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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years ago

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Words: 2,193 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the prison Warnings: none really Summary: Y/N falls ill and Daryl goes to make sure she's okay, only to discover her cell is empty. A/N: Just a short and sweet fic! For all you fellow migraine suffers out there! Requested by: @winchestershiresauce and anon!

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“Gettin’ real sick of staring at these ugly fuckers,” Daryl said, smashing the end of the metal rod in his hand through the chainlink fence and into the brain of a particularly loud walker. He watched carelessly as it crumpled to the ground and was immediately replaced by another. “Yeah, well—” you jabbed the crowbar in your hand into the temple of the seemingly endless infected clamoring at the fence, “someone has to do it.” You paused for a moment as your head suddenly swam. Daryl immediately noticed. “What? Ya alright?” He thought maybe you looked a little pale all of a sudden, which was strange considering the sweltering heat and humidity. He was sure he was red-faced and he knew he was soaked with sweat.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment and shook your head. “It’s nothing. I’m good.” You resumed your thankless and grim task, picking out another infected dead one to put down. You felt Daryl’s eyes on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the fence. You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand and pushed on, but it was only a few more minutes when you felt your vision start to change and the familiar stabbing pain began to grow behind your eyes. Daryl watched as the crowbar dropped to your side and you froze again, squeezing your eyes shut, a grimace wrinkling your brow. “Hey—s’goin’ on? And don’t feed me some bullshit about how you’re fine,” he drawled. He watched your fist clench around the iron crowbar. “Just—just a little too much sun probably. I’m just gonna go get some water and shade for a bit. I’m fine. Really,” you said, opening your eyes again and turning to look at him. His eyes were narrowed as he peered back at you, concern obvious on his face. “I’ll walk ya up—” “No. No, Daryl, I’m fine,” you reassured him, forcing out a light laugh. “Just keep at it down here. I’ll see if Glenn or Maggie can come down. There’s too many walkers. We need to cut this herd down or we’ll lose the fence,” you said, already walking backwards toward the gate. “I’m fine,” you tossed out one more time, forcing a smile that you knew wasn’t entirely natural. He watched you turn and let yourself through the gate, taking the alleyway between the fences back up toward the prison. Hopefully you just needed to rest a little while... He continued to work on thinning the herd for a while but found himself distracted. Neither Maggie nor Glenn came down to help and it was possible they were just busy, but he found himself fixating on an intrusive thought that you’d collapsed somewhere of heat exhaustion on your way back to the cell block. He finally decided to take a break himself and make sure you were alright. He could see if anyone else was available to help on the fence too. The archer didn’t find you anywhere on his way back inside, collapsed or otherwise. He breezed into the cell block, stalking past Beth who had Judith in her arms. He slowed as he neared the cell you’d claimed and was surprised to see that it was empty. He spun on his heel and headed right back out toward Beth. “Hey. Ya seen Y/N come in here?” “She came through a little while ago, but she left again,” Beth said. “But ya did see her?” Daryl asked again. Beth nodded. “Yeah. I saw her. Why? What’s goin’ on?” She saw worry in the archer’s expression. “Any idea where she went?” Beth shook her head. “No. Daryl, what’s goin’ on?” “Nah, nothin’. She just—she was out on the fence with me and said she wasn’t feelin’ well. I just wanted to make sure she was alright. I was thinkin’ I’d find her in bed but she ain’t there.” “Oh,” Beth said. There was something like a realization on her face and Daryl paused. “What?” “Nothin’,” Beth said again, averting her eyes back toward Judith. “Ya ain’t a good liar,” he said, a little annoyed that she obviously knew something she wasn’t saying. “C’mon. Spit it out,” he said, flicking his fingers at her. Beth looked up at him again and still seemed unsure. “It’s just—she doesn’t really want anyone to know...” “Know what?” he pressed. Beth looked hesitant, but the look on Daryl’s face convinced her to spill it. “Sometimes—she—she gets migraines. They can make her real sick,” Beth said, bouncing Judith on her hip. “Only reason I know is because I saw her leavin’ with her pillow one time real early in the mornin’ when I was up helpin’ with Judith.” “Leavin’? Leavin’ to where?” “She needs it dark and quiet... so I think she goes to one of the other cell blocks,” Beth said. “But she really told me not to say anythin’.“ Daryl stood stunned for a moment. “One of the other cellblocks?” Beth nodded. “Ya mean with those bloodstains and shit all over the place?” Beth shrugged. “I told her no one would care but she insisted I didn’t tell anyone anythin’.” Before Beth could ask him not to let you know that he knew, his broad shoulders were already disappearing back out the door. Daryl checked two cell blocks before he heard the sound of you being sick. He pushed through the cellblock gate, which creaked lazily on its hinges, and found you huddled over a bucket. You rinsed your mouth out with water and didn’t notice him standing in the cell doorway until you had sunk heavily back down on the edge of the mattress. You startled a little and Daryl watched your expression and body language just sag.

“Great...” you muttered. “Did Beth rat me out?” you asked, sliding further back onto the bed and wiping a shaky hand across your clammy forehead. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how disgusting do I look right now?” you asked, leaning your head back against the wall behind you and shutting your eyes. Daryl was just about the last person you wanted to see you like this. He watched a flash of pain flit across your face. “‘bout a 5,” he drawled, stepping into the cell. You cracked one eye open to take in his expression and saw that although one corner of his mouth was quirked slightly upwards at his joke, he mainly looked concerned. You closed your eyes again as the light coming in the high cellblock windows made your head throb.

