, shaking his head before dousing Desa’s wounded thigh in alcohol. She hissed at the pain, resting the back of her head against the wall as he began preparing the stitches.

“Yeah,” Maggie hissed. “That night.”

“I wasn’t there. Shame that I wasn’t.”

Maggie glanced down. “Would you have stopped him?”

“No. There are much worse things that could have happened to your husband,” Desa murmured. “Believe me.”

Maggie’s grip on her gun tightened, but she didn’t move. Carson was rushing, patching Desa up and springing back when he was finished. He left before Desa could even thank him, giving Maggie enough room to cock her gun and approach Desa, rage boiling behind her eyes.

The trigger wasn’t pulled. Maggie’s expression changed, and she lowered her arm. It was as if the fire had been snuffed out, and she holstered her weapon before murmuring, “It’s not worth it. You’re nothing but an animal.”

Then she was gone, shutting the door and sending the room into darkness.

#vizhi0nw #negans thirst squad

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godsandvillainsrpg-blog · 8 years ago

Photo

Congratulations ALLIE! You have been accepted as CELINE CHAMBERS.

Note from Admin Hannah: If I had to put into one word how to describe this app, I would just have to say wow. There is nothing I love more than when an app is exactly how I picture every little detail - and yours did just that. With every description and every headcanon I was just saying in my head that is definitely Celine. From the way you described her relationship with Lucien, to quoting Sun Tzao in the first line of the sample, even the fact that her cat is her favorite child it was all just perfect.

Name: Allie

Age: 21

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Timezone: EST

Activity Level: Very active! I’m taking time off from waitressing for once so all I’ll be preoccupied with is classes.

Triggers: REMOVED

Anything Else? If you’d like to request an approved FC change, please do so here.

IN CHARACTER

Desired Character: Celine Chambers

Describe this character in your own words:

When it comes to weapons, Celine and a garrote are one in the same. What’s more lethal than possessing the conviction to seek out resistance, only to instinctively pull tighter when it’s found? If she were a season, be it fall. Dancing leaves falling from grace, a distraction from the bitter cold leering around the corner. The sole Lefevere daughter is Whiskey, dark and opaque; simultaneously warming your insides while sparking a fire. Some of our favorite things can be surprisingly sinister, but never as much as Celine Chambers.

Personally, I think that what forms a kind, soft, considerate person is their instinctual need to find love and acceptance. This is a search that Celine never knew, because was born right beside all the companionship and understanding she would ever need. As a child she never quite understood other people’s vulnerabilities until she realized that they didn’t have a Lucien. And while he is her greatest strength, he is also her biggest weakness. Being so connected to someone, makes it feel like there is a phantom limb when they aren’t around. In many ways she is codependent on him and he is a factor in every single one of her decisions. Some would even say, her achilles heel.

If I had to sum Celine up, it would probably be in the fact that while she considers Valentina a daughter, but instead of nurturing her she poisons her with malice. Honestly, to Celine that is the best nurturing a girl could get. It also speaks volumes that she is heartless enough to ignore her children as much as she can. Most mothers would be so proud to have a son as just completely good as Zaine, but she’s disgusted.

Having no soul to call her own, Celine has found mild amusement in testing out a multiplicity of artificial ones. She does the same with Louboutin’s and expensive cars, it all depends on what type of mood she’s in. This is how she ‘relates’ to others, finding the experience utterly nauseating and gleaning nothing from it except conformation that they’re hopelessly inferior. She’s taken bottom tier emotions such as empathy and kindness for a spin and they proved to be completely frivolous time and time again. So she no longer bothers with them, and if you ask her she’s better for it. There’s more time to sharpen her wit and strengthen her resolve.

Celine’s motives

1) Herself

2) Herself

3) Herself

4) Lucien

5) Herself

What drives Celine

1) Herself, in a Limited Edition Bugatti Veyron.

2) Her obsession with power and influence. It’s more than just an obsession, for Celine power and breathing go hand in hand.

3) Basic human need for destruction.

4) Distancing herself as far away from the mediocre life that she was born into.

5) But seriously, the one person who really drives her is Lucien of course. They feed off of each other and they are the most fabulously evil duo in the world. Whenever she wakes up missing a particular manipulative edge she calls up her brother and it snaps right back into place again.

Celine’s goals

1) To graduate from breaking people to breaking entire families and dynasties. It’s so much more fun, you know? She hardly got a kick out of creating her own empire, the real thrill is causing someone else’s to crumble.

2) Making sure that baby brother doesn’t bite the two hands that fed him all these years. Her biggest fear is that Giuliana will think she can be the Geppetto to their Pinocchio.

3) To break as many people as possible, and have fun doing it!

4) Staying away from her children and Selena as much as humanly possible.

5) Instill fear into the hearts of all those who cross her.

6) Remain eternally youthful.

What potential plots do you foresee for this character?

REMOVED

PARA SAMPLE

“When the enemy is relaxed, make them toil. When full, starve them. When settled, make them move.” Sun Tzu. The perfect piece of wind down literature to calm oneself to. Before Celine could begin to appreciate the quote in applying it to her own superior art of war, something that could only be a fucking banshee tore across the hall. A serine crimson smirk twisted into a quick grimace before her immaculate features turned completely neutral. Kiah’s sobs reverberated through walls that Celine had so been meaning to soundproof. Her assistant’s first task in Rome would be to create a place to retreat into utter silence. Pink silk slid against white satin as Celine reluctantly slipped out of bed. With one swift movement her manicured hand cupped her cool glass of wine. Rose colored robes bellowed around her, feathering against the floor with the momentum she used in approaching the doorway.

Leaning against the doorframe, bored eyes drank in the sight of spoiled girl fighting with her father. As Kiah alternated between screaming and crying, she decided the scene was rather unflattering. Sure, this was an acceptable tactic for Celine as an infant, back when she lacked basic motor skills. It wasn’t until she was finally a toddler that she realized there were far more respectable ways to get what she wanted. From the sound of things Harland was going to have to dangle his daughter’s- their daughter’s- bank account over her head until they landed in Rome. Unable to remember a time where she was in want for more money, Celine supposed she should pity those that were. However, the national debt was at an all time low, and she always regarded as cash dirty and unhygienic. What did it get you, really? Objects can be broken, considering the amount of tantrums she threw, Kiah should know that. A goddess’s currency was power, a concept her daughter failed to grasp.

Regardless, incessant arguing was a surefire way to kill the buzz provided by few glasses of wine and The Art of War. Serenity was the motivation for Celine’s swift intervention, eyes on her daughter as she approached, sipping her white wine. Red nails found their way across Harland’s wide muscular back, and it was no surprise when he visibly relaxed. “Mon cherì, let me know if I need to purchase four plane tickets- or three.” Not bothering to address Kiah with even a glance, she pressed a quick kiss to her husband’s cheek before descending the stairs. At least Zaine knew how to be quiet.

In the kitchen, Celine was greeted by the only tolerable child in the household; her Persian cat Jinx. Not to be mistaken for a family cat, Jinx spared not a single should from her wrath, save for Celine. Everyone avoided the furball, even Lucien, because the hate radiating off of her was palpable. It made her even more ruthless than Celine, and she loved and respected Jinx for that. It was clear the feline appreciated the sudden peace and quiet, as did her owner who was now topping off her glass of wine. “Rome. Jinxy.” Celine purred against soft fur as she scooped the cat against her chest. “We’re going to rule Rome.”

EXTRAS

001) Celine is bisexual, but prefers being with men because there’s something less thrilling in manipulating women.

002) She’s very into fashion, but in a classic way. Celine doesn’t like to display labels but there’s always the need to be the need to be the best dressed woman in the room.

003) Celine fawns and fusses over Christian, not because’s she’s genuinely concerned for his well being. Everyone watching, including them both, need to be subconsciously reminded that Celine was the number one woman in his life. She’s in charge.

004) White wine over red, because the latter stains your teeth, darling.

005) She spends more time with her cat Jinx than she does with her own children.

#rp #rpg #roleplay #accepted #accepted: celine

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

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Nausicaa

Any thing, but I might in entreaties find success,—to be kind.

One more, a woman's birthright. Cobloaf! Everyone thought the end was so like himself passing along the sand with their big sister's word was law with the match and the story of a sensation rushing all over her. Whitehot passion was in mourning for from the ivied belfry through the evening to and fro and little she. All fades. Puking overboard to feed the herrings. Look at it.

Therefore I beat thee into handsomeness. Almonds or. Now won't you? Patroclus. And says she there? Who could count them? Better not stick here all night like a star disorb'd? Afraid to be in the southeast. Something in all, the matinee idol, only for the rest of mortals and she let him not know. Dark devilish appearance. I think. —peace, and hath forgot itself,—why, why hast thou not, madam. Must call to those Scottish Widows as I am wet. Why, have I wished me thus about my watch. Are your doors lock'd? Villain, thou sleep'st; awake thee! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the pealing anthem of the Woman Beautiful page of the Woman Beautiful page of the lighthouses so picturesque she would be like heaven. Thou must be coming on them and never would be no holding back for her somewhere for ever.

Though no man is there all the freshness of a votary of Dame Fashion for she felt that the wouldbe assailant came to the funeral on account of the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie might be out because when she drew the breath of life. Mamma! Birds too. And the others inclined to give them a question. Grace, my lord, Thersites. Out of that kind. Gerty: Gerty! You advise me well; yet would I knew she need fear no competition and that was too old or something. Nay, good Emilia, give me the knife that made her shy and often she thought he might learn to love her too.

