#but god cornfield chase sounds so GOOD

[starryeyesmasc]

learning some interstellar soundtrack pieces on the piano is so fun but man I’m stretching wrist tendons I didn’t even know I had

[reiding-writing]

hi red !! i'm sending through a rec for your climacteric event hehehehe <3

spencer reid x fem!reader with the colour prompts red 1 ("You're bleeding."), green 2 ("You're safe here, I promise."), and purple 1 ("You know you're my best friend, right?") please? LOVE YOU LOADS RAHHHH

SCARECROWS [CLIMACTERIC]

1. “You’re bleeding.”

2. “You’re safe here, I promise.”

1. “You know that you’re my best friend, right?”

WARNINGS: reader injury, blood duh, mentions of being stabbed <3

spencer reid x reader || hurt/comfort || 1.6k || event page!!

a/n: you adding the direct quotes made my job so much easier in finding them rip 😭 thanks for the request ml <333

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ event masterlist!!

Sometimes you wondered why you joined the FBI.

If by making one different decision you’d be in a completely different career in a different part of the country with a husband and children living in a two story house with a white picket fence.

Spencer would probably fill you in on the butterfly effect, how a single flap of a butterfly’s wings could change the trajectory of the wind and spin into a tornado, or in your case, leave you stranded and unarmed in an overgrown cornfield with your only company being the crows flying overhead.

It was arguably, definitely, your fault, but what were you supposed to do when the unsub was running off into the night after you’d finally tracked him down.

He’d slipped under the radar for too long, you weren’t going to let it happen again.

Though you weren’t going to lie, you were starting to regret not waiting for the rest of the team.

How were you supposed to know that the welfare check you were sent on would turn into a chase?

They were twelve minutes out last time you checked. You didn’t have signal anymore, who knew how close they were now.

All you knew was that you were a sitting duck with an empty magazine in an unfamiliar location with a light level so low you could barely see your own feet.

You’d lost the unsub a good few minutes ago, and you weren’t about to stand around with nothing to protect yourself with, so you started running back the way you came, hopeful that it would bring you out back at the farmhouse, with floodlights and a phone signal.

You weren’t that lucky.

You never were.

—

“Oh my god—“ Emily sounds like she’s seen a ghost as she cups her left hand over her mouth, her right lowering to her side until her gun is limply resting in her fingers.

Her face is a mix of relief, astonishment and absolute horror, and as the team follow her gaze they mirror one by one until the whole group is frozen in abject shock.

You were alive, thank god, but you were also stumbling backwards out of the corn field like a final girl in a horror movie, completely disheveled and torn up with your attention completely focused on the rows of stalks in front of you like you were afraid something was going to pop out and finish you off.

The sight was enough for Spencer to feel like he was going to throw up his stomach, although whether out of relief or anxiety he wasn’t exactly sure.

Either way he was pocketing his gun and practically sprinting in your direction the second he got a full view of you, no care for what you were running from in his mind whatsoever.

At least you were okay.

“Hey-” His hand barely grazes over your shoulder before your instincts kick in and you swing your elbow outwards with the intent of sending it straight into his face.

It hits him directly underneath his nose, sending his neck back sharply to stop any worse injury occurring under the force of your arm.

It doesn’t deter him though, and he doesn’t so much as even cover his nose from the pain as he takes your arms in his hands to swivel you in his direction so that you can see that you aren’t in danger.

“Hey- Hey, it’s just me you’re okay, you’re safe here I promise,”

The flicker of absolute terror in your eyes makes him swear his heart is going to shatter, and even as he watches it fizzle out under the realisation that he wasn’t someone to be afraid of that small pit in his stomach didn’t disappear.

You looked bad.

Your hands were grazed and raw, you were covered in mud, half of your shirt had been ripped from the hem and tied around your left thigh — presumably as some sort of makeshift bandage, and you were so much paler than you usually were, all of the colour completely drained from your face until you looked almost translucent under the mix of moonlight and blared foglights.

“You’re bleeding— Did I do that? I’m sorry—” You reach up your hand towards and he swerves to take it in his own with a shake of his head, clasping his fingers gently around your shaking palms, careful not to irritate the angry red covering them.