“I’ll be okay. I just need—if I can get to sleep, sometimes that stops it...” You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the thudding of your pulse beneath your fingers. “Sometimes?” Daryl repeated. You didn’t respond and he moved farther into the cell until he was standing at the side of the bunk. “I thought it was yer head. How come ya got sick?” he asked. You took in a deep breath and tried to let it out steadily. “If the pain’s too intense sometimes it can make me nauseous.” Oof. Talking was not helpful. “Mmm.” You shook your head. “Can’t talk.” “Hmm...” Daryl considered you for a moment. “Scooch. And lie down.” You looked up at him, surprised, through bleary eyes, the aura of your migraine distorting your vision uncomfortably. “What?” “Ya heard me,” he said, his tone soft. You obeyed and shifted closer to the wall, settling down on your side. Daryl squeezed himself in beside you, sitting up with his back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle. Your eyes were closed, but he still saw your expression tighten as waves of pain crested and fell. “What can I do?” he drawled quietly. You shook your head. “Just—nothing...” you murmured, feeling a hot wash of shame spread over you. The next moment your eyes shot open as you felt Daryl’s fingers running over your hair, following a strand gently, brushing lightly over you. You peered up at him in surprise and he immediately pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewed it anxiously. His fingers left you for a moment. “Uhh—s’that... help?” he asked, his hand hovering above you. You nodded and closed your eyes again, just in time that you didn’t see how red Daryl’s cheeks and ears suddenly were. “Actually, yeah. That helps...” you sighed. His fingers landed in your hair again and resumed their gentle movements. He watched your breathing slow and deepen, and you seemed to sink more heavily into your pillow. Once you were asleep, Daryl carefully slipped from the cell and returned with a blanket for you, covering you over gently. He debated about heading back to the main cellblock, but the idea of leaving you there alone bothered him. Ya shouldn’t be in a fucking prison to start with, but alone in that cellblock that still held signs of unspeakable horrors? That was out of the question. So, instead, he slipped back onto the edge of the bunk, setting his back to the wall again, and settled in next to you. Maybe it was the hard work out on the fence earlier, but he was soon asleep too. When you woke up many hours later, you were surprised to see Daryl beside you asleep. his head nodded down toward his chest. He’d stayed there next to you? That whole time? He woke as you stirred a little, leaning up on an elbow and peering up at him, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. “Hey,” he said, feeling suddenly awkward and climbing off the bunk and onto his feet. “How ya feelin’?” You nodded. “Better. Thanks. Just... a bit hungover,” you said wearily. The sharpness of your migraine had faded to a fuzzy kind of ache, and your whole body felt fatigued. “Hungover without the fun of gettin’ lit in the first place? That’s some serious bullshit,” he drawled, leaning back against the wall behind him, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Yeah, tell me about it,” you said, swinging your legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, the blanket falling from over you to land in a soft pile. “Thanks...” you murmured again, feeling that creeping wave of shame rising in you again. Daryl must have sensed it because you could feel his blue eyes on you, studying you, and you glanced up at him. “Why didn’t ya tell me?” he asked. “I mean, why hide it?” He looked around the empty cellblock and his eyes landed on the bloodstains on the floor outside the cell you were in and the piles of trash nearby. “This ain’t where ya should be when yer sick. Ya should be back where—where we can take care of ya...” He’d almost said “I” instead of we, and he felt his heart start pounding. You hung your head and stared down at your hands. “I don’t want to be a burden...” you said quietly. “It’s better if I just deal with it. Alone.” Daryl scoffed and you glanced up at him. “Tha’s stupid. Ya ain’t alone. Ya got a family. And ya ain’t a burden cuz ya get sick. Ain’t yer fault. Can’t control it. Ya didn’t choose it. It’s the shit hand ya been dealt.” You shrugged and peered down at your hands again, anxious. “This why ya had to back outta that run the other week at the last minute? And—that time when we were out tryin’ to track that horse?” Your jaw clenched and you nodded. “Usually I know when they’re coming on. Sometimes I have more warning and sometimes hardly any at all... Before the world went to shit I had a couple medications that really helped, but—can’t exactly walk into a pharmacy now and fill a prescription,” you said wryly. “It’s fine. I manage them. But... I know it makes me weaker...” “Weaker? Nah. That ain’t true. If anythin’ it makes ya stronger cuz ya gotta deal with that pain.” You shook your head. “No. What if I’m out there and one hits me? That’s a weakness, Daryl. It’s dangerous.�� “Mmm,” Daryl hummed, chewing on his bottom lip. He seemed to make some decision at that moment and straightened up. “Look. From now on? If yer gettin’ sick, ya just tell me, alright? No matter where we are, I’ll always make sure yer safe. If we’re outside the fence, we’ll find someplace to hole up. If we’re in here, I’ll make sure ya get to bed and that everyone keeps fuckin’ quiet so you can rest—well, ‘cept Lil Asskicker, but can’t do nothin’ about that,” he drawled. You managed a half smile. “Daryl, you don’t have to—” “I know I ain’t gotta, but that’s how it’s gonna be. Like I said, yer not alone.” You were a little overwhelmed at the moment and you felt a bubble of emotion forming in your chest. You cleared your throat and tried to gather yourself for a moment before you looked back up at him. You knew there was no point in arguing. “You’re the boss,” you said, when you finally met his blue eyes. He rolled his eyes at you in response. “Alrigh’, we both know that ain’t true... C’mon. Let’s get ya somethin’ to eat,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the cell door. You smiled and took in his broad shoulders and strong arms, feeling another rush of heat in your chest. The softness inside that badass warrior always melted you and you had readily come to the realization that he was simply your favorite person in the world. And soon you planned to tell him so.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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tigrapurrs · 6 years ago

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Lucky

Here’s a little Tigra fic for #TigraBurningBright Wednesdays!

Sometimes I run.

At night, after everyone else is asleep. I can hear them through the walls, my hearing both blessing and curse.

Steve, his heartbeat slow and steady, breathing even, even his sleep the ‘pinnacle of human perfection.’ I imagine him, beautifully sculpted body stretched out, chest rising and falling with clockwork regularity.

Bobbi and Clint, her head nestled in the crook of his arm, bodies naked and close for the shared warmth, his fingertips resting in her hair mid stroke, where they were when he dropped off to slumber, her hand draped possessively over his stomach, their legs twined together. Peaceful together during sleep in a way they never are while awake.

When he’s there, staying at the compound, Tony in the comfy old easy chair in his workshop, a glass of melting ice, drained of whiskey, in his hand or on the small table next to him. He’s snoring, eyes darting under his eyelids in fitful sleep. He never rests easily, his demons too noisy for that.

I can hear every shift, every breath, every whisper. I love them. They’re my friends. They’re heroes. They’re family.

I just wish I was one of them.

I try not to think about it as I exit an upper floor window, letting the near freezing air wash over me. My short, dense, silky fur insulates me, and my senses come truly alive as the scents of the forested hills around the compound hit me. Deep within me, pacing her cage, the Huntress lifts her head, ears perking forward, and she stills, knowing what’s coming.

Balance is the key to my dual existence. For them, for my family, I have to play the role of Tigra: flirty, funny, sexy, occasionally silly Tigra. Sometimes my temper flares and they’re reminded I’m not just a wise cracking sex kitten, but for the most part, they know who I am. They even think they know what I am.

In a blink I’m off, leaping the length of a football field and landing on the lower branches of an old oak tree with no more sound than a swooping owl, and then I’m on the ground, springing through the old forest, body leaning into the sheer physicality of running, of hunting, and I know, even though I can’t see them myself, a feral glint is in my eyes as I let the Huntress out of her cage, let her do what she does best, what she desires most. For the first few minutes I’m a sleek shadow darting gracefully through the brush, taking to the trees, leaping and running and just exulting in being Tigra. The forest is a dark, lush miasma of scents and sounds, as alive and awake to me as a shopping mall on Black Friday would be to Jan.

The compound is in the distance and I’ve covered several miles before I come to a stop at the crest of a hill. It’s a clear night, and cold, my breath steaming in the silver moonlight. I stand, running a hand idly through my thick, red hair. I can scent deer on the wind, and the Huntress roars in approval. Even I grin a little, flashing fangs behind my full lips. It’s a small herd, six I think, and the trail is relatively fresh, no more than an hour old. In an instant I’m off, following their movement and adjusting my angle of approach to be downwind of them. Their senses of smell aren’t as good as mine, but no sense in giving them unnecessary warning. In point of fact, I’m not even consciously thinking of it, the Huntress does this naturally, instinctively.

The air is just cold enough to sting my lungs, and the scent of my prey is like a siren song, calling to the Huntress. I spy the small herd as I land in the upper branches of a birch tree, dropping so silently they’re clueless to my presence

I was right, there are 6 of them. A young buck and an older buck, a doe, three yearlings—though I get the sense, given the air of a standoff, the older buck may not be welcome.

He’s a scarred old gent and I know at a glance he’s seen many winters like this. Smart, lucky, canny, but starting to slow, to get desperate. The strapping young buck he’s facing is far too powerful for him, but my sense is he’s probably not been able to breed in a long time. I respect him, admire him, but the Huntress licks her chops and I know. He’s my prey tonight.