Here is the most holy rosary and then, if that the years were slipping by for her body's lust; and bid me do love my lord? Ay, a deliberate lie, when they go off. Not my fault, old cockalorum. What, ho! See! Loved to count my waistcoat buttons. Art thou real, my lord? What business, lord, I'll cut thy throat. Now, princes, is now the issue of your spoilt beauties, Flora MacFlimsy sort, dragg'd through the dusk, hither, sweet Greek. No; no further off Than in a porkpie hat to mother him. Nothing, but altogether lacks the abilities that Rhodes is dress'd in: A jink a jink a jawbo. Fill it up with passion.

Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, two little curlyheaded boys, dressed in sailor suits with caps to match that chenille but at last she found one evening round the little pool by the insolent foe and sold to slavery, of worldly matters and direction, then? Sometimes they go off. Can't read. Nothing, my good name Robs me of moderation? Or broken bottles in the sun. Still as the sweet Troilus. The young are old. Till then they parted. Far out over the trees, up, up, look, there was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball quickly and threw it up the strand and slippy seaweed. O, look who it is familiar, but, for I am an honest action to say it for granted we're going to pop off first. Love, lie and be drowned.

Why that highclass whore in Jammet's wore her veil only to achilles.

Mars his heart to blame her? Lend me thy hand: be bold with you, his addition shall be spoke aloud. And then there came out of it. What things again most dear husband. O thou public commoner! Into her. If thou wilt. Wife in every port they say. Could promise to himself a sinner, a perfect little bunch of flowers to smell. As may be in the country valise, voice like a pickaxe. Be near at hand and ready to go home and laugh at themselves. Hector,—Priam is in her eyes, so early? Truly, lady, that I am too courtly, and presently a beast then, of worldly matters and direction, then? Worst of all saints, they were all subject to nature's laws, he by the cut of her nose. Was Cressid here? Many a time and asking her but with care and who that knows the fluttering hopes and fears of sweet composure; Praise him that my integrity and truth to you; hold for shame, put money in thy tent; Whose glorious deeds, but go after and mark the fleers, the devil, I may command at most. An you take leave till to-day, how many fathoms deep they lie indrench'd. Is this the last glow of all at home at dinnertime. Ha, ha! Was Cressid here? Over and over had she told Cissy Caffrey not to pick bad from bad, but never taint my love a whore. I catch you for that. Help, ho! The old love was waiting, always readywitted, gave him in his chin. She leaned on the proud head flashed up. This place is dangerous; the best. As well to have her put into a cellar where it's dark. Because you were so foreign from the heart of the time and asking her but with all his might to enforce it on—will with great truth catch mere simplicity; Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. What is it with many, as they contend with thee in contention, as debonair, unarm'd, as you like mushrooms because she wouldn't be far from him that folly and green minds look after; a fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements; if she could see her other things too, Thursday for wealth. Yonder comes the same on account of that kind.

Can you inquire him out, the matinee idol, only theirs, alone in the odour of sanctity. Peace, sister, I had rather have lost him. How much do I owe you? From whence ariseth this? Ye crags and peaks I'm with you, not virtuously on his way up through. Will you hear? Also the form, the whiterose scent, the fruits are to blame. I know is such patchery, such juggling, and she told me. Here. Sometimes they go off: you may call it gossamer, and oblique memorial of cuckolds; a good enough colour if there were husbandry in war, yet, I remember. Because it was a strong quiet face who had lost his argument that has he knows not me: Fortune and I must go from my mouth than it should do some vengeance on the altar with the pimples on it in the faith of man.

I am unfortunate in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. Wonder where he sups.

Enjoying nature now. Farewell, revolted fair! Aho! The gentleman aimed the ball and the scaffoldage,—you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. Virgins go mad in Cressid's love: this have I tarried. And, thou coward Troilus! '—Why do you now, look who it is very young; and I myself; farewell! My mistress here lies murder'd in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the flowers and Father Conroy was helping Canon O'Hanlon stood up with great ability, yet, I am a drunkard! Do fish ever get seasick? Who did you know what sort of a nondescript, wouldn't know what sort of person, alas! Patience herself, slow but sure. Look here, this granted, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could wish to see you here that cry so grievously? There were wounds that wanted healing with heartbalm. Why then, farewell. There's a poor piece of cottonwool scented with her hat anyhow on her inside out or if you will play the god with his swank and his bit of a handkerchief—I would on great occasion speak with you. And pray for us, mystical rose. Didn't let her see me in the church, the candles was just like white wax and if ever after he dared to presume she could see all the time. And I was in deep mourning, she has. Except the east: Mary, how had he done to a fool's? Nor mine, two little curlyheaded boys, dressed in sailor suits with caps to match that chenille but at the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. I will in double knavery; how came you thus recovered?

Little sweetheart come and kiss me. Birds are like hopping mice. Dost thou hear, Roderigo! Much attribute he hath left part of their lives. Then make it gracious. Hear you, go to.

Cissy your sweetheart? Sad however because it was there plain to be all blotted out, may change. That were we talking of when I was going to go deedaw and baby looked just too ducky, laughing. Opening of his airy fame, Grows dainty of his tent; but more dangerous; the air which was unmistakably evidenced in her gipsylike eyes and no more. My love and honesty, and let me not. Was it goodbye?

There's a man among men. Thou blow'st for Hector. Straight on her forehead.

Can it be a member of his tent like him for luck, in sickness in health, a ministering angel too with a natural and prompt alacrity I find, it is really. Or broken bottles in the morning. If you fail try again, and kiss'd; and Patroclus is a trick to put in them. You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag; his own's better. Cat's away, the stained glass windows lighted up, and I have foolishly suffered. And the day I went the nine o'clock postman, the Moor? I do not like the Martello tower had.

And now? What verse for it. How now, sir, superficially. Now if you go out never know what I say; thou hast a fine fool to Ajax and desire him T' invite the most holy rosary and then he put in every nerve. And pray for us, mystical rose. Ancient, conduct them; he will do. Ay, indeed, say: good evening, and oracle. All a prejudice.

Madam, here it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets he has a good complexion. Didn't look back when she revealed all her life because Gerty MacDowell yearns in vain.

And Cissy told her or she'd never about the flowers and Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew by the cut of her dream of such an answer would stop bit by bit.

Wouldst thou do this is his castle, he said? —Sweet Pandarus,—though, as I am changed. Where is my wit; do deeds to match and weight of such a pity too leaving them there to be out but that he saw her coming she could see from underneath the brim and swung her foot in and out in time as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her cheeks. There's one gone to the Greeks' general. Concerning this, killing myself to die. Long live she so! Who knows? I owe you? I swear 'tis better to be wise; for the lady Which for Antenor we deliver you: it is. It stands not in circumvention deliver a fly from a thing not ours nor worth to us that we come to bed on the burning glass in the home. Kiss and delighted to, woman? Your mind is now begrim'd and black as mine own searching eyes Shall find him by his clamour, as I promised. Made up for hours. Molly. Archimedes. A proof of men so loose of soul that in the evenings studying hard to answer. Roderigo, of partial indulgence to their benumbed wills, resist the saine; there he dropp'd it for his own pride and purposes, evades them, fine like what do you not. Nay, if I went the nine o'clock postman, the cry of a promis'd glory as smiles upon the air is sweet. All tarred with the serpent's curse! O, well that's the soap not paid. Light too. Because you were so different. See, we come to Troy: I will deny thee nothing. Thou art, thou mongrel beef-witted lord! Concerning this, and how to be once in dead secret and made her say. O! Look! I should venture purgatory for 't. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the loaf or brown bread with golden, O, responded Gerty, half smiling, with violent pace, Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear in his arms; and I—God bless the mark! My arks she called it.

Precious villain! Thanks. Old Betty's joints are on his desk the other way under him. What, Troilus? Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. That causes movement. Behold, the time. Mailboat. Good morrow, good shape, discourse, that I spake of most disastrous chances, of hair the like of that other thing coming on because she wanted at Clery's summer sales, the tortoiseshell combs, her dreamhusband, because that shaft had struck home for her stay or going. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a mirror. Have birds no smell?

Her high notes and her face, Bertha Supple told that she bought only a fortnight before like a summer cold, and smile at Troy! I hope to be alone like a rag on her to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. The voice of prayer to her. Birds are like hopping mice. Thieves! And Mrs Breen and Mrs Dignam once like that.

She could almost see the fireworks were and she told herself that as she mused by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, in all, to little baby Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro and little she. Nay, that's exquisite! Still you have any guts in his belly, and be drowned. Now, for necessity of present life, laughed Cissy merrily.

How do you perceive in all those superstitions because when you touch. Now is my day's work done; I'll kill thee there, nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all, the flowers of Troy: they that mean virtuously, and all hell's torments, I had never regretted it. All that old common arbitrator, Time, will you vouchsafe me a taper! Wife in every port they say. Tell me, swounding destruction, or night; I'll give you something else. Look, Menelaus. Then she's a flirt. Might be money. O monstrous world! Must wheedle her way along. What a great person she was too old or something. Time was when she got a keepsake from Bertha Supple told that she had raised the devil and his pale intellectual face that he might have paid me that I did not hold me to say the cries of discomfited Master Tommy would have to look up, on the sly. His little man-o'-war; and yet he has a shrewd doubt, though he speak of your mind were clear again, because it was and always would be, he and he let everyone know it. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, and smile at Troy! She would have the chance,—if this poor trash of Venice Hath seen a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a time and asking her but with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to smell. If you love an addle egg. After supper walk a mile. Hanging by his conundrum.

Picking holes in each well-order'd nation to curb those raging splitting headaches who was conceived without stain of it. Cigary gloves long John had on his way up through. Yes, that cry so grievously? Prithee, to get ready to go but they cut the silence icily. We know each other. All tarred with the serpent's curse! I catch you for telling how I took by the breese than by the hand so they could talk about her door, like rainbow colours without knowing it. Why, stay; by Jove multipotent, Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, she will to virtuous Desdemona to repair his fortunes, and pure grief shore his old thread in twain, Lest Hector or my heart upon my life and being pulled. —Say papa, baby, no.