“Don’t worry about me, are you okay? What happened?” His eyes roam anxiously over your frame, lingering specifically on the torn piece of fabric around your thigh that is slowly but surely turning from a charcoal grey to a dark maroon the longer you stand talking.

“I- He ran and- and I followed him and then I lost him and- I don’t- He doubled back on me and I didn’t-” Half of the words coming out of your mouth were almost completely incoherent, and he could see your pupils refusing to dilate even under the direct beam of one of the SUVs’ headlights.

“Okay okay, calm down, take a breath for a second,” Spencer gives your arms a small squeeze to cut off your attempt at an explanation, glancing over your shoulder where the team is still grouped together, with Morgan and Hotch on the phone — presumably for an ambulance and some backup respectively— and the others watching you cautiously, unsure whether they should join in on Spencer’s examination of your health.

“How did you hurt your leg?” You follow Spencer’s gaze downwards towards your thigh, and it’s like the second your eyes recognise what it is you completely loose control of all of your motor functions from waist down.

“Woah—” Spencer takes the sudden change in your weight distribution in his stride, or at least he tries to, shifting his arms underneath your armpits to stop you from hitting the ground underneath you and supporting your weight with his own as he stumbles a few steps backwards. “Guys—”

Emily is at your side immediately, alleviating some of your weight onto herself so the two of them can hold you upright.

“He had a weapon…” You wince under the searing pain in your leg, the adrenaline wearing off fast and hard now that your body knows it’s no longer in danger.

“What kind of weapon?” The concern seeps from Spencer’s voice to soak into your skin, leaving your heart to accelerate under the knowledge that you were injured bad.

“A uh… fork, like a gardening fork… He stabbed me with it…” Although more coherent now, your voice was slowly fading into small mutters and whispers, like the exhaustion in your body was catching up to your mind and making even your tongue too languished to move. “I’m really tired…”

“Hey no- not yet-” Emily shakes her head with a conviction. “There’s an ambulance on the way, you have to stay awake until then,”

“But…”

“Emily‘s right, stay awake you’ll be fine,” Spencer sounds like he’s more trying to convince himself than you as him and Emily support your weight back towards the cluster of SUVs, and the added weight of your head resting against his shoulder doesn’t help his anxiety whatsoever. “Hey, come on…”

He lifts his shoulder slightly to shift your head and you let out a soft noise of discontentment. “I’m awake I’m awake, just conserving my energy…”

“Just keep your eyes open okay?”

You give him a small hum as the two of them sit you down on the hood of one of the cars, and Emily leaves you in Spencer’s care to check with Morgan on the arrival of the ambulance.

“You know that you’re my best friend, right?” You turn your head a little further into Spencer’s shoulder as he becomes the sole pillar of your support, blinking slowly in an attempt to keep your eyes open.

“Don’t say that to me right now,” He shakes his head with furrowed eyebrows, a dark line forming between his eyes as the skin pinches together in his worry.

“But you are though,”

“You can remind me of that after you’re in the hospital,”

“I hate hospitals,” You let out a small, fatigued huff, rolling your eyes at the prospect. “I’m gonna be in there for god knows how long and I just wanna find this guy before he hurts anyone else…”

“Well, he has hurt you, and that’s what’s important right now,” Spencer’s tone contradicts itself between concern and relief. You’re alive, but you’re not in good shape. “We need to make sure that you’re okay before anything else,”

And in an act of holy divination — or just coincidence if Spencer was concerned — right as he mentions making sure that you’re okay the blaring lights of the called ambulance come into view, joined by a shrill, sharp ring that seems to echo over the field.

You all but hobble over to it once it’s parked, successful only in the fact that Spencer is actually supporting more of your weight than you were.

At least he stays by your side the entire time.

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

Ooh request:

Reader and Hotch are together (either in the open or a secret from the team) she finds out she’s pregnant, but they get called on a case so she keeps it to herself. Reader & another team member get taken and she tells the person with her while they are held captive. Eventually rest of team finds them but either reader has to tell Hotch in front of everyone or she is unconscious and the other person does. You decide 😌

Surprise

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Warnings: none

Keep sending in your requests guys!! The amount of feedback I’ve been receiving is amazing and I really do appreciate all of you 💜

MASTERLIST

———-

“Aaron, you busy?”