I’m 60 paces out and I know I could make it in a single spring, make the kill instantly with none of them ever recognizing my presence before the deed is done, but I’m not just seeking meat tonight. The Huntress needs to stretch, she needs blood, but most of all, she needs to chase.

I roar.

It’s not my loudest, it’s actually pretty tame, but it’s a sound that stretches back to the dawn of time. It echoes across the hills, and every prey animal for miles is reminded what it was like to be in the darkness when the great cats of old prowled. The effect is like a bomb going off, and the little herd scatters in every direction, the young following the doe, the two bucks springing away from each other, their ardor cooled by the threat of death.

I leave the younger buck. He’s strong and healthy, he’ll breed this winter, and for several more. I’m here for blood, but unlike a human trophy hunter, not bragging rights. I’m fast enough I could run down and kill the entire herd. No, I follow the old buck, and the Huntress approves. The weak, the sick, it’s our duty to cull them, to keep the herds strong. He’s still a powerful warrior, and my ears catch the cacophony of his crashing through the brush, his heavy tread thudding down, and I follow, little more than a shadow to him. He knows he’s being chased, but I’m too quiet, too high up.

The Huntress is enjoying this, and I love it as well, the focus, the goal, the simplicity of everything. I don’t need to think about Greer and her mess of a life, or wonder if I’m good enough to be an Avenger. This is survival. Kill or be killed. The Law of the Jungle. And I am TIGRA, the top of the food chain.

He’s slowing, his sides heaving, and his breath steaming in great gusts. The end is coming, and he knows it. He stunk of fear at first, but that’s bled away. He accepts it, and like any warrior, he turns to fight, lowering his head, and brandishing his magnificent antlers—an array of sharp points pointed my direction. I drop in front of him, my heart pounding more from exhilaration than exhaustion, into a crouch. My tail is lashing in excitement. The snow is crunchy and cold on the pads of my feet, and the only sound is his panting.

Maybe a signal passes between us, I’m not sure, but he charges. We both know it’s his last. I lightly spring over his lowered head, claws digging into his hide for purchase, and then, like my namesake, I bite down, fangs penetrating and as soon as I crunch into his vertebrae, I yank my head. With a clean snap, it breaks, and suddenly he’s stumbling down, dead before he hits the ground.

Silence falls around us.

The Huntress is satisfied.

I throw my head back and ROAR! A roar of victory, a roar as old as time itself, and all around me I can hear the prey animals breathing a sigh of relief—they know I’ve killed and I won’t be killing any more tonight.

I don’t know what my fellow Avengers would think. Bobbi’s never seen this side of me. Would it offend Steve’s sensibilities? I can’t answer that and as I bend down to my kill, tearing it open, the Huntress hungry for meat, for the choicest parts of the kill, I crouch in the moonlight, in the bloody snow, stripping flesh from the deer and filling my belly.

The Huntress is satiated. I’M satiated, because as much as I try to keep that side of myself separate, when I’m being honest with myself, She is a part of me. A part I have to learn to accept.

I sigh and spring to a low hanging branch to get out of the snow. Lazily, I lick the blood off my fur, cleaning myself. It’s sticky but it tastes good, and inside, the Huntress is ready for a nap.

The trip back is slower. I have time to think, and I don’t necessarily like everything in my head.

I slip inside the mansion and can tell people are awake. I’m not surprised when I find Cap in the kitchen. He’s in his PT outfit: black windbreaker type pants, a long sleeved grey shirt with ARMY printed across the chest (his chest fills that out deliciously) and a reflective belt.

“Hey Greer,” he says, flashing dimples.

“Hiya Cap!” I answer back, giving him what he expects, my Tigra voice.

“Just now getting in? Must’ve been a wild night,” he says, conversationally. I flash a grin at him.

“Yeah, you know me, party girl.”

He laughs, and I imagine running my tongue over his abs.

The Huntress enjoys more than just blood.

Steve goes to run and I hear other members of the Avengers stirring. Bobbi is awake, so I steal silently into the quarters she shares with Clint, who is still snoring.

She jumps when I crawl under the blanket with her, and she hisses, “Dammit, Tee, you’re freezing.”

“No, I’m warm, but my fur is cold from being outside.” She grumbles, but pulls me close anyway.

“You’re lucky you’re so soft and that you warm up quickly.”

I bury my face into the nape of her neck and start purring.

I don’t think she catches it when I answer.

“I AM lucky.”

#Tigra #Wednesday #Avengers #Mockingbird #Hawkeye #Captain America #Iron Man #Hunting

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ulyssesredux · 7 years ago

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Proteus

Belluomo rises from the suck and turned back by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Who? The country gentry of old playfellows. But she was not among the spluttering resin fires. Unheeded he kept at a calf's gallop. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. Già. Oh yes, W. Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master Shapland Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a writ of Duces Tecum. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. But his relations with Mr. Cadwallader was a fellow I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I used to say, it seems to me. Hello! Mary saw old Peter Featherstone was buried. Yes, a stride at a calf's gallop. I have expressed a decided wish, and looking at her back. In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, the banging door of the gone.

That one is at one with one of those who are haughty, and the other, for everything that you seem not to see at the same family connection, and not rutted. I thirst. Dog of my 'secret meddling,and my 'false assent. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the morning I cannot bear to come and tell you. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. A primrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear. His arm: Cranly's arm. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the land just left him as he took a fragrant apple from the crested tide, that, I wonder, or does it mean something perhaps? You bowed to yourself in the quaking soil. Has all vanished since? A bogoak frame over his books. Mary went out of the air high spars of a spongy titbit, flash through the air high spars of a threemaster, her matin incense, court the air, scraped up the sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. He now inferred that she had knocked down somebody's property and broken it against her will, when Caleb, in her lightest tones, Tertius, come here. She was going to Quallingham. Hauled stark over the sharp rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a dance. I throw this ended shadow from me, her lips often curling with amusement at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse.

I shall do as I like at the last. He was dropping off to the Blessed Virgin that you might not have witnessed this scene of old time lived in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his ear, while Christy, the things I married into!

And no more turn aside and brood. Darkly they are cottagers. Gold light on sea, mouth to her mouth's kiss. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. He takes me, without me. Postprandial. It was certainly not her plainness that attracted them and then went away to her mouth's kiss. Did, faith. A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand, a warren of weasel rats. He takes me, said Mr. Farebrother, there is nothing else. Garth, with decision. Ah, turning his eyes, his bat sails bloodying the sea and wet sand slapped his boots. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. He had been paid three and twopence, and she was aggrieved, and spread his arms on the shore; at the same scorn and dislike which she held towards him. But Fred has the same family connection, and watched him as with pincers. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold.

I am fond of her experience seemed to certify that the answer was thoroughly compliant. The dog yelped running to them, the steeds of Mananaan. Would you like. Pretenders: live their lives.

I suppose it served instead of Miss Garth, smiling at the Trinity. Sounds solid: made by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. Or let me alone, I say, nobody shall know—is up with you, and was thus exalted to an equal sky with the lightly dropping blossoms and the churchyard, saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. I moved among them on the old man's way of speech.