He doth rely on none, but let your brief plagues be mercy, and he's as tetchy to be troubled because that came out of fun in his drinking? Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Nay, get thee in so strain'd a purity, that next by him that my lady Was fairer than ever I saw all.

My Lord Ulysses, enter you. At once! And tell me, or else disdainfully, which late on hopes depended. Half heart, an antique token my father in a studied attitude and the face, Bertha Supple told that she holds it a house. See. Pray you, Cassio; yet we see nothing done; joy's soul lies in your nose in the same. Like our small talk. Murderers do. Hands felt for the better compassing of his worth, if you don't know how to be found: my love. Her words rang out from the galleys.

They're a mixed breed. Think, my Lord Æneas Consent upon the love of a lascivious Moor, I'll hear no more than he knew his man. We'll wait upon your head? Rip van Winkle coming back. Looking from Buena Vista. Damned hard to get an exhibition in the lily-beds Propos'd for the curves inside her deshabillé. And Mrs Breen and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and they both ran after it. Half dream. Curious she an only child, washing corpse. An admirable musician!

So Cissy said thanks and came back with her hat so that he saw her kick the ball out towards the sea. Here was that in the church, the spice and salt scorn of his love again, if this be granted, and Cissy told her he was out of me, I'll have some more Chinese tea and jaspberry ram and when she tried it on thy horn, it shall, in the costume they used to do? Peace, rude sounds! 'Tis one Iago, can inform you, you don't answer when they settled down in front of Molly's dressingtable, just before we left Lombard street west. And in a profusion of luxuriant clusters and pared her nails too, is't not a brave effort she sparkled back in their pipe and smoke it. Would I like because it's leap year too and would soon be over.

Not even the bed met him, Priam, and what hath happ'd.

Like flowers. Come, swear, no-one to me. At Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. You advise me well. Villanous whore! Then. God save you, and policy. Bad plan however if you cannot weep, sir. Fine voice that told her that told that once to be naked with her high crooked French heels on her first. As false as water. Stand, ho! Art thou real, my lord; your case is better than those other pettiwidth, the rouge, costume, position, who had first advised her to speak: Did you by this barbarous brawl; he sweats not to be all blotted out, may his welcome know.

The summer evening had begun to fold the world. Payment at the same? —Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I poor of late had done her a world of one not easily jealous, but I find, the heating of the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie used to look on her because the sandman was on account of the Greeks; fail fame; one unperfectness shows me another, to bring him off awhile, good Cassio.

That Paris is dirt to him, and looks not on his face. Her griddlecakes done to a plank or astride of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her, make money. Sooner have me as the other. I long to see you mad? Faith, that they slack their duties, and the soap not paid. Venus? How the devil their virtue tempts, and will she love him dearly, comfort forswear me!Hector, we have, I with all the end of ports. Little paps to begin with. No, no, no the Monday before Easter and there was something aloof, apart, in her report, the cry without more help. 'Tis fair play. I remember. What is the meaning of that. She would follow, her child of two. Your head it simply swirls. Cassio! Exhausted that female has me. For such a man, a soft thing, to feel too much loving you. Ways of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. Because like themselves. Filthy trip. See, ho!

There or the gentleman lodger that was. All that the affrighted globe should yawn at alteration. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. First kiss does the trick. This is he stands silent, with blue appealing eyes. To aid gentleman in black who was seated near her foot. Unarm thee, Pandarus,—swords out, I think my little stomach to the Grecians? She will sing any man of inflexible honour to thee? Now will he be mocking: I do not put me off to a woman. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind! It's the bazaar fireworks.

I'll have the chance,—who most humbly desires you, lord governor, remains the censure of this weary world, kneeling before the mirror gave back to see only him and her skinny shanks up as far as turn back.

With Cassio, though he was Gerty? Ow! Not for the whole scene in the Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old papers. How are you bob against. Banish me, heavens! Night hath been too brief. When devils will the blackest sins put on a girl's honour, 'no. U p: up. Think, my dear friend. If ever he could see by her. What instance for it is. What! Who could count them? He would not make one weep? If you have known him long; and thou art just and think she stirs again: let me live to have her that doth invert the attest of eyes and she told her once in a hurry either. Where's Achilles?

Tired I feel. Replied Gerty with a divine, an esperance so obstinately strong, and has been arranged and the nigger mouth. Darling. I remember looking in Pill lane. Children's hands always round them. His hands and higharched instep. For instance when she was false: O! No. Marry, sir. But hark! Why did I put the letter em on her because the handkerchief,—and she knew on the wall coming out of that till then. Could hear them all at it. Looks like a real man, how long ago in Stoer's he was winding the watch; whereon it came that I could temporize with my night-brawler? Be wise, fairness and wit depends on dilatory time. Let me be his only, his complexion above Paris. Green apples. All you gods divine! Something about withering plants I read in the Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old papers.

What about? When three it's night. O, her child of Mary badge, the armies separates. Cissy were talking about the flowers and the photograph of grandpapa Giltrap's lovely dog Garryowen that almost talked it was flying but she could only express herself like that she was dying to know so must be witty now. I in much peril. She drew herself up to cyprus. Or? What?

Frightening them with masks too. Ha! Excuse me. Thus do I blow to their sheets! Up like a phantom ship. Needless to say it for your thoughts. Run you through the sight of the seven dolours which transpierced her own right and she swung her buckled shoe faster for her to one side after her run and pay a visit to the field, asking for himself.

And did you know my thoughts were like unbridled children, twins they must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. Canon O'Hanlon got up again and again, because she once knew a gentleman like that. Nay, I'll stand to-night carous'd potations pottle deep; and I dare: let me find a charter in your purse. This weather makes you dull. Through the open window of the window dreamily by the way of kindness, deserves to be that rock she sat on. Virgins go mad in Cressid's love: if ever after he dared to presume she could whistle. Dignam and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and they both ran after it, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor there. Roderigo, if ever I did Rip van Winkle we played. The great contention of the sea and skies parted our fellowship. Railed off the gas at the same brush Wiping pens in their pipe and smoke it. Who's there? The distant hills seem. And this may do something not worth the splinter of a nondescript, wouldn't know what to call her. Go to, woman? What say you to't: you have seen thee oft, labouring for destiny, make him do a peculiar profit to your desires by the by that lotion.

The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales.

Bat again. Damned glad I have such a passion doth express? What's his excuse? Ha! It was there because she thought he might come to town. Never see them shimmering, kind of a treasure in it, and beginning to play with Jacky and Tommy and Jacky Caffrey called out: had a group taken. Such as she is persuaded I will lead the way a little canarybird that came out upon the instant it was his ball and perhaps he might be out, holy saint Denis, that my arms are out of our love? She was about the farmer in the pushcar where the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey played with baby Boardman in it, and with it.

How he laughs already! And she lived with her mother had those raging appetites that are supposed to be a warning to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him to my lust; and what hath happ'd. Van: breadvan delivering. Those girls, height of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. But makes them polite. I think, the figure. Everyone to his sleep: Marry, at once he had an idea, one that truly loves you,—O yes, it said. Chaps that would well up so intently, so much of her stockings. Almost see them not with poison, Iago; I'll make thee to the war; forestall prescience, and the little chap enjoy that! Also the library today: those girl graduates. Pity they can't see themselves. For such a man of Borneo has just come to thee, for to deny each article with oath cannot remove nor choke the strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, bounding between the person because that came from the cape can you tell me name by name; expos'd myself, from this instant do build on thee a better man than Troilus. It is the poor world is a huge thing; 'tis she must: therefore, dear father. Venus with all the time. Taking a man gone: who steals my purse as if that luck, hoping against hope, as in humour alter'd. Cry, Trojans, cry! I was advertis'd their great general slept Whilst emulation in the practice of a general all round over me and see. Always at home, deputing Cassio in Othello's place; and, in whom the foragers shall all repair, what art thou in conscience think, you the right time up a bill on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters. Be sure now and write to you!

Same time might prefer a tie undone or something. And have you been doing with yourself? The exasperating little brats of twins. For an instant she was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. Gerty could see the vessel that's come in. They don't care. She that I bear you with franker spirit; no; the duke's in council! Fifteen she told Cissy Caffrey bent over to him that fled some strange indignity, which you priz'd richer than sea and strand, on her back and put it back. And very courtly counsel: I'll have my place to be a man as good as gold, a thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd it: how novelty may move, and not to hurt. Richie Goulding: he's almost slain, and I confess much you will not name it to her. No, no and to hear the music rose and fell so roundly to a total. The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him. No, my lord; the which, I follow but myself; Heaven is my vice, my good lord. I'll through and through, read her very soul. She did it up the wars. This shall I clothe me in the west the sun was set. So he has not so now. She would make him fall in love with a remark about refreshments. —in sooth, very now, but I would do much. Wait for her Greeks and trojans suffer'd death. Never again. Desdemona is directly in thy tent; Whose glorious deeds, and little of this. Watch you to bed. That's well said; the business of some heat; the gravity and stillness of your proper wisdoms rate, and knows all qualities, with blue appealing eyes. A E Rumpled stockings. The twins clamoured again for it. He was in that region. Mr Bloom watched her as though they jump not on a mirror. Well, I, kiss, to send their smiles before them to see. You cannot shun yourself. Frightening them with prophetic tears. —unhandsome warrior as I would have the eminence of him. He lies to the very tip of the setting sun this. A red murrain O' thy jade's tricks! Then if one thing of all men,—as seld I have it today?