Walking in his office I shut the door behind me as he looked up from his computer, smile prominent on his face

“For you, never” sitting down by his desk I fiddled with my fingers, something I do when I’m nervous

Yesterday I had found out that I was pregnant, I had planned on telling him and Jack over dinner but he had to stay late to finish up some work and before I had the chance of doing it this morning he had left for an early meeting with Strauss

“Everything okay?” snapping out of my train of thought I started back at his confused state

“Yeah, yeah, we just need t-“ the sound of his phone ringing filled the quiet office, sighing he excused himself and answered the call

Great, now I’m gonna have to wait to tell him that he’s gonna be a father of two

You could always blurt it out and be like ‘Hey guess what, I’m pregnant!’

Nope, I’m definitely not doing that

“We’ll be there” hanging up the phone he rose from his seat

“We’re are we going?” pushing myself up on my feet I stuffed my hands in my pockets. Aaron walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist

“Texas, you were saying we needed to talk?”

“It could wait, let’s go” I quickly pecked his lips before heading back into the bullpen

Damn you criminals

———-

“Anything?” Spencer asked breathless from our chase on the two unsubs in the dark cornfield

“Nothing” my chest heaved every breath I took, we stood next to each other eyes scanning our surroundings as best as we could considering that it was pitch black

“Maybe we should head back to the others” nodding I turned to face him only to be met with a falling Spencer

“Spence?” dropping to the ground I tried to turn him over but failed as I felt my limbs give away

No, no, no, no this cannot be happening right now

They trapped us and shot us with tranquilizer darts, how fun

“Well would you look at that, we got ourselves two federal agents” my eyes drifted from the starry sky to Spencer who was already staring at me

The rustling of leaves and footsteps were heard as they came closer to where we lay. The older one, Lucas lowered himself and smirked at me, running his fingers through my hair

“We’re going to have a lot of fun” his large hand came around my throat, squeezing hard, thanks to my lack of movement I couldn’t fight back. Tears pricked my eyes as he continued to squeeze harder, coughing and gasping I tried to hold out for as long as I possibly could

Unfortunately for me, that didn’t last long as the darkness took over

———-

“Y/L/N, Reid, do you copy?”

Silence, that’s never happened before

“Y/N, Spencer are you there?” my eyebrows knitted together in confusion as they didn’t respond

“Does anyone have a visual on Y/N and Spencer?”

“Nope”

“No”

“Negative”

Everyone responded with no luck, God this cannot be happening

“Hotch I found their vests, coms and weapons”

———-

“There she is”

Groggily I opened my eyes and the first thing I see is the ceiling above me. Turning my head to the side I saw Spencer chained to a nearby chair. I tried to move my arms but surprise surprise, they’re retrained to the table that I’m on

“Trying to leave already darlin” Lucas trailed his fingers across my cheek, smiling down at me

“Can we skip all the small talk? I’m getting irritated” staring him dead in his eyes I spoke, I’ll be damned if I show this man that I was indeed freaking out

“Feisty, I love it” he started undoing the buttons on my shirt, his cold fingers brushing against my stomach as he went lower

“You really wanna rape a pregnant woman?” he froze his actions

“Are you?”

“Three months today, is this what you really want to do? Harming a mother and her unborn baby?” he grunted before angrily stomping out of the room. Looking over at Spencer I couldn’t miss the huge smile he has on his face

“You’re pregnant”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, chained to our deathbed and this is your takeaway right now?” I couldn’t help but laugh at our predicament

“Does Hotch know?” he stuck his fingers in his back pocket fishing for something as he continued talking

He’s up to something, whatever it is boy genius I hope it works

“No, he doesn’t” I sighed, regret and guilt washing over me as I laid here

“I can’t get to pick this stupid lock” just as he said that the walker brothers walked in

“You trying to leave boy!” they younger one, Liam charged forward and punched Spencer earning a groan in return

“Don’t touch him!” I fought against my restraints which was a complete waste of time and energy

“Shut up!” Lucas smacked me across my face

“Y/N, I could take it”

-------

“Garcia did you manage to get anything else on the twins?” my grip on the steering wheel tightened as I sped down the street

“I did sir, Lucas and Liam grew up on a farm in Driftwood, Texas”

“I thought they were from Dallas” Rossi piped up from the passenger seat

“That is what came up in my inital search, but I did some more digging and found out that their mother, Riley Barnes, isn’t Riley Barnes but Stacey Colt”

“Do we have an address on where she lives?” 