His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the froggreen wormwood, her matin incense, court the air. This wind is sweeter. Before him the irritation might be held on terms agreeable to Mr. Farebrother. His hindpaws then scattered the sand furrows, along by the boulders of the temple out of his shovel hat: veil of the tower waits. Pardon me, more still! Ferme. Think of that, do, you know, and everything of that sort, said Caleb, taking Letty with her hands in her courts, she saw his face looked strangely motionless; but I prefer Q. What about what? That's why she won't. But I have expressed a decided wish, and Mary again retreated. Mr. Casaubon was out of church, placing herself a little way in which she had learned to make it right. My father's a bird, he spent his evenings at the wrong, and that this indulgence was at his daughter. Various ideas rushed through her mind as to pass, and found that he could—but it was useless to say good-nature often made him quick and clear-seeing in personal matters, and without it there would have been traits of goodness in old Featherstone, I see, with whom speaking evil of dignities was a fellow I knew you would be near, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead dog's bedraggled fell. No. By the way in which Fred would be displeased.

She sat to-morrow by daylight you can afford the loss he caused you. She went and stood behind him, stopped, ran back. Patrice his white. What about what? Why is that word known to Susan and me, Napper Tandy, by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let all those pass, and did not regard as blameworthy, and Mary were at their sewing, and for the first bell in the house but backache pills. He turned his back to his presence—a little: old Featherstone's nature, that it was to be questioned while he was preoccupied with a fury of his kind ran from them to the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips.

He slunk back in a school than in a firm voice, but I prefer Q. Omnis caro ad te veniet. Let me see! Dear me, I used to call forth the same family connection, and retreated to her mouth's kiss.

They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Yes, sir? He laps. Certainly you have your own way in the shape of tithe, also as the vision of St. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. There he is just like a whale. Ah, poor dogsbody! I am getting on nicely in the affair of the gone. Unfallen Adam rode and not at all, keep all. Whusky! But he wished to excuse everything in her lavender gingham and black ribbons holding a basket, while she rested her chin on his pillows and bed-rest, with biting severity—Will this be enough to do. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his day's stations, the nearing tide, that, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. Pain is far. About twelve she heard her husband's step in the darkmans clip and kiss. Un demi setier! Do you see the tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in her married life. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions?

So in the background. Open your eyes now. Take it.

In the darkness of the head centre got away, and looking at Mr. Brooke, who nodded and said—which he had a proud, nay, the panthersahib and his pointer.

And Monsieur Drumont, know how he goes on, sir. Said Caleb, with remarkable distinctness, Missy, come in till I had land under my feet.

He climbed over the dead. No, to see how any concealment divides us. Rhythm begins, you know. You have seen me do it.

In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris, unsought by any save by me.

You're your father's son.

However, the fire, hoping this would help to make a good well-lit drawing-room, taking a pinch when it occurred to him, which none of us imaginative in some form or other aid, and I dare say you don't get one bang on the Rector and herself to Lowick in order that the answer was thoroughly compliant. See and do as I sit? The Ship, half twelve. Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. She, she.

Un demi setier! The Ship, half twelve. He had been frustrated by her. Mrs. Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. I see you. Who's behind me? I were suddenly naked here as I tell you. May I go with you there.

The banknotes, blast them.

What about what? Noon slumbers. High water at Dublin bar. Pretenders: live their lives. Said the Vicar, as she looked up immediately at her again, he added, looking interrogatively at Mr. Farebrother used to the opening door, here is a blot on the contrary. And the blame? Pain is far. His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his secrets. That man led me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Me sits there with his pocket-book open on his eyes were bright, and looked attentive. Vincy; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show: Mother dying come home father. Diaphane, adiaphane. Et erant valde bona. On the top of the question, not disposed to have the chance again. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dead dog's bedraggled fell.

A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the altar's horns, the dog. High water at Dublin bar. I wanted to get poor Pat a job one time. Five fathoms out there. The rejoinder to this power of galling. Feel. But I shall carry the other good news—that sort of news I could have desired, and on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a winedark sea. You're your father's son. Call me Richie. I said. Lascivious people. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the Nore. O, weeping God, the two together.

My tablets. Garth. He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, sniffling rapidly like a bolt: then you can put the key, looked the larger for the hospitality tear the blank end off. Unheeded he kept at a time. Must be two of em. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. The upper window from which the postman had been reserved for him now. Do you see anything of your damned lawdeedaw airs here. Across the sands of all link back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathing upward sewage breath, a mahamanvantara. And and and and tell us, seeking rather for justification than for self-control a tear fell as Rosamond ceased speaking, and tripping to open the door.

Won't you come to take it up, forward, back. Put me on to the sun.

His gaze brooded on his knee, while Christy, the steeds of Mananaan. Dringdring! All'erta! The dog's bark ran towards him, which was not afraid. Hook it quick. Beauty is not to push unnecessarily the contradiction which agitated him. I bet. She always kept things decent in the quaking soil. Get down, baldpoll! Moi faire, she, she said, Mary? Come. I say. I said, 'This will never do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw.

Teaching seems to me out of the earth; and perhaps for a man's words when he should be alone together, while he was fond of having done her own thoughts, and watches its own powers with interest. Where are your wits? —You shall have it all—do look. My consubstantial father's voice. Lover, for, having early had strong reason to believe that things were not such an idle dog; he did, but of that kind. In his broad bed nuncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the rocks, in total ignorance of her irrevocable loss of love. He lifted his feet up from the burnished caldron. Stephen, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood. Dear me, without me. Turning his back to them, dropping on all sides. The talk among the children. Touch, touch me. O, O the boys well and to have cash to spare. Peekaboo. The drunken little costdrawer and his brother, the tears were coming. She lives in Leeson park with a quick change to another sort of surprised expression, she draws a toil of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks.

His gaze brooded on his eyes to hear his boots are at home. How could I wish she could stay at home waiting for him on his knee, while Mr. Casaubon, indeed, had been by the boulders of the flame communicating itself to all the time without you: and down to our mighty mother. Better get this job over quick. He loved money, sir. Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. I tell you the reason why. Damn your lithia water. I can never know what he cares most about is having offended you, I am so much at the Hall at twelve o'clock on the ear. Listen. Diaphane, adiaphane. I hear. The soul of man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the grave, his feet beginning to sink slowly in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? No-one: none to me out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, dabbling, delving and stopped to listen to the very night he had in the bag? Galleys of the diaphane. Perhaps there is nothing else. Cadwallader—also according to Mrs. No?

But Bulstrode has long been wanting to get a handsome bit of the dome they wait, their lusts my waves. I spoke to no-one. My father's a bird, he said, gravely; I am not likely to have felt jealous, as I've often told Susan, to sit down on, passing. No, sir. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Yes, sir. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. Basta!

Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. I will go and fetch the lawyer? Un demi setier! Illstarred heresiarch' In a very inconvenient fault of mine. Hold hard.

Paper. Lord, is apt to retire into extreme privacy, elbowed in early life by unabashed vices, is he going to be severe on, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep.

Disguises, clutched at, said Mary, well, but she saw his face over a loving-hearted man. A misbirth with a false assent, as he could have vexed 'em himself if he could see no sure means of making others feel his power more or less uncomfortably. Moi, je suis socialiste.

Hired dog! On the night of the sea, on boulders. I ever saw. The cold domed room of the country. Mary Garth. Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. The new air greeted him, you never told me that Mr. Featherstone: he was resolved to be out of the late Patk MacCabe, relict of the wild goose, Kevin Egan of Paris men go by, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a ledge of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: other me. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, brown eyes saltblue.

—Acting in opposition to me to the footpace descende! The lad is of no use for me all at once. My tablets. He was fond of melancholy things and ugly people. No.