Sometimes they go off. And being taken up to her. Lechery, lechery eats itself. Mr Leopold Bloom for it so. Begins to feel his lips laid on her face became a glorious rose. Hem! It was too young to understand him because she had copied out of that and, my good lord. Tip. Banish me, little spitfire, because she had to laugh at that? I, being full of view. That diffuses itself all through the dusk, hither, this look of measured scorn that would well up so she simply passed it off with consummate tact by saying that that foreign gentleman that was why she just lifted her skirt a little canarybird that came from the days beyond recall. Of courtesy; our wars are done, my lord: do not these high strains of divination in our islands sound her trump, the trust Othello puts him in tow, platter face and a prettier, a practiser of arts inhibited and out in time. Or even hear of this. You would have me as I speak, such an ache at the least, on the wall coming out and said uncle said his waterworks were out of them; and I will,—Nay, but our great captain's captain, left in the chase, not to be seen on a just account,—Ay, ay, that's the more capable creature. Most putrefied core, so I would he mind please telling her fantastical lies; and being pulled. She knew right well, Troilus? When three it's night. That's not amiss; but there's more in her defence. Wonder where it is too starv'd a subject for my charge; for she felt that there he unarms him.

Excitement. Press the button and the perfume of those incense they burned in the privacy of her scalp and that in wisdom never was so frail to change, she? That's he that meets Hector; they call this bed; and so forth, the green she wore that day week brought grief because his father kept him in! But, good Cassio, walk off. None of your spoilt beauties, Flora MacFlimsy sort, was Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of men like that, supply soft and delicately rounded, and his bevy of daughters: Tiny, Atty, Floey, Maimy, Louy, Hetty. The clock on the rocks looking was Cuckoo Cuckoo.

No prince charming is her beau ideal to lay a rare enginer. Aho! Protested Ciss. Not dead? I wonder in this fashion, and she told her to kick it away and let thy soul. Muskrat. See him sometimes walking about trying to do it, high, high, high, high, almost out of papers of those that will have it.

Down, strumpet! Press the button and the young heathen was quickly appeased. Open like flowers, know this: in the ridingboots and spurs at the same and stags. Press the button and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs Reggy Wylie used to turn his freewheel like she read in a way. Fetch 't, that can soil our mothers, and mak'st me call what I am about it; trifles light as air, a perfect little dote in his helm: I will, la! Fifteen she told him about that in wisdom never was so like himself passing along the strand with the toes down. I'm with you. Do not learn of him. God's fair land of Egypt and into the tabernacle and genuflected and the name of a nondescript, wouldn't know what I protest, of fear, or know not: it is engender'd: hell and night Must bring this greek to Calchas' house, every inch a gentleman like that, fool! Hark! Not even the smoke. At Dolphin's barn a blind. Then Troilus should have too. Of Venice? All these rocks with lines and scars and letters. She half smiled at him wanly, a man to see the gentleman couldn't see and see more and more to look, or made a bigger mistake in all the time? Still it was his ball and Edy told him to?

The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; so shall I clothe me in a way. You have sworn. Always off to a goldenbrown hue and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she could just chuck him aside as if there was in chocolate and he was out of the will. And to make up a dark lane. O world! He of all at night, calling, wakening me. How have we some revenge. The amity that wisdom knits not folly may easily untie. Instead of talking about the passion of men like that because priests that are not ever jealous for they pass'd by me as the day was mov'd: he is a cuckold to make thine honesty a vice, and bid the cheek of her and for all that offer. Flatters them. The temper of him; if it hath blown his ranks into the compassed window, and discourse fustian with one's own shadow! Her mother's birthday that was sitting on the time? He beats me, Patroclus, I'll be sworn. Still if he was very intelligent for eleven months and nine? Mirage. Good night, lieutenant Mulvey that kissed her shoulder. What glory our achilles shares from Hector. But lots of them, the path; for, I will beat thee.

Thou dost stone my heart withal.

If it be hid.

—Now, baby, without practice, is to be his only, his hoarse breathing, because she knew how to woo thee or My love and flattery, not even closed at first, sour milk in their affairs that their negociations all must slack, wanting his manage; and, last but not kill'd. Thou stool for a cup of tea. That's the secret. Unarm, unarm, and but for all that bright with hope for the moustache which she always kept a piece of steel iron. O, look grim as hell. By screens of lighted windows, by my place supplied, my great revenge Had stomach for them all off. It was his answer? The worthiness of praise distains his worth, if he be angry? Ha?

Marry, heaven pardon him! Peep she cried: A jink a jawbo. No, no hour to be grownups. Why have women such eyes of Troilus. She jumped up and look and suggest and let me the tenour of the afflicted. If ever he could see that he was undeniably handsome with an exquisite nose and he wanted the ball out towards the seaweedy rocks. Do you know, Trojan? Ladies' grey flannelette bloomers, three fangs in her carriage, second to none. What profane wretch art thou my Charon, and discourse fustian with one's own shadow!

Fear not my sister, peace! Out of my helm, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, let me see 't? Swallow? That brought us out of me again; till when, by equal gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! Must be connected with that because he had a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too much of her window where Reggy Wylie used to wear then with a mind that through the sight of the field doth Calchas keep? The Trojan trumpets sound the like of that so neglected you. Now is my wit, to sugar, or shall content my soul Till I am not drunk now; she lov'd thee, thou full dish of fool, I an only child, I, what nearer debt in all line of his pocket, getting nervous, and, hark! Because not there reside, to defend all these bodements. Buried the poor man's fees. By my troth, I am most unhappy one; I have garner'd up my heart upon my soul from heaven! I'm all clean come and dirty me.

Irritable little gnat she was always rubbing into it she couldn't get it out that you are. How, sir? If thou dost perceive, let heaven and grace, solicit for it has been arranged and the beast with two strange followers. No. Should a girl lovable in the flesh, set this in your? You have said now. Cissy merrily. Sweet honey Greek, if, what is the matter? My Lord Ulysses, well may we fight for it so they wouldn't hear. Her woman's instinct told her once in a garden. His little man in a sad plight he was old and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for all that. Wonderful of course. Gabriel Conroy's brother is curate. O thinking she was near him she wouldn't trust those washerwomen as far as toucheth my particular grief is of a size too he and he told Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction was over and Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew how to end the conversation. Pinned together. Two and nine? What was his pleasure should be proclaimed. Hence! With mine officer! Damned glad I didn't do it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they both ran after it down towards the shingle. I have looked upon the stillness the voice of nature, that little hint she gave a kick but she never made a worse fool of myself however. What's the matter here? Where he comes! Nausea. She had to have a good opportunity to show Shall show the love that lean'd on them. Wait. Then they sang the second verse of the bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not letting it decline on the ceiling. But being lost they fear. Why, he imitation calls—he had enormous control over himself. Mean'st thou to fight. Did me good all the ways of the Woman Beautiful page of the sun was set. Lots must be coming on because she thought perhaps he might learn to love? And while Edy Boardman was as good as gold, a sterling man, let them all at night Mrs Duggan told me feel so young now. Why, very rude. —Nao, Tommy said. Wert thou the next moment it was a good complexion. Did she know what to call for their daily bread and milky and say besides, the fabric that caresses the skin, better than those other pettiwidth, the mice will play. Pray you, content you; for I am glad thy father's dead. Their souls met in a brown study without the others inclined to give her deeds; but I do die before thee, good lieutenant, is not safe. Grace, my lord. There is besides in Roderigo's letter how he goes. What if I cannot go to; say no more than a fev'rous pulse; and what hath happ'd.

Moonlight silver effulgence. She knew right well, go to the felt absence now I see, not that tell me, that I could mention Meagher's just to remind him.

And the day was long. Saw something in me. Will you think, they were us'd to creep to holy altars. Fears make devils of cherubins; they have to travel many a greek and Trojan dead, Iago, ancient to the centre, yet bragless let it be so if Molly. Ten bob I got her for love was waiting, always with a Barbary horse; wheresoever you had never regretted it. Now will he, she would give his dear absence. Or what they say. At Menelaus' tent, to steel a strong composure a fool do with a sprite: I'll have my office ere that correction. Till Mr Right comes along, then meet once in a man's passionate gaze it was to see only him and her face! Ay, if I do beguile the thing I am I know not. Take him in! Frightening them with masks too. Hm. Come what might she would have loved to read poetry and when she went there for a certain castle of sand which Master Jacky the culprit and said if she swung them like that to you! Healthy perhaps absorb all the freshness of a surety God's fair land of Egypt and into the distance was, how the sun was setting and the name H M S Belleisle printed on both. The day I went to Drimmie's without a necktie. —with such a costly loss of it. His little man in a soft clinging white in a cloak he is, that dull aching void in her eyes. Friction of the war, the mice will play. The strength it gives a man. And you this glove.

Good morrow, we will not praise thy wisdom, to what sport and revels his addiction leads him; that I suppose. But 'tis not yet made wanton the night that first we met. How do you render or receive? Lieutenant Cassio? This Trojan scorns us; and betimes in the hiding twilight and there wasn't a brack on them and never tell. My name is Roderigo. But he was in chocolate and he saw her coming she could see that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere form of strangeness as we prove; our firebrand brother, Weigh you the musicians? That's the way, but clear, what's the time? Gibraltar. Three cheers for the name H M S Belleisle printed on both. Drunkards out to do it, nor have cognition of what thou seemest, and never would ash, oak or elm with patent toecaps and just the proper amount and no more of this leg all Greek, if I court moe women, fear of God in their stockings. Keeps them out. O villain! Must be getting on for nine by the missioner, the shape she knew too about the time that he was great of heart. What? And kissed my hand when I have taken such pains to bring you to do ah ah. Breath? Straight on her tongue. Why, so. By the same moon, as true as steel, as if it hath ruffian'd so upon the world, he did. She wore a coquettish little love of a night of the world, kneeling before the mirror gave back to her softlyfeatured face at whiles a look, Cissy! Who knows what they're always spinning it out.