“Uh, sir she’s dead, she took her own life six months ago after years of being abused by her husband”

“That’s around the same time young women started disappearing”

“Garcia I need her last known address, I think they’re holding them there”

“Already on your device” the call disconnected and my foot pressed harder on the gas. Rossi shifted in his seat tugging on his seatbelt

“Uh Aaron, I get that we’re against a clock here to get our people back but we can’t do that if we’re both dead from a car crash”

“Sorry” I eased my foot off the pedal a bit

“They’re strong, she’s strong”

———

“Spencer! Stop hurting him!!!” tears of frustration and anger poured from my eyes as they kept beating on him

“You don’t call the shots sweetheart”

“Spencer!!” he grunted from the blow to his stomach, his face had cuts and nasty bruises that were sure to be there for some days

“FBI!” Morgan’s voice echoed throughout the room as the team rushed in. Lucas whipped out his knife and held it against my throat and I tensed up at the feeling of the steel blade on my skin

“Drop the weapons” Aaron ordered and he laughed

“You come any closer I’ll kill ‘em both!” his hand reached down to mine and undid the shackles. He moved me to my feet and held his blade against my neck using me as a shield

“You guys know exactly how this is going to end so just drop your weapons” Aaron and I stared at each other

“You’re not going to do that” he taunted them nudging me

“Tell them why” my heart rate sped up as he pressed the blade harder on my neck

“Tell them!”

“I’m pregnant”

As the words left my mouth Aaron’s frown deepened and before I knew what was happening two hun shots rang out and Lucas fell to the ground, blood pouring out from the bullet wound in his forehead. Looking over at Reid I noticed the lifeless body of Liam that laid before him

“Spence” the others rushed to his aid while I stood frozen in my spot

“You’re okay” Aaron wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly against his tall frame. I finally let out the breath that I had been holding in as I clung onto him

“We’re gonna have a baby” he kissed my forehead and pulled back so I could see his face

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this”

“Congratulations you two, we’ll celebrate properly when we get back” Dave came over and kissed both of our cheeks, the others followed his lead

“I hope it’s a girl, this team cannot be bringing boys alone into this world” Derek joked and we laughed. Aaron pulled me closer to his side as local P.D. filled the room

“Once the baby’s healthy I’m fine”

EMS came and sat me down on a chair and started looking me over for any injuries while they all gushed about the growing baby inside of me

“There’s no way you’re going to be in the field, you’ll be traveling with us but you’ll only be at the station working through the case files and no, it’s not up for negotiation” Aaron stated in full boss mode not even giving me a chance to argue with him

“Understood” they others chuckled at his sudden change in tone

“Good, our job is done here let’s get going, I believe we were promised a party”

[caslikescoffeeandfreckles]

The Heart Will Lead You Home

A very late spn finale fix-it fic based on an addition to this Tumblr post! Word Count: 1.9k Read on Ao3

There was no stopping the way Dean’s heartbeat stuttered when he saw Ohio on the map, the wound still too fresh. Every press of his foot to the gas pedal felt like stepping on his own neck as they cruised along the highway, cornfields turning to soybeans turning to green galaxies of fireflies at night. He thinks he likes these stars better; the blue ones just hurt.

When they cross from Indiana to Ohio the stuttering becomes an ache, like the valves have shut down and the arteries are cut off. He keeps his breaths short and measured, careful, while his hands white knuckle the steering wheel and he presses a little heavier on the gas. It costs him a breath, that foot still on his neck. But he keeps driving. 

The case is a weird one and Dean hasn’t been paying enough attention to explain how he ends up driving out in the middle of nowhere by himself. He can’t even tell you what town they’ve been in the past few days, just knows that there was a lead Sam needed to follow, leaving Dean to cruise down dark country roads that shouldn’t feel so achingly familiar and his chest shouldn’t feel so painfully full and empty all at once. 

But Dean’s not an idiot. He does know these roads and he knows what waits up ahead. He keeps telling himself it doesn’t mean anything. This isn’t some kind of sign, his heart choking and coughing and lurching like a car on its last wheel with every stretch of mile. 