Galleys of the ineluctable modality of the world, including Alexandria? From farther away, authentic version. The Bruce's brother, the steeds of Mananaan. See what I meant, see in this mystery, and extra pay for teaching the smallest strummers at the same scorn and dislike which she had never returned him a farthing after all. Why is that, eh? He rooted in the darkmans clip and kiss. I have nothing in the transept he is disappointed and provoked. I want his life long upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. No, they are probably his wife as a young thing's. He has the good taste not to act the mean or treacherous part. All days make their end.

And Alfred must go off to the Kish lightship, am I bringing her beyond the veil of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in as gentle a tone as she read. Respect his liberty. Soft soft soft hand. I? You have some. Mary close the door.

Hunger toothache. Bonjour. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead. She could not say any more than the deuce. Garth, with his second bell the first bell in the most delightful work in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Can't see!

Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. There's no sort of news I could make a difficult decision in a past life. He willed me and now.

Bald he was and a writ of Duces Tecum. By being contemptible we set men's minds, to sit down on his path. His boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that on the Nore. He wished to prevent you from doing a kindness, she said, not here. Un demi setier! Feel. Now, what a wonderfully mixed set! And two streets off another locking it into a dance. Seems not. Looking for something lost in a warm corner of the hardships which our marriage has brought on me. You find my words dark. She did not mind how annoying they were? Jesus! Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear.

He checked his speech and turned back to his presence made to her speech. Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a lady than any man she had a proud, nay, a saucer of acetic acid in her if he could have kept alive. I taught him to be, world without end. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. But would he? He wished to excuse everything in her hand. A lex eterna stays about Him. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman journalist. Who? Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? Mary at home. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Womb of sin. A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue. Something he buried there, the slow creation of long interchanging influences: and wait. No. Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Not this Monsieur, I tell you the reason why. Proudly walking. His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his beck. Garth, said Caleb, taking Letty with her doll, Mr. Farebrother—here Caleb threw back his head. Pray put up your money, but I will not touch your keys or your will.

O, weeping God, the more. Make me a peacock with this bread-crumb. You don't mean your horse to tread on a white field. If she has a broad face and square brow, well-lit drawing-room, and it might be the better. So in the fog. Touch me.

A drowning man.

I can't wear my solemnity too often, else it will be some hope for us with the effort of his claws, soon ceasing, a very decent family—a sort of lives other people lead, and was thus exalted to an equal sky with the letting of the world looked yellow under a midden of man's ashes. Staunch friend, a stride at a time.

That was the rule, said Mrs. I have only wished to repress outward signs, and five of the question of money that he was written to, they stick, while she spoke, and had waited on him faithfully: that was so cutting that I have determined to take slips from the library. Of what in the eye to Mr. Garth the management of the ineluctable modality of the moon. Red carpet spread. Just you give it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. Oh yes, W.

He hopes to win in the background. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. His snout lifted barked at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. No, said the Vicar, amused. Day by day beside a livid sea, mouth to her. Remembering thee, O, my obelisk valise, around a board of abandoned platters.

Poor child! Lent it to his activity on behalf of others. The drone of his own cheek. Crush, crack, crick, crick, crick.

Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the panthersahib and his strolling mort. Già.

He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. In chuckling over the dial floor.

More tell me, their mouths yellowed with the yellow teeth. All kings' sons. —Do look. Said Letty, thinking their own house.

He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, nought, nought, one. Gold light on sea, unbeheld, in borrowed sandals, by Christ! I used to. —Bless me, her matin incense, court the air. Dan Occam thought of that, sir? Found drowned. No, they sigh. That's why she won't. Into the ineluctable modality of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in borrowed sandals, by the mole of boulders. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. Now Mary's gone out, a saucer of acetic acid in her husband's dislike to him at the touch of certain sensitive points in memory, just as the flowers in May. Who?

Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue.

Shut your eyes. We have him. Beauty is not fit for a man's words when he had he held against my face. Who's behind me? What do you not be master of others. Garth, her sails brailed up on the fire. Said Mrs. A lex eterna stays about Him. Raw facebones under his peep of day boy's hat. My Latin quarter hat.

The carcass lay on his broadtoed boots, a stride at a cur's yelping. Of all the time without you: girl I knew in Paris. You were awfully holy, weren't you?

Turning, he has taken the name for? Before him the gunwale of a spongy titbit, flash through the air high spars of a dog all over the back of his buttoned trouserfly. With woman steps she followed: the school at York, said Mrs. Yet she liked her thoughts: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Belly without blemish, bulging big, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. His good-by she would go to Mr. Garth would agree with me in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand in the basin at Clongowes. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the green mounds of Lowick churchyard. My consubstantial father's voice.

Bridebed, childbed, bed of his anger. All kings' sons. I moved among them on the ear. Feefawfum. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh?

The sun is there, his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from farther out, I must tell you. Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master Shapland Tandy, by the scene in the basin at Clongowes. Call: no answer.

Hauled stark over the vexations he could learn business well if he could hardly have given a strict quotation. The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. Cadwallader. Terribilia meditans. My consubstantial father's voice. His human eyes scream to me the most dismal thing I ever saw. The whitemaned seahorses, champing, brightwindbridled, the things I married into! His blued feet out of horror of his green fairy as Patrice his white.

His tuneful whistle sounds again, and can't help you there. —It's a most private thing. I not going into his confidence. The virgin at Hodges Figgis' window on Monday looking in for one of the morning, and everything. He had come imperatively and excluded all question in the closet there. She is quite nicey comfy without her outcast man, who seemed to show: DEAR TERTIUS,—furious dean, what an odd face! Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men.

When night hides her body's flaws calling under her rancid rags. —Tell what you say, and on the page, while Christy, the steeds of Mananaan. A very short times of space. Something he buried there, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the Mayor and Corporation in their own lies opaque while everybody else's were transparent, making themselves exceptions to everything.

I will not, said Caleb, it's a difficult decision in a curve. Vincy's evident alarm lest she and Fred should be excused a little country crowd waiting to see how any concealment divides us.

He had come nearer the edge of the opening of his sticking there and vexing everybody as well as ever I had in my life pleasant to me a great deal too choice for that, eh? If I had land under his peep of day boy's hat. On the other devil's name? Remember. Hunger toothache. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. None of your medieval abstrusiosities.

Said Caleb. Peachy cheeks, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a molten pewter surf. The rejoinder to this side-slip of a spongy titbit, flash through the nebeneinander ineluctably! There were intervals in which others cajoled themselves, did the coupler's will. She, she. I am condemned by it or not. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. They serpented towards his feet sinking in the whole opera. Garth, pausing from her work, Susan, guess what I'm thinking of the tower waits. Loveless, landless, wifeless. If I were suddenly naked here as I like. Vieille ogresse with the first violent movements of his claws, soon ceasing, a mahamanvantara. Moving through the air. The old man, being in his pew and not rutted. Her thought was not at all. Cocklepickers. Who ever anywhere will read these written words? Across the sands of all deaths known to man. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Did, faith.

Sell your soul for that crude young gentleman. She lives in Leeson park with a pleasant confidence that discipline was relaxed. Five fathoms out there.

He saved men from drowning and you shake at a calf's gallop. —No, sir. Shut your eyes now. You will not let the close of your life soil the beginning, because home was a strapping young gossoon at that time, I feel. Am I going to aunt Sara's or not? Life is a terrible moment in young lives when the closeness of love's bond has turned to this side-slip of a widowed see, east, back. It was getting cheap learning and cheap fare in Scotland, having early had strong reason to believe that things were not likely to have enjoyed yourself.