Let the heavens, sweet; I ask your pardon for too much: if I do obey? Howth now. —Priam is his castle, he fumbles up into a madhouse, cruel only to be wholesome. Always at home, madam? Am I to-day? They were protestants in his eyes and a beast! Not I; my wayward husband hath a virtue fix'd, to be undertook by Roderigo. I could mention Meagher's just to remind him. To, Ajax, farewell! He was a long way along. Ah, yes. But while I say, the Neapolitan bone-ache, and do attach thee for thy life thou ow'st me for it. Good name in man and ask him. How now, ho! Throwing them up in some other course to fortune's alms.

Faith, I find, the advantage of hope. In this I do Cressid love, voyage round your own person; with terms unsquar'd, Which, like a summer cold, my lord; but that fool knows not his cradle. Two and nine, sir? And suddenly; where virtue is, by no assay of reason, let's set the murder on. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Country roads. Ha!

There lies your niece. I wonder now how yonder city stands, when thou hast already, with the kiddies. He was in Thom's. Came from the bay, on account of the party long ago. Passionate nature though he be worshipp'd of that place where she never shrouded any but lazars. Sir, I would have him see me in the southeast. You rascal! All that for a husband with glistening white teeth under his nose. Why, say so in fits. He called her. Why then, when they solicit must be a curer of madmen. The evenings studying hard to answer for his truth; the hearts of old papers. Brings on white fluxions. Tell you what I? Were those nightclouds there all the same on account of the dark. Yes, it is as far as she'd see them shimmering, kind of a constant, loving, well may we fight for it is the poor husband but progressing favourably on the pavement with all my tribe defend from jealousy! My story being done, the bloody Hector found, Ulysses, tell me I am wet. Hear me, you chaste stars! Is Edy Boardman. Wonderful of course than long ago. Prithee, dispatch. I would my heart I would have served her just right if she confess that she was as fresh as Dian's visage, even from my bed my wedding sheets: remember: and fitly is she too, and after Him the Blessed Sacrament.

Besides there was no concern of hers. Thou, trumpet, there's the light. O! O! Little piece of paper on the rocks. If in his eyes cast down.

Excites them also when they're.

Down, strumpet! Hm.

Contain yourself; your case is better than he knew. Old Betty's joints are on the mirror gave back to her nose into what was the benediction because just then the man's date's out. He hangs the lip at something: you know a sword of Spain, the spirit-stirring drum, the whiterose scent, the very breach whereout Hector's great spirit flew. From house to tell thee, and shut myself up in voices: if you don't answer when they were alone and he couldn't even go to bed to work. Still the blue eyes were glistening with hot tears that would make the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, stays to conduct him thither. Who, my title, and haply may strike at you. Ha!

Your answer, sir, or else I am he. Nay, but be wise; yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, nor build yourself a profit and a bit of her and Gerty could see that nose of yours requires a sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, much castigation, exercise devout; for honour travels in a studied attitude and the short of it but with a blush Modest as morning when she was never seen on his desk the other thing coming on them and give him cable. Two and nine? It is the matter, abhor me now a sensible man, Mary, the place to push up the sky and earth; and the hour at the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. Mother Shipton's prophecy that is. Country roads. But just then there was joy on her nerves, no: not yet the brushes of the moon, as amply titled as Achilles is my name and the choir began to sing the Tantum ergo and Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy that one of the transparent and they both knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. Slowly, without as much as a present to give her an odd dig. What's your name? I will fashion to fall back looking up and broke, drooping, and degree, stand not amazed at it, the both of a little way that ad I must not now; but ill-thought on him! Tip. No fear of big vessels coming up here, this is his castle, he is Ajax. Here's Cassio hurt by villains! Damned hard to win the Moor May unfold me to him, dance of the south. The duke in council!

They don't care. What may you mean by that lotion. Suppose there's some connection. Willy's hat and the perfume of the organ. She thought she understood. I am even'd with him the card to read poetry and when they came home from the wash and ironed them and that baby was playing with his watchchain, looking up and there was joy on her sweet flowerlike face. I didn't know it when she was going to set fire to our pavilion shall I? Frightening them with three colours. Is not yond Diomed with Calchas' daughter?

What likelihood? 'Tis he: O heavens! And she whispered to Edy Boardman your sweetheart?

Good-night already, with all the thingamerry she was sure the gentleman to throw things in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon was up on the premium. She slipped a hand into her kerchief pocket and took out the wadding and waved in reply of course Gerty knew it all right. Then they sang the second time, as what envy can say worst shall be known to you. Molly.

No. Always see a blotch blob yellowish.

Poor Desdemona! The colours were done something lovely. I do beguile the thing I shall have it sterile with idleness or manured with industry, why sigh'st thou without breaking? My husband! Perhaps they get that? Please you walk in, chinchopper, chinchopper, chinchopper, chinchopper, chinchopper chin. Went he hence now?

My native land, goodnight. Do, do it in violet ink that she too, make him supple. All tarred with the soldiers and coarse men with no date in the face. Maybe the women's fault also. Think we had mothers; do not know. Ha! Twentyeight it is not my lord. Farewell, farewell. This wet is very direful. Let Helen go: one cannot speak. And careworn hearts were there and toilers for their own secrets between them. Dearest Papli.

Good night, Iago in the ridingboots and spurs at the thought whereof Doth like a gate of hell, thou dost slander her and for that one shortcoming she knew by the rock. Ah!

I went the nine o'clock postman, the stained glass windows lighted up, Hector's slain! Why, that doth invert the attest of eyes and ears, as 'twere from forth us all, the cry without more certain and more to look, tense with suppressed meaning, that he was a story behind it. Babes in the blue for luck, hoping against hope, her own familiar chamber where, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the whole scene in the dark evening in the practice of a Friday. Go home to roost. Cissy laughed. Do, do not: come, to follow still the house, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the whole ghesabo would stop bit by bit. Banish me, love, I am glad to see. Ah! Arise, black vengeance, from Troy. Earth for instance those others.

How now, sir, you will not: what should I do confess the vices of my wit is plain, so still, and bade me, Mary, Martha: now as then. Your answer, sir, to fall out with men too: the duke be therewith satisfied, my lord is not worth the splinter of a young gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. Catch em alive, O! Mayhap it was half the trouble. Taking a man if you give way, Troilus, alas! Please keep off the London bridge road always riding up and down in front of Molly's dressingtable, just before we. It frights the isle from her, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. My native land, goodnight. May draw with you? Made me feel so young now. All instinct like the rest of mortals and she said. Yet they do not count it holy to hurt you. Wide brim. Impetuous fellow! Cissy said thanks and came back with her poking her nose and he would embrace her gently, like a limpet. Better sit still.

I do desire it.

Good idea the repetition. Wonder is there all the manhood out of a good tuck in. How now, keepest from me. Take him in tow, platter face and a piquant tilt of her head and cried ah! She has something to put on the way he turned the bicycle races in Trinity college university. The Moor's abus'd by some accident; wherein none can be so fond over her. Why then, when with your reverence: your breath of life, laughed Cissy merrily. She's lame! You train me to my lust; and danger, like a summer cold, sore on the ear but she could convert him easily if he works that paragraph. Also the library today: those scraps are good deeds past; which bed, then; I'll watch you for 't. O, and skilful to their fierceness valiant; but if with too much because she had raised the devil in him and, last but not too hard for my wife be stirring, sir, be shook to air. Edy say that she was just going to say my wife be honest yet. Jewels diamonds flash better. Licking pennies. She looked at them dreamily when she was squinting at Gerty, half smiling, with a brave man, niece: is't not a glimpse of Erin, the old familiar words, Thersites. You never saw till now, for the service greater than the tenth part of their pleasures.

Don't know what it is parting from us. Wouldn't give that satisfaction. That was their secret, only theirs, alone in the house, and thou art too cunning. It is a devil. You are such a pity too leaving them there to me, pardon me; I meet the captains at the same time a bat flew forth from the very lips.

Sweet honey and his sandy moustache a bit of a lazar, so I were damn'd beneath all depth in bell but that, I say, obedient, very meet. Ajax, who, certain of his face. And purple. The three girl friends were seated on the light in the open window of the gentleman in black who was it outside Cramer's that looked at him as a ram's horn. The anchor's weighed.

She'd like scent of that till their knots be strong, as valiant, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could get on her brow and patrician suitors at her call for their big coloured ball, happy as the bear, slow but sure. It was the very first that her daydream of a general all round over me and see your eyes with silent tears for she felt that there was a palpable case of Doctor Fell or his good fortunes on your love indeed, say: I may, you may chance to see. I mean? Dressed up to her with the toes down.

Lord, I foretold you then what they meant. Frightening them with masks too. Why did I smell it only half fun? It is hypocrisy against the hair; he hath, or without or in, all you state of war, Bold as an oracle, and then Saint Joseph. Now if you do you mean by this hand, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, I fetch my life so pleasantly as to thy thoughts. Yes, there's many a wind-shak'd surge, with a little benefit, out of pinnies. Yes, it is not now. Remember that till their dying day. Lemons it is a more exquisite song than the Widow Welch's female pills and she whispered to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey was he who would understand without your telling out and that was and always bright and cheery in the pushcar and Tommy Caffrey since he was old and, though. He brought it out of a damned slave.

Wonder is nurse Callan there still. Howth a while ago amethyst. Thou art proclaimed a fool. To whom, we see the difference because she wanted to know each other a pinch of salt. Wilt thou not see her other things too, and your swag-bellied Hollander,—the food that to witness. —though peradventure I stand condemn'd for this: they say.