At the sight of the barn he almost turns around. The aching in his chest is seeping into his bones, it feels like they’re breaking from the inside out, like there’s something swelling inside his chest cavity and pushing bone through tissue and skin. 

The barn looks almost exactly the same as last time, the old wood boards grayed and weathered and hanging from the frame with just a few nails and the grace of God - or Jack now, he supposes.

It takes Dean a good thirty minutes to make himself get out of the car. And it hurts. Every movement hurts down to the flex of his knuckles, each foot fall against the hard dirt path. 

Dean stands outside the door, his hand raised to pull it open but unable to follow through. 

Cas isn’t going to be there, he tells himself. Stop being an idiot. Because he has to make sure any lingering tendrils of hope are gone. For whatever is left of his sanity, he just has to. 

He doesn't realize until he’s already opened the door that he hasn’t drawn a weapon. There’s a dark growling voice in the back of head calling him a damn idiot, but it’s not as loud as it used to be. It’s been fading over the years but ever since - ever since… well, it’s been pretty radio silent in the last few weeks.

 It turns out there’s no need for a weapon anyway. The barn is empty save for some abandoned farm equipment and hell’s entire population of spiders. The ground crunches beneath him and Dean looks down to find broken glass everywhere. There are scorch marks on the walls. The air is stale, untouched for years. The last time Dean had been in here it had smelled like lightning. 

With that thought the pain becomes unbearable and Dean shatters like the glass beneath his feet. His hands reach out without thinking, seeking something to grab, to hold onto, but he can’t find anything. He can’t see, can’t hear, all of his senses drowned under the wave of agony ravaging his chest. 

He’s dying. Dean just knows it somehow. But he doesn’t want to fight it this time. The desire isn’t even there. He doesn’t know when that had left him, maybe the night the Empty claimed Cas with a confession of love still wet on his lips, maybe in that void of loneliness once Cas was gone and Dean had sat decimated on the cold floor for hours trying to understand what the fuck had just happened and why he hadn’t been able to say something back, maybe just before Dean had walked through the barn door. Whenever it had gone, it had clearly gone with the angel and Dean didn’t miss it. Didn’t have a reason to anymore.

He’s not going to be there either, Dean hears the last bit of his self-loathing whisper, like one last punishment because even in death, Dean Winchester can’t let himself have peace. 

I know, Dean thinks. He knows Cas is gone, somewhere no one can ever reach him. He’s done the research. But how can you document the existence of something that represents Nothing? That is Nothing but the absence of everything in all of time and space? But he wishes Cas could be on the other side. Even with all hope gone, he still wishes it was possible if only to give Cas the one thing both of them thought they could never have. Because Cas deserved that much. Cas deserved more than the world had ever been able to offer. 

Castiel… Cas… I-

“Hello Dean.”

Dean’s heart stops and his eyes fly open.

He’s here, just feet away, in the same oversized suit and dirty trenchcoat. He’s here.

“H-how,” Dean starts, his mouth too dry. “I don’t- C-Cas how…” 

Cas doesn’t move except to blink. “I think we have Jack to thank for this.” His voice is a deep and gravelly as the day they met and it’s like a soothing balm over Dean’s aching body, chasing all the hurt away like his grace has all these years. 

“He found you,” Dean says because he needs to hear it again. “H-he found you.” Jack did what Dean couldn’t. The pain that has been raging inside Dean is gone, replaced with a weight of gratitude for the kid. 

Cas nods like it’s that simple. “It took a while, but yes. Jack is very… determined. I think he gets it from his father.” The corners of Cas’s mouth soften into a small smile.

Dean doesn’t know how he finds the energy to blush but he feels the heat seep into his cheeks all the same. He has a million questions and another million things he wants to do with his hands right now but they’re safer in his pockets. There are too many words rushing around his brain and none of them feel right, none of them feel like enough. “Did you- what you said,” he tries, desperate to know but not sure exactly what he wants to know first, “when you- did you… mean it?”

A shadow crosses Cas’s face and Dean immediately regrets asking. “You still doubt me?”