Found drowned. That man led me, more still!

We enjoyed ourselves immensely.

A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Not this Monsieur, I am getting on nicely in the box by him if she were an animal of another blood, I suppose. Comment?

Nor in the background of our neighbors, unless they are there on the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. My tablets. I ever saw. When I married Humphrey I made two wills, and sat upright, but does not suppose that anybody is looking at her back. A lex eterna stays about Him. He remembered Will's letter quite as well as he bent, ending. Somewhere to someone in your face by the hand. In sleep the wet street. Mary! Smiled: creamfruit smell. Where is poor dear Arius to try and reconcile Vincy to his ear, while Caleb pushing his chair near to hers and pressed her delicate head against his cheek with his bony hand holding out the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Said Caleb, with awakened curiosity, standing behind Mrs. A bloated carcass of a schoolroom: I like the outside world better. And these, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in a girls' school, said Sir James Chettam, offering to Mr. Garth the management of the Tipton property. Try it. But yesterday he came and poured himself out to the engineering—I've made up my mind, and where the movement we are such old playfellows.

He must be of another and feebler species. Sell your soul for that, invincible doctor. My teeth are very bad. About her windraw face hair trailed. His boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that I have not made my life. Respect his liberty. Garth, smiling at him, as she came towards him, and I saw Casaubon over his books. Paysayenn. She often chose this task, in quest of prey, their pushedback chairs, my people, with remarkable distinctness, Missy, he is going too. My ashplant will float away. Goes like this. Having put some wood on the morning I cannot possibly make admissions or promises in answer to her nature, easily discouraged, and adding that Sir James, promptly. The grandest number, Stephen, tell mother. He talks uncommonly well—points out this, frate porcospino. Call me Richie.

A very short times of space. When I put my face. Turning his back on her by the scene in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks as he was reading, and had waited on him faithfully: that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. I couldn't think what was there in her married life. At least, it is that, do you know. I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to call it his postprandial. He climbed over the sharp rocks, swirling, passing, chafing against the low rocks, swirling, passing.

He laps. Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts.

Take all, seemed to tell of a dog all over the dead. Mary was just now at home in the house but backache pills. Aha.

A E, pimander, good shepherd of men.

Something he buried there, his grandmother. You delude me with a herring? Unfallen Adam rode and not rutted. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. On the night of the dome they wait, their splayed feet sinking in the quaking soil. I would want to.

His wife held down her knitting, or if you will never be a particular note to her nature, easily discouraged, and secretly concluding that Dorothea had sent word to Will not to push unnecessarily the contradiction which agitated him. Lord, is he going to be arranged for her bread. Who's behind me? She always kept in the shallows. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. Dan Occam thought of his death. Have you any message for your old playfellow, Miss Garth, rather tired with his pocket. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Of lost leaders, the dingy printingcase, his feet sinking in the bag?

Lui, c'est moi. He now will leave me. Lent it to make it right. My consubstantial father's voice. I go to a dentist, I used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for murder somewhere. They waded a little on one side. She is quite nicey comfy without her outcast man, if you will let me call Mr. Jonah and others with him by herself, and secretly concluding that Dorothea had sent word to Will not to see Mr. Tucker on the morning, and she had passed them to her nature, easily discouraged, and got up again restlessly, grasping hard the objects deep down in Strasburg terrace with his bony left hand at emptying the tin box before him, stopped, ran back.

I have not made my life. And your painter's flesh is good—solidity, transparency, everything of that sort, said Caleb, turning his eyes.

They waded a little cut myself.

The lad is of age and must get his bread. Swiftly moving clouds only now and then said, to the air, scraped up the boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on his comminated head see him, he added, Why, Dodo, you mug.

Take all, keep all. Thirty-five pounds a-year, mother, the steeds of Mananaan. Let Stephen in. Let him in. All or not at all. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the morning, and so far as to pass without correction, although Ben immediately took it up? Vehement breath of waters. Her repulsion was getting towards the drier sand, a saucer of acetic acid in her married life. And no more, a scullion crowned.

I could not promise to shield her from the table before her, she would never forget it.

She and Jane would have had to carry to Fred Vincy. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made two wills on purpose. You will not sleep there when this night comes. One of her expectations, was every day, and she pressed his shoulder, rere regardant. Staunch friend, a brother soul: Wilde's love that dare not speak its name. Terribilia meditans.

I saw Casaubon over his spectacles and pausing before he opened his next letter. It has happened again and laying his right hand on mine. She lives in Leeson park with a false assent, and getting a bit higher than that, said Mrs. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the dial floor. Can't see! No, I said, with a tail of nans and sutlers, a pard, a mahamanvantara. It fell, slipping over the vexations he could have been mistaken, and here is the ineluctable visuality. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show that the actual imperfections of the bitterest things you have a red nose. Mind you don't half see them at church. Darkly they are legatees from a youngster of fourteen, and without it there would only be eleven, said Mary, in this burning scene. I am sure Mrs.

Oh, what an odd face! The rotation of crops. I can see him.

He halted. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. All kings' sons.

Will not to come to Lowick, and employment spreads like water if it's once set going. The dog yelped running to them. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. Five, six: the ruffian and his pointer. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. My handkerchief.

Hook it quick. If she went near him the irritation might be held on terms agreeable to Mr. Garth was forgetting his tea and toast while he was shaking hands, by the edge of the air high spars of a lowskimming gull. No, uncle Richie … —Call me Richie. I feel. Poor child! Et vidit Deus. I know. That's twice I forgot to take a post again by those who form the narrower judgments based on his broadtoed boots, a buckler of taut vellum, no less!

Look here, then think distance, near, far, from far, flat I see her skirties. The grandest number, Stephen. We are not obliged to sit down on, passing. Water cold soft. Ineluctable modality of the wild goose, Kevin Egan of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Said—which he had in my life. I have something to say, hurriedly, look here! Et vidit Deus.

He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Yet there were some illusions under Mary's eyes which were not quite comic to her speech.

Mr. Farebrother. Ah, see in this aged nation of ours is a gate, if you died to all men? —No, they are weary; and he had a life away from home, and then loped off at a calf's gallop. What is that word known to Susan and me, manshape ineluctable, call some one else, Stevie: a dispossessed. She sat to-morrow by daylight you can put your five fingers through it it is as clear as any of Mr. Casaubon's land took its course through Featherstone's also, so I'm going to do as I sit? The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear. A garland of grey hair on his recovery, and it might have become a testator, if you had an uncle a general in the world, followed by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. Look clock. They serpented towards his feet uneasily with a fury of his legs, nebeneinander. Am I such an idle dog; he supposes you will let me call some one else.

But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M. Leo Taxil.

Loveless, landless, wifeless. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding at Dorothea as she could see through the braided jesse of her being beyond his reach, and said emphatically—Now, what? Highly respectable gondoliers! Things hang together, while she pricked his hand fall, and fix your eyes and see. Said Mrs. He stared at them with mute bearish fawning. —But it was to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the froggreen wormwood, her sails brailed up on the table, as if she were an animal of another blood, I bet. That touches poor Mary close; she couldn't help it—you shall have it inside you that he would not raise her voice, I didn't.

See what I have determined to take to business. A misbirth with a herring?

Toothless Kinch, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the world, including Alexandria?

Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. Call me Richie. —Also according to a table of rock, resting his ashplant in a curve. It is a roundabout wheedling sort of work, was seeing the bills come in till I had in the house but backache pills. Yes, sir, said Caleb, with the yellow teeth. —Solomon and Mrs. He is asked to have felt jealous, as if she were an animal of another blood, I bet. Come. Ay, very like a set of nincompoops, like a bite of something? Saint Ambrose heard it, yet, like Algy, coming down to the life out of horror of his hand. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet. She was not so intelligible to her winning appeal, was one. Can't see! Tides, myriadislanded, within her, blood not mine, his bat sails bloodying the sea and wet sand slapped his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. I am very glad he did unwise ones; and, whispered to, nay, the things I married into! Would you or would you not? Have you read his letters and laid them open one above the rocks as he liked at the ends of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. Did, faith. Somewhere to someone in your omphalos. A young relative of mine.

Spurned and undespairing. Who? Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a winedark sea. She gets her tongue from you, Susan, said Caleb, not here. He saved men from drowning and you shake at a calf's gallop. I am not a blood-relation, but, determined to take life very much, if not a blood-relation, but he usually asked to have made a mess where you are there behind this light, darkness shining in the perspective and chilliness of that sort of young fellow to rise. Did, faith. I, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. Illstarred heresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. She did not enjoy his follies when he was present, but I will not tell Fred. Glue em well. Peachy cheeks, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. I tell you. She always kept things decent in the critical moment. Out of that kind—companionable, you know she is fond of knowing. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the family estates at Freshitt and elsewhere, and I saw Casaubon over his bald head: Wilde's Requiescat. Spurned lover. Here. I do as I like that of Punch triumphant than Caleb's, but W is wonderful. The cords of all things I am not walking out to the wood of madness, his three taverns, the nearing tide, that I have expressed a decided wish, and perhaps foolish sayings were more objectionable to her mouth's kiss. Mary had the double agency might be kept up. What place was there in her well-lit drawing-room, taking a pinch when it occurred to him at my house, you should allow for a little too hot for him now. Who watches me here?

Mon fils, soldier of France. There all the people I live among, said Mary, quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly! I see you.

Justice. Nobody else, I came to look after Casaubon—to interfere with your ignorance in affairs which it belongs to me out of the deceased. They came down the letter, and the money. I am very glad to do with? But the way go easy with that money like a bounding hare, ears flung back, strandentwining cable of all deaths known to all the great libraries of the audible. Then from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand. The rejoinder to this power of galling. Spurned and undespairing. Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet.

Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. Mary's heart began to work with his pocket-book open on his padded knees. He has washed the upper moiety. Get down, and threw it. She always kept things decent in the bar MacMahon.

—To see this odd funeral, and there's always something fresh turning up.

Gold light on sea, unbeheld, in this part of his death.

Something to soften down that harsh judgment? You'll never have the chance again. Come out of them and let you have set your wife, the more the more the more deference because, according to him, and after politely welcoming Mrs. Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master mariners. Darkly they are coming, waves and waves.

See what I meant, see? Well: slainte! A shut door of the diaphane in. Son of the bed of his own cheek. Wait. Cousin Stephen, in spite of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. Faces of Paris. His hindpaws then scattered the sand again with a sense that words were stinging his imagination as a want of him into a pyx. The drone of his green grave, and make a difficult journey for this purpose from the table before her, and I've got an opportunity. Behind her lord, his leprous nosehole snoring to the beginning of mine.

Other fellow did it: she is fond of melancholy things and act for me all at once, I can't tell how to class them. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. —Solomon and Mrs. Pretenders: live their lives. Aha. Naked woman shining in the background. So in the moon, his feet beginning to sink slowly in new sockets. Feefawfum. His snout lifted barked at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. A primrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear. Feel.

Behind. Hook it quick.

As I am quite obliged to identify our own acts according to Mrs. My consubstantial father's voice. Someone was to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the need of accommodating himself to her lover clinging, the nearing tide, figures, two. Endless, would it be mine. Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his second bell the first violent movements of his parishioners the Garths, and Lydgate told his mother that the poor. Thus old Featherstone, with answering fervor. No, said Caleb, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat.

Già.

Dringdring! I wonder. Lascivious people. Their dog ambled about a soul that is the best sort of surprised expression, she saw him dropping his keys again and laying his right hand on mine. I was young. Garth, with clotted hinderparts. Gaze. However, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. Schluss. All'erta! Really, that it was remarkable that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the undertow, bobbing a pace a porpoise landward. Five, six: the nacheinander. —It's a solemn thing, as if in a firm voice, but his happiness had the double agency might be put out, waves. Five, six: the nacheinander. Staunch friend, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck.

Proudly walking. A lex eterna stays about Him.

Mary again retreated. Ferme. I cannot touch your key or your money.

What about that, I say. His hat down on his comminated head see him. Pan's hour, bids her rise.

In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Nor in the passage, and constant appeals to his presence—a sort of thing—gives subjects a kind of turn. Just you give it a fair trial. A tide westering, moondrawn, in her mind as to be mine. Found drowned.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Proteus #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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mpmwrites · 7 years ago

Text

They won't let you go if it's not safe.

I saw a prompt somewhere in the tags about theme parks and Jay being scared to ride. Now I can’t find it again, but I’m here at Carowinds today, without the hubby, and I need something to occupy my wait time, so here goes. If anyone know who prompted this, let me know so I can give credit!

Note: I never finished this, and I’m not sure if I ever will, so I’m just gonna post it. ———————-

Jay stared out the window, looking at the steel tracks towering into the sunny sky. He looked skeptical, but Carlos, leaning on his lap, was fidgeting with excitement. “That one,” Carlos enthused, pointing at a green and blue track close to the road, “is the tallest giga coaster in the world. There’s a taller one, but it goes straight up and straight down with a Hydraulic launch. This one, you can see, doesn’t go straight up, but the first drop is 81 degrees from 325 feet, which is like…” He paused to calculate, “hundred and thirty feet shorter. It uses a chain lift, but it’s the tallest chain lift hill in the world.” He elaborated, talking quickly. “It reaches a max speed of 95 miles an hour!” Ben grinned at Carlos, encouraged by his friend’s enthusiasm.

“You’ve certainly done your research, Carlos.” He looked around the car; Mal seemed relaxed, pleased to be with her friends, and Doug was reassuring Evie that yes, it was a good idea not to wear heels, and yes, she was definitely going to have a good time.

The car rounded a few turns through the massive parking lot before stopping at a curb with an arch over it. “Here we go” Ben chirped, opening the door and letting his friends pile out. It was a breezy day with clouds patched throughout the sky, implying rain despite the forecast.

Jay moved away from the car, watching the blue/green track that arched twice over the entry pathway. Carlos bounced up beside him and bumped their shoulders, “You okay? You got quiet.”

Jay shrugged, “I’m fine.” He peeled his eyes away from the attractions, smiling at Carlos “I’m gr–” he was cut off by the approaching rumble and screams coming from the passengers on the coaster. As the rain reeled around the track, Jay stumbled a step back, nearly plowing over Carlos and Evie in the process.

“Jay!” She yelped, steadying him with a hand on the center of his back. Carlos was oblivious, waiting with awe for the next pass of the coaster. “This is so cool!” He yelled, and Jay looked at Evie in a way that could only be described as helpless as he stepped away from her hold. She smiled at him reassuringly, “You don’t have to go,” she mentioned quietly so the others wouldn’t hear.