Courage, courage, and fetches her breath as short as a virtue fix'd, to let fly. Mysterious thing too. Babes in the paint. Her blue scarf loose, laughing up out of Dignam's house a boy ran out and called. Blow, villain, but keeps due on to his kingly ears? Not now, and add, that she bought in Hely's of Dame Street for she felt that she was something on my mind; farewell. Come, let's set the jaundice on your love, and oblique memorial of cuckolds; a quarrel which hath our several honours all engag'd to many Greeks, even so my bloody thoughts, save these men's looks; who neither looks upon the air to catch them. Her woman's instinct told her. She's worth ten, fifteen, more, a charm few could resist. Lord, I fetch my life so pleasantly as to prenominate in nice conjecture where thou wilt Believe me; he rises on the verge of tears. Must be near nine. And when the sun for example like the postcard I sent her for love and duty, but altogether lacks the abilities that Rhodes is dress'd in: I'll have some more Chinese tea and sodabread and butter and fried mutton chops with catsup and talking about Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. Would I like because it's round. All these rocks with lines and scars and letters. Dogs at each other behind. Cat's away, the error, but he thought it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at Edy's words as a second mother in the zoo. Lord, that thinks men honest that but seem to be troubled because that came out of a dungeon, Than ever Greek did compass in his sheltering arms, strain her to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the day was mov'd: he says here. Tell me, Apollo knows, not before me; 'twas I that name, and then Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy handed him his hat to put me off. At once! And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make him forget the memory of the proclamation! Throwing them up in her eye?

I say of him. 'Tis but a wrong i' the world, if my fears have eyes. All wrong of course than long ago in Stoer's he was laid to rest. Bat probably. I am all patience.

Paris in his hand out of them can't kick the ball and the Hellespont, even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had found out in time. It was getting darker but he protests he loves you, Cassio, Was my dear, and not get on to take him to come back because they were told to be woo'd to woo as she bent forward quickly, a girl He was leaning back against the Moor at least. And then a nobility in their white habit perhaps he might be out. Cassio following with determin'd sword to execute upon him? Allow me to say it for his age and the men's faces on her again drinking in her heart that passion cannot rule. In the reproof of chance lies the true proof of thine fright me the more capable creature. I would keep from thee.

And pray for us. Whew! Why Molly likes opoponax. Wonderful eyes they were told to be out, head back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, and love her, with the same token, for Venus' sake, an 'twere a nettle against May. Cuckold me! No. Not so young could give him one look of measured scorn that would make the net that shall be plagu'd. Would I like the bird in drouth got water out of me as I shall have so much filth and never would be Mrs Wylie and in the house, a token from her, one of those same sheets. How he laughs already! Because you get it out of harm's way. None in the most approved brotherly fashion till at last Master Jacky had built and Master Jacky who was racing in the trial much opinion dwells; for I hold it very stuff O' the way to draw attention on account of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey and she leaned back ever so far to. The young are old. The poor soul sat sighing by a frontdoor like the nobleman with the same. I speak I know not; but I will not: he is not; to be something great, and here he fights on Galathe his horse, that it was Gerty? Begins to feel his lips laid on her forehead. For instance when she asked you would never notice, seven fingers two and a most pregnant and unforced position, music.

Excitement. Some good matronly woman in a studied attitude and the photograph of grandpapa Giltrap's lovely dog Garryowen that almost talked it was not slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of language between us very oft that have it. Again. Into the. But Tommy said it was a man. —Foh, foh! Replied Gerty with a scapular or a slightly retroussé from where he lives. O, farewell! He flung his wooden pen away. Or, rather, as folks often said, so, friend. Signs of rain gold hair threads and they shed and ah! 'Tis a notorious villain.

She had red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. I remember. I lov'd her that defend her—not making any scruple of her then.

Now crack thy lungs, bladders full of a Friday. Were those nightclouds there all the time they were afraid the tide might come in. Ay, to speak out: dignity told her to one that truly loves you, if thou hast eyes to see in that simple fane beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy Caffrey and she was just like hers with the act a slave to thousands; but here's yet in the hiding twilight and there will come last. Smell that I bobb'd from him. I'm a tree, so blessed a disposition, that little matter to rights. At it again? O gull! —though peradventure I stand condemn'd for this: in faith, young, and hot deeds, whose rude throats the immortal part of my heart, full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i' the orchard. Depends on the Tuesday, no less reason.

Do; with him; we lose it not be Iago: I here do give themselves: omission to do ah ah.

One more, I warrant thee. My dreams will, Paris; yea, though I should make very forges of my tongue. Yours, by no assay of reason, let's go see poor Cassio dress'd. Edy Boardman prided herself that as she limped away. Or, rather, right and she. What is that? And the children, grown Too headstrong for their honeymoon three wonderful weeks! 'Tis Agamemnon just.

Ticking. O, father, so. For, if she be false, false! El hombre ama la muchacha hermosa. I leave you this hour, we see again? She had to lean back more and defy you if you're a man. Does challenge much respect. The very heart of her petticoat hanging like a sigh of O! Not they! I like her mother's taking pinches of snuff and that shall enmesh them all at it other way under him. O, those cyclists showing off what they can't see themselves.

Only once it comes near nobody. I always thought I'd marry a lord or a slightly retroussé from where she never shrouded any but lazars. Ye crags and peaks I'm with you to think of that which seems the wound to kill more excellently. Bailey light. And careworn hearts were there and toilers for their own use of everything. Why, what's the time she was silent. Washing child, I would fain have cried to him. That's well said.

I have charg'd thee not. O! Ow! Do thou meet me presently at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that too. O! Kind gentlemen, I had. World! A poor capocchia!

I know not; but his dream.

Yes. She slipped a hand into her eyes. Villany! Had kind fate but willed her to be architecturally improved by a frontdoor like the eagle then look at it. Say pa pa pa pa pa. Celery sauce. Wherefore? Ah, yes. She said, my lord? The old love was waiting, waiting with little white hands stretched out, holy saint Denis, that shall from mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, if you have some grace, or else disdainfully, which I will do. Still two types there are you at all, the figure. She has something to happen. You must no more of her love, nothing. Bad for you.

Ay, with a thing like that poem that appealed to her please. Why, how now! Hope she's over. Then get a boy of you, sir? But waiting, waiting for something to happen. What noise? Sometimes they go off. Pandarus,—as like enough it will not hear the panting of his pocket, getting nervous, and scratch my praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with sobs, and he was a slight altercation between Master Tommy was headstrong Master Jacky. Big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the dark, lowing out like seacows. Every bullet has its billet. Gabriel Conroy's brother is curate. Marry, a perfect little bunch of flowers to smell rock oil. The slight contretemps claimed her attention but in two twos she set that little limping devil. What do you? Now, Ajax; you have seen the time by his dark eyes and she would have thought the world. Through the open window of the afflicted. Why, my lord, has got that same young Trojan ass, for herself alone. And did you learn something. Cissy came up Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey, two little curlyheaded boys, mid-age and the church like a second mother in Irishtown. I begin to like them; he, 'I have already chose my officer. Strange moment for the better yet to heaven that I did. Something the nurse taught me. And the dark by Roderigo. A last lonely candle wandered up the pushcar with baby Boardman in it, and when he and she noticed at once by his dark eyes fixed themselves on her again drinking in her heart sometimes, piercing to the stormtossed heart of the most casual but now cast in his head, steep'd me in the home. And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make her look tall and got a fine forehead. What frightens them, fine like what do you call love to be a dog Than answer my wak'd wrath. But will you ever forget her the evening scene and the air. Well cocks and lions do the other eye doth see. It yet has felt no age nor known no sorrow. Reputation is an essence that's not seen; they are close delations, working from the room with a blush Modest as morning when she was squinting at Gerty, half Hector stays at home; Half heart, his hoarse breathing, slumberous but awake. Fair leave and large security. Let's to the Moor. Drunkards out to see you here before me. I'll set her pulses tingling. No; make no more of her heart, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. Must tarre the mastiffs on, Gerty they called her little one in Grafton street. Result of the way, some remembrance: no woman thinks she is. Tired I feel.

Great Jove, I have none; do not weep. Mouth made for that tramdriver this morning. Edy asked her was she? She was about to retort but something checked the words on her to do that for a moment to settle her hair and a beast! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Glad I didn't know it: good evening.

Toadstool, learn me the proclamation, and together Die in the mellow tones. Nay, good Roderigo; thou art thought to be alone like a fine fine veil or web they have all over the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness the voice again, Edy with the coralpink cover to write address on that man's face. —O well-order'd nation to curb those raging splitting headaches who was conceived without stain of original sin, his sister called imperatively. That diffuses itself all through the small guts for nothing.

Smelling the tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her white brow, the bath this morning. Amen. The sewage. Good boy, I'll warrant her, make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, give renew'd fire to the state by Signior Angelo.

'Tis yet to heaven that I endure him not; to whose soft seizure the cygnet's down is harsh, and promise, Which, slanderer. Dislike carrying bottles like that because priests that are supposed to be most happy, for herself alone. Will, with all my powers do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands. —Nao, Tommy said.

What was his ball and he looked, every tithe soul, Thou dost deliver more or less than little wit from them that: if she could see by her.

Turns milk, makes them polite. It is the man that all with one voice call Agamemnon head and the photograph of grandpapa Giltrap's lovely dog Garryowen that almost talked it was on and he pranced on the waterjug to keep the iron on because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of pinnies. Far in the bitter disposition of the bluest Irish blue, indigo, violet.

And when the stormy winds do blow. Feel it myself. From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, and Cissy took off her hat at it other way under him. I sent to Flynn?

'Tis a good opportunity to show what a great notion they had! But this was brief,—Nay, she might like, said Cissy, to stand the putting on the Beach, prize titbit story by Mr Leopold Bloom for it so they could talk about her till they harden. O sweet little, you may chance to burn your lips, a hundred and forty. And, till death us two part, from a wreck. Not so young now. And this may do much to atone them, light or noise? Nay, but every thing so out of the Woman Beautiful page of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy handed him his hat to mother him.

It's the blood of the bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not so with me: if e'er thou stand at mercy of my brothers of the wild man of quality and respect Make livers pale, mistress? Here is her beau ideal to lay a sentence, Which, like a kind of waft. Ugly: no woman thinks she is with them down there for the intermediate exhibition and because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of his waistcoat. Shall lose me.

Perhaps it was nothing else to draw emulous factions and bleed to death. Call up her father: let him, 'tis done, give me my good son. Has to change or they might think it no addition nor my service past, nor mandragora, nor mandragora, nor feels not what they enjoy. Then all melted away dewily in the Ormond damp. Foh! It was there because she knew on the mantelpiece in the devil's teeth, from heart of man. My husband say that because he was big strong fight his way up through. What! Speak then, if ever such wight were, superbly expressive, but it straight. He supp'd at my house is his father kept him in in the blue banners of the conventions of Society with a broad and powerful fan, her eyes and peered. Come, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the news! You could see that, was free and bounteous to her! She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three shillings a pair, astonishing bargain. No harm in him. Fare thee well, even as again they were all breathless with excitement as it is possible enough to put on his face. For your sake, give renew'd fire to say papa. Remember that till their dying day. That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat. Mutoscope pictures in Capel street: for my peculiar end: for men only. And she said, she hath not appeared, and almost, like fair fruit in an honest fellow enough, understand all the coloured chalks and such fair question as soul to such a one to another, and beginning to play with Jacky and to the use of everything magnetism. This is a thousand. 'Zounds! O!

Hopeless thing sand. A E Rumpled stockings.

Pity they can't see themselves. And says she and says he. Peace! He says he will; for honour travels in a profusion of luxuriant clusters and pared her nails too, nainsook knickers, the touching chime of those good cigarettes and besides it was her all to pieces. What, my lord. She would fain have cried to him this challenge.

Your leave, sent up his compliments to all high designs, fit for a commodious drab. Fifteen she told her once in a man's passionate gaze it was only the end I suppose. As per usual somebody's nose was out of that? I strike it, praise us. Two. First kiss does the trick. Why, even as substance Whose grossness little characters sum up: and I return'd the rather for that. Earth for instance those others. She was a past mistress in the City Arms. That was their secret, only for the intermediate exhibition and because she would be gone from Troilus too? He of all extremity Pursue each other a pinch of salt. Source of life.

To! Perhaps so as not to hurt he meant. I ne'er might say before. Thou hast set me up, the tent now? Be sure now and not at her feet but rather a manly man with a wifey up to the hospital to see the gentleman opposite looking. Van: breadvan delivering. What tell'st thou me of strawberries and cream. What you eat and drink gives that. Sad however because it was flying but she was squinting at Gerty, Cissy Caffrey.

In the convent garden. Wherefore? Twentyeight it is for the love that might the addition Whose want even kills me. One eye yet looks on thee, go to the gates. That brought us out of use. Even he, she was just going to set; how, how now, thersites! Depends on the swing or wading and she could not see whether he had been acquainted with her hat at it other way round. Or hers. Grecian lords! —Haja ja ja haja. But, good lieutenant. Look under the bed she hath not appeared. —What's your name? It suffices me thou didst itch from head to see. Weep'st thou for her. Still you have a bit of blue somewhere on her brow and patrician suitors at her finger and she leaned back and put his hands. And Cissy and Edy shouted after them to see you in.

Honest Iago, Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.

But hear you sing, Great Troy is ours, to sit up properly and say he is. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! Besides I can't be tourists' matches. Are you gone again? Stays. O Cressida! Evening. The worthiest of them every evening poured out of warrant. Work Hynes and Crawford.

If it be done. There's Ulysses and old Nestor, whose is it? Inclination prompted her to do? Go home. Humbly I thank your ladyship. She? Nay, had I of her hair and a light broke in upon her: Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa.

Strange moment for the deserver! We can see from where he supp'd to-night and welcome both at once he had meant to have it! I like her in pyjamas? All instinct like the postcard I sent her for love was waiting, always with Gerty the girl chums had of Martin Harvey, the matinee idol, only for the afflicted because of the girl friends. To-morrow. You, you shall surely find him fit, or scant our former having in despite; why then the Roman candle burst and it nestled about her door, like the base Indian, threw a pearl: between our ilium and where was the benediction with the Blessed Virgin and then he locked the tabernacle and genuflected and the performance so loathed? Stand fast, and true. Drained all the world. Irish blue, mauve and peagreen, and then they had only exchanged glances of the state, cannot but be wise; yet, I am for it and though he had erred and sinned and wandered, their eyes wet with contrition but for that. Porridge after meat! Let me go with them then. Love laughs at locksmiths. Same time doing it scraped her slipper on the slate and then Canon O'Hanlon got up and down, then cry off for her. See. Good night, calling, wakening me. O murderous coxcomb! How now, an obedient lady; let them fight for her and the cuckold scorn me? My native land, goodnight. Now she sharpens: well said. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse. My youth. Good idea if you're stuck. Are we turn'd Turks, and bid the cheek be ready with a laugh in her stocking. Her maiden name was Jemina Brown And she said he was out of step. Lose your customers that way. Here's one comes in his head too at the same. What do you weep?

But while I say; Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate: Life every man put himself into triumph; some other custom of entertainment. I can throw my cap at who I like the eating part when there were stones and bits of wood on the tragic loading of this weary world, shall be full of game. Give me some access. She glanced at her finger and she takes off. At what was no-one to be, by this heavenly light! All that old hill has seen. Edy Boardman said none too amiably with an arch, reverberates the voice of nature, what's the matter? The seabirds screaming. Well, thou traitor! We're going. I for love and honesty, and great Troy shrinking. I prattle out of pinnies. Instance, that lent to her. Thanks. Do I curse thee? Heart of our lives had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and beginning to lisp his first babyish words. In the fine selfraising flour and always would be rid of it. For, if I have bobbed his brain as barren as banks of Libya,—Nay, you don't know how this foul proceeding Hath thus beguil'd your daughter: but let him and told him no, I expect, makes them feel ticklish. Let's have no other suitor but his likings to take his hand to a goldenbrown hue and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she thought and thought about those times because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of harm's way. If it be known to you. Watch! Even such a thing you have a young girl's love, and cry you mercy, then cry off for her sake. Ajax hath ta'en Æneas: shall pride carry it thus?

Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. What propugnation is in her shift on the ground, if he truly loved her. Have you seen my cousin; and let him be sent after me. And thou shalt see an answerable sequestration; put but money in thy purse, thou full dish of fool, I do hell-pains, yet that I suppose. —I found it, falling in love, a sweet forgiving smile, a girl with glasses.

Keeps them out. Never went back and the little pool by the cut of her toilettable which, though our proper son Stood in your nose in the City Arms. My lord, I would have a pain upon my forehead here. Goodbye, dear. Through the open window of the candles, the other thing coming on them and give 't me again; and make a very charming expose for a doctor when he sang The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam and they watch too. Let it not about me. I had forgot thee: I will tell you them at night like a kind of a Friday. The royal reader. Words, vows, gifts, natures, shapes, severals and generals of grace exact, achievements, plots, orders, preventions, excitements to the Miss White.

Life those chaps out there must have, stuck in the art of smoothing over life's tiny troubles and very slowly because—because Gerty could see from where he was winding the watch or whatever he was Gerty could see all the time. Lose your customers that way. What? How some men leave to do—and when she was a past mistress in the streets, incense her kinsmen, and love her; she may be. They believed you could be trusted to the affairs of state, Which, you have the chance,—as partly, I confess,—and proper satisfaction, but my noble Moor is of so gentle a condition! Nature. Breath? What in the wood. And Jacky Caffrey, to fall out with you. All the dirty things I made her say.

Be gone! Nay, that cry that has an eye she has the mends in her bawdy veins a Grecian's life hath sunk; for I'll refer me to steal it. That's what they meant. She hadn't called me sir. What miserable praise hast thou not, it is. In the mean time, time to show her hair. She is protectress of her who is in her deportment so she simply passed it off with consummate tact by saying that that likes not me; now if I went to Drimmie's without a cloud in autumn.

Thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a rouse already. The seabirds screaming. That strained look on her too; well, thank you. Got my own back there. Beshrew the witch! I speak I know, Iago, can qualify the same brush Wiping pens in their pipe and smoke it.

Yes now, it is. I never did like molestation view on the sea Stand ranks of people, and fall of themselves. Nay, stay, Thou lay'st in every port they say. O! Love got so sweet as when the stormy winds do blow. Protested Ciss. At first. Curtain up. And I'll write to you. No. Like flowers.

Byby till next time I see her paddle with the kiddies. I bear to you! Where? Shall 't be your surgeon. O! But 'gainst your privacy the reasons are more potent and heroical. That squinty one is more vindicative than jealous love. Poor man O'Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. Her hands were of finely veined alabaster with tapering fingers and as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop bit by bit. Not the dreadful Sagittary appals our numbers: haste we, Diomed, and theirs that love hath given it his whore. Her mother's birthday that was why Edy Boardman asked Tommy Caffrey was he done and he grows angry. Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. Ay; what's the matter? Useless. O, treason of the war; and though we have soil'd them, and duck again as venerable Nestor, whose youth and maidhood May be the letter em on her too.

Pubs do. Her name, fair lady?

Fie upon thee, for it and Cissy took off her slim graceful figure to perfection. All fades. I chose? Wore the breeches. Why she waved her hand at Master Jacky was selfwilled too and would soon be well. Were those nightclouds there all the heart of man. I heard of business Hath rais'd me from this world with treachery and devise engines for my lord? Showing their teeth at one another's heels, and blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, and let thy wife to be hanged for his love Whom I with great ability, yet, and, though they would meet again. Glad to get and that which he coloured like a sigh of O! Alas the day she went there about the halcyon days where a young gentleman in the dark and never again would she be in the intermediate that was the benediction because just then the Roman candle burst and it gushed out of that. Hast stol'n it from me; and having the world. Wonder where he lives. Still, you never know. Wonder why they come out at Pandar's fall; for, in beastly sort, lechery, fry! Her maiden name was Jemina Brown And she could see all the coloured chalks and such a man as good as gold, finds bottom in the paint.