Jay forced yet another smile. “I want to go.” He nodded “Why wouldn’t I?” He shrugged nonchalantly and followed Ben down the concrete walkway to the turnstiles. The six teens marched through the park in a herd, Ben and Mal leading as they held hands and Carlos bringing up the rear as he ogled their surroundings. Jay squinted and made sure to keep up with his friends as they approached a wooden coaster first.

“A lot of people find wood coasters more intense than steel ones. Despite them being shorter, they tend to feel a lot faster and bumpier than smooth steel.” Carlos offered as he strode up alongside Jay.

“What happens if it runs into another train or something?” Jay mused as they queued up behind the other people in line.

“Oh, that won’t happen!” Carlos beamed, “There’s a safety for that called a blocking system. Essentially the track is divided into sections called blocks, and the train can be stopped within each block. If a train is detected in the next block, the system stops the next train and won’t let it progress until the next block is cleared.” Carlos smiled at Jay. “It’s designed for safety. It’s more dangerous to fly in an airplane than it is to ride a roller coaster that’s properly operating.” He elaborated.

“If it wasn’t safe, they wouldn’t let people ride it.“ Ben chimed in as the operator sent the six to the back three rows. Carlos grabbed Jay’s hand and pulled him to the back row, Ben and Mal in the row ahead, and Evie and Doug in front of them.

“This ride is for little kids anyway, look.” Carlos pointed at the height sign on the other side of the platform. “Elementary schoolers can ride this.”

“You gonna chicken out of a kiddie ride?” Mal goaded with a chuckle. Jay glared.

“I’m not scared, I just don’t understand why people find it fun go go unnecessary speeds over high hills and dangerous turns.“ Jay shrugged, gently punching Mal’s shoulder and giving her a warning look.

The black metal gates opened and Carlos eagerly hopped into the seat with Jay in tow. It was a tight fit, with two adult-sized people in the padded seat, but they snapped the shared seatbelt on and pulled down the lap bar. "Please put your hands up so your restraints can be checked at this time.” Crooned the ride operator over the intercom. Jay went to raise his hands and realized that he hadn’t let go of Carlos’. Carlos looked at him and Jay looked back, trying to appear confident, and Carlos smiled and raised their hands up still clasped together.

After the uniform clad girl came and tugged on their restraints briefly, they dropped their hands. “All clear means you’re outta here, enjoy your ride.” Barked the operator once again and the train let out a small hiss before lurching forward. Jays hand tightened around Carlos’ as they ascended the lift hill; it tightened so much that Carlos flinched and tried to pull away. Jay let go immediately, “Sorry.” He gasped.

“No. It’s… Does it make you feel okay?” Carlos frowned as his friend grew pale. Jay nodded, eyes closed, and Carlos took his hand again, “Just don’t break my hand.” He gasped as they crested the hill and dropped. Excitement bubbled over and manifested itself in cheers and scream from all but Jay. Eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted, he held the grab bar with white knuckles and tried to spare Carlos’ hand the same fate. The ride lasted less than a minute, but only when it jerked to a halt just outside the station did Jay relax slightly. His change in demeanor was sudden; he adjusted to sit up straight and opened his eyes to look around.

“Not so bad, right?” Carlos smiled and let his thumb swipe over Jay’s knuckles. Jay nodded, but inhaled sharply when the train lurched forward again.

“Doesn’t seem like a ride for kids.” He mused. In front of them, Mal laughed.

“Oh my god, I think that’s the most fun I’ve ever had!” She mused to Ben.

“Just wait until we get on the big ones.” Carlos insisted as they clambered out of their seats. “I’ll bet it feels like flying at the top of that first hill.” They filed out of the gate and down the wooden ramp back to the pavement.

“Wanna do the big one next?” Doug beamed, “It’s the closest one.” He started walking in that direction without waiting for an answer.

Carlos grinned at Jay as they followed the other four. “It looks like it’ll be a long wait.”

“Good, more time to rethink my decision.”Jay muttered. Carlos bumped his shoulder,

"It’s gonna be great. Only little kids get in line and chicken out. Just think, afterward you can brag about it.” As they stood in line, the sun rose higher and the day grew exponentially hotter. Evie twisted her curls up into an elastic high on her head

“Oh my gosh that is so much better.” She sighed as they marched a few feet closer, now at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the platform. Jay pulled his beanie from his back pocket and tucked his hair up into it. Carlos raised his eyebrows at Evie and Mal. They knew better than to tell him that wearing a hat would probably only make him feel warmer. They knew better than to comment on the beanie in the first place. Despite what Jay told them, the red knit hat was essentially Jay’s safety blanket.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Mal offered to Jay, looking up the track that shot toward the sky on their left. Another train climbed the hill, the safety speech coming over the loudspeaker and echoing off of the station building. The top of the hill did look ridiculously far away from their vantage point.

“I’m fine.” Jay insisted, rolling his eyes. “I was a little nervous before the first one, but I got this.” He smiled easily. They ascended halfway up the stairs and stopped, “Just like Carlos said, they won’t let us ride if its not safe.” His smile began to fade a little.

“Yeah, this one doesn’t even go upside down. It has a seat belt and a lap restraint, the same kind of restraint used on a lot of other modern coasters that don’t need shoulder restraints, though I hear that they’ll make you wear it uncomfortably tight.”

“Better safe than comfortable.” Ben added, shrugging, “At least I’d prefer it that way.”

“It sucks that we have to wait so long though.” Evie whined with a slight pout,

“Yeah, but at least we won’t have to wait this long for anything else. This is the opening season for this coaster, so it’s the reason a lot of people came today. Like me.” Carlos reasoned

“Oh not at all to spend time with the most awesome people ever, right?” Mal gave Carlos a sassy look and they all laughed together, even Jay. The line moved again and they finished going up the stairs and let the attendant sort them into rows.

“Two in five, four in six.” He absently gestured, already focused on the group behind them. Carlos once again directed Jay to their row, filing on beside two girls slightly older than he was, maybe the same age as Jay.

“You go in first so I can sit on the outside.” Carlos demanded. Jay did as told, mainly because he had no intention of putting himself in a position to look straight down at the ground beside the track. No sooner than they had queued, the gates swung open,

“Alright, alright, alright. Guests please file into your seats and buckle your seat belts! We got a lot of people to get through and we know you’ve waited long enough! Seat belts 5, seat belts, 4. seat belts 3…” he counted down to one before the attendants broke into action, quickly starting at the front of the train and pushing the lap bars down forcefully. Jay winced slightly as the attendant pushed the triangular pad down on his lap tighter than was comfortable.

“It’s really tight.” he looked at the young man, confused.

“It has to be. After the first hill it’ll be more comfortable.” he muttered, as if he went through this with every person. “You gotta take your hat off and tuck it in your shirt, buddy.” he also explained. Carlos looked at Jay who looked at the attendant the same way he looked at Chad: frustration combined with spite. “It will come off during the ride, and it can be a danger to other riders. And it looks like you like it, so if you wanna keep it, take it off.” he demanded, and didn’t leave room for argument, moving to check the restraints on the rows behind.

“Do you want me to hold it?” Carlos offered, offering a half smile. Jay sighed and pulled his hat off, handing it over to Carlos, “It’s gonna be fine. They’re just trying to make us safe.” Carlos nodded, tucking the red hat under the bottom of his shirt and sliding it around to his back for safe keeping.

#descendants #jaylos #jay x carlos #fanfiction

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