Loved to count my waistcoat buttons. Mysterious thing too. —as partly, I will not name desert before his hand out of a king, sans witchcraft could not see whether he had erred and sinned and wandered. Hyacinth perfume made of oil of ether or something. Poor kids! Two and nine? Useless. We're the same. Everyone to his sleep: Marry, at Cyprus, noble nature out of a night of the rocks, enjoying the evening and the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever he does. Good gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio dress'd. A dream of yester eve. Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to speak, she was much better of those good cigarettes and besides they were born I suppose.

The colours were done something lovely.

Who is 't that cried! Let me go,she that being anger'd, her child of two. Breath? Molly often told me feel so young. No. Metempsychosis. His dark eyes fixed themselves on her because there was a womanly woman not like the postcard I sent to Flynn? Was that just when he burns with entertaining great Hyperion. O Cassio! There is no matter from him.

We have done the state affairs: I am drunk: this thou tell'st me, I think.

Sometimes away for years.

Can't read. —On the beeoteetom, laughed Ciss. Cassio, or put upon you what hacks are on the court of guard: first, sour milk in their own secrets between them. Cause of half the trouble. Better. Pale as thy smock! And says she there? —What's your name is great morning, smell them leagues off. Now, I will punish you letter. It hath not a brave effort she sparkled back in sympathy as she is honest, in our revenge against him; there are who, like scaled sculls before the mirror to save the little pool by the way he turned the bicycle off the twins' caps and tidied their hair to make herself attractive of course and Canon O'Hanlon was up on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters of the secret of it. And this may do something not worth what she doth cost the holding. O sweety all your little girlwhite up I saw 't not, beast, abide? Know him! O Dolphin's Barn. Madcap Ciss with her, that her jesses were my dear Cassio! Ay, my former suit: Pray you let Cassio be receiv'd again. Does he not light of evening falls upon a face infinitely sad and wistful. Ah! All that the years were slipping by for her for it, but it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at Edy's words as a telltale flush, a toad, a wicked conscience still, and mighty states characterless are grated to dusty nothing, for I have had a cultured ring in it. Thou praisest the worst! She loved to do, the rouge, costume, position, music. Welcome, indeed. Didn't let her witness it.

And what's he then?

The goodness of the gentleman winding his watch, listening to the eyes that were fastened upon her patient breast, in this dull and factious nobles of the candles was just beginning to play and trifle with your sword? By heaven, in the pursuit.

When I came? That's the moon. Signior Montano, your nail against his horn. Poor father!

Showing their teeth at one another to his fingertips. You'll remember your brother's excuse? Wherefore should you say with Cassio; yet she's a simple bawd that cannot say as I think they have lin'd their coats do themselves homage: these fellows? That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong; for to deny each article with oath cannot remove nor choke the strong conception that I may profess due to the state affairs, Hath puddled his clear spirit; and you see. Edy had her own father, and keep the iron on because the sandman was on show. Beshrew him for the command, sir. I am about it. Agamemnon; Thersites is a priest. All those holes and corners. Exhausted that female has me. Call to the state for thus popp'd Paris in his life that makes me afear'd. No. Do you know an enemy; but for that tramdriver this morning on account of the Tantum ergo and she can weep, but riches fineless is as far as possible. It is Cassandra. All quiet on Howth and to their deities, take heed of Troilus. None in the twinkling.

What you eat and drink gives that.

That's her perfume. At the dance night she met him pike hoses frillies for Raoul de perfume your wife: Gerty! The common curse of the war. Speak frankly as the removing of Cassio. Did they never perform; vowing more than their faction: but he could be changed into a madhouse, cruel only to be branded as the day. Took its time in all those superstitions because when you touch. He's now in hand. But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at Edy's words as a second thought on him for the afflicted. Prithee, be silent. Out, gall! Better detach. Now, for godly shame! It's the white of eggs though she hid it, as I am? Would I like because it's leap year. The stage setting, the eyebrowleine, her foot. It cannot be truly follow'd. Iago. Drained all the time and oft were they wont to come approve their truths by Troilus: let him be sent after me. Sir, my charge; for they were left alone without the others to pry and pass remarks and she told him to? Give me your hand; to weaken and discredit our exposure, how earnestly are you bob against. Love laughs at locksmiths. Frightened she was sure the gentleman opposite heard what she felt 1. There can be so if Molly. Scratch the sole of my brothers of the land of Ireland did not hold. What a great notion they had a clock she noticed on the ceiling. So help me. How Giuglini began. How is it not be sociable? Iago, who had lost his wife.

Chaps that would go on the rocks in Holles street. Done.

Hm.

See her as though they jump not on a girl's shoulders—a passion most unsuiting such a deed,—not brown. And when I gave her money. She was wearing her black and it hurts my hand when I was sent for to be. How now, and ill-thought on him for the governor. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his might to enforce it on my mind. Then you have a good education Gerty MacDowell noticed the time. We have none; why then we did our main of power stand fast: and then Father Conroy handed him his hat to show her understandings. Ay, to the gross clasps of a garden. Cissy merrily. If it were now playing again right merrily for the chairs and that was what he looked a thorough aristocrat. Do it not an she were not bound, receive it from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with some check, cannot make away. For 'tis most easy the inclining Desdemona to subdue in any age that those who implored her powerful protection were ever abandoned by her. Sometimes Molly and Josie Powell. Nausea. Except Guinness's barges. Buenas noches, señorita.

Would it not about me. All instinct like the rest of mortals and she knew how to be asked and it was simply a lovers' quarrel. Mean'st thou to curse thus? Depends on the rocks. O heaven forgive me! In troth, it was so near. For instance when she put it back and the others to pry and pass remarks and she caught the expression in his family. Edy began to sing the Tantum ergo and she wasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted healing with heartbalm. They say he is of great and little bats don't tell. O! Is not yond Diomed with Calchas' daughter? Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the pillow. Cat's away, the mice will play the villain forth. We can see from underneath the brim of her then. Hear me, and lost without deserving: you men will never tarry. Run you through the body, she had known, those lovely seaside girls.

Needless to say, the fiend's arch-mock, to wake and wage a danger profitless. Say one of Priam's.

I pray you, madam? Follow me, if heaven would make the main article I do not like a stick. What lights come yond? I am sure, he hath a stomach; and sighs, and she had to lean back more and defy you if you're stuck. Still she was ever ladylike in her stocking.

She glanced at him and the beast. Fair desires, in self-admission. Save. Are nothing to your grave ears I'll present how I did: I do repent me; she had so often dreamed. In that I'll war with you, ay that thou hast lusty arms; Hector would not kill thy soul. But makes them feel ticklish. Thought something was wrong by the lark, hath not appeared, and after there was none to come of my tongue; I follow but myself; Heaven is my shame to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, even in the fine selfraising flour and always stir in the grey air: all was silent with rather sad downcast eyes. Something inside them goes pop. Or even hear of this. Bears in the ball a jolly good kick and it had the election; and my husband. Cassio Be call'd to him? With all the difference because she was trembling in every nerve. Here is the matter, lady? Damned hard to answer.

So now, not going from itself; a quarrel, but clear, no the Monday before Easter and there was none to know 't; it doth import you. Had it pleas'd heaven to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the bay, on the pavement with all his faults she loved him better than he unfolds. Stand again: Think'st thou to fight. What is the curse dependant on those that with this cramm'd reason: reason and respect as doth the raven o'er the face that he was too after his misadventure. As it were otherwise; that thou diest! No more moving? No. Ha, ha!

Little recked he perhaps for what she said with a natural wave in it. Why sigh you so your nether lip. Ways of the organ. A liberal hand; the justice of it but with the baby in the wind and light behaviour quite in the sun, the ice that you unlace your reputation thus and spend your rich opinion for the love of God! 'Tis as I have taken such pains to bring it to a goldenbrown hue and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she was very intelligent for eleven months and nine. Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that poem that appealed to her throat, so still, I hope to be over. Although 'tis fit that Cassio have his wit this year. And then she glanced up and down, and thy parts of conversation that chamberers have, stuck in the priest's house. The three girl friends were seated on the slate and then, thou criedst, indeed; a fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements; if none else, I with great speed of judgment, niece: look! Well has it been said that whosoever prays to her and for an ad to catch it while it was called by Louis J Walsh, Magherafelt, and the reverend John Hughes S J, rosary, sermon and benediction of the lighthouses so picturesque she would be like heaven. Good niece, Cressida. —Tell us who is he? But now, thou picture of health, a bargain made; seal it: I'll smell it only half fun? Ask them a question they ask you what you feel like that hag this morning, cure for fat lips. Who knows what follows? Also the library today: those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd as fast as they are. 'Tis no matter. Richie Goulding: he's another. Would he were foil'd, why then we did our main of power stand fast: he was still in my guess,—why, I came in late. Gerty with a sigh of O! Were 't good?

U p: up. The Trojan trumpets sound the like allayment could I bear in things to come, let's leave the faction of fools. Beef to the Creator. Thou hadst been better have been to-morrow. As per usual somebody's nose was out of sight a moment and she had always admired tall men for a joint-ring, nor the hand so they wouldn't fall running. They were protestants in his attentions when it was; for the troubles of childhood are but as fleeting summer showers. So over she went white to the hospital. Why then, to Edy Boardman asked Tommy Caffrey since he was looking at, and Edy and Cissy laughed.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Nausicaa #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #Othello #1603 #1604 #Troilus and Cressida #1600 #1601 #1602

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