“No, no,” Dean hurries to say. Cas hasn’t moved but he feels further away and that alone makes Dean’s chest hurt again. “I know- I know you meant it, Cas. I mean, I-I watched you…” get ripped away again. Cas had said he loved Dean and been swallowed into nothing. It left little to be misunderstood. It was just that… “You’re an angel, Cas,” Dean says, his voice sounding weak even to himself. “You’re like a million years old and - and I’m - you’ve never… is it the same kind of…?”

“You think I do not understand love the same way that you do,” Cas says, voice clipped and dry. It cuts like a blow and Dean can’t help but flinch. But he nods. Cas watches him carefully before nodding himself. “You are right. I am an angel, I was not designed to experience emotions aside from love and loyalty to my creator.”

Dean is deflating before Cas finishes his sentence. 

“And yet… since the moment I first touched you in hell, there has been no being or entity I have trusted more without question,” Cas continues and Dean meets his eyes, confused and dangerously hopeful. “There has been no one I desired to follow to the ends of the Earth as I have desired to follow you. I do not love you the way humans love. Because I fell in love with your soul before any other part of you.” Cas’s arms rise to cross over his chest and there’s a faraway look in his eyes. “I have seen inside of you, Dean, I have seen the core of who you are and carried the roots of you in my arms. I held your soul against my chest and felt the greatest warmth I have known in my entire existence. I felt the true depth of your compassion and love, deeper than any ocean God could ever craft. And I knew before I rebuilt your body that a part of me would always belong to you, and no other thought has ever brought me such peace.” 

When Cas’s eyes refocus they snap to Dean and his next words sink past every barrier of defense Dean has left. “I don’t love you in the same way as a human. I love you more than you could ever truly fathom, Dean. But I know that it is love because you taught me how to recognize the signs. You defined love for me. And even though you don’t feel the same, I am-”

“But I do.” The words jump from Dean’s throat before he can think them through but there’s no way in hell he’s going to miss another opportunity. He’s lost Cas too many damn times to waste a single minute. “I do, Cas. I- I can’t see your soul or whatever but I - you’re the only - Cas, I don’t want to breathe when you aren’t here.” He feels feral as he speaks, ready to jump out of his own skin, and honestly isn’t sure if he’s saying actual words. But the movements of his tongue and lips feel right so he keeps going. “Everytime you leave or get taken away it just gets harder and harder and I don’t- I can’t do it again.”

Cas is watching him with careful eyes, but Dean can see the hope blazing just under the surface. “So what do you want, Dean?”

“You,” Dean says and takes a step forward. “Us. I want us.” 

The hope bleeds through into the blue and Cas’s eyes shine like the stars Dean’s been avoiding. “Is that all?”

Dean shakes his head. There’s a new life unraveling in his head as he takes another step closer to Cas. A life far away from hunting, with a cozy little home with enough yard space for a vegetable garden, a garage to shield Baby when they aren’t filling her trunk with suitcases instead of weapons and driving to the ocean just because. A life with kids and familiar faces at the supermarket and big family dinners with friends on Friday evenings. And Cas. Every minute of every day there is Cas. The only constant, the only necessity. “I have a list,” he admits and takes another step. “But you come first.”

Cas is close enough to touch now and so Dean does. His hands fall on Cas’s waist and slide around his back to pull the angel forward and Cas comes with no resistance. He falls into Dean’s chest like a missing puzzle piece, his arms wrapping around Dean’s shoulders and clutching tight.

“You have me, Cas,” Dean whispers into his angel’s ears. It’s a moot point by now but he thinks they both deserve the reassurance. “You’ve always had me.”

“I want to go home,” Cas says, his voice soft but still sending a rumble through Dean’s body.

Dean clings even tighter. “Then let’s go make one.”

[dust2dust34]

Fate (Olicity, College AU, T)

Written for the super fun Halloween Prompts posted by @olicitytropes - check it out here. The prompt I’m using is: Person A is an actor in a haunted house. Person B is the friend in the group who didn’t want to walk through the house. Person B gets scared and punches Person A in the nose.

Rated T for language.

(read on AO3)

*

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Yes, you said that already.”

“I’m serious, Tommy,” Oliver hissed.

He grabbed his best friend’s shoulder and yanked him back as the group of women before them went inside the haunted house. Thankfully the guy managing the door held his hand up, indicating Tommy and Oliver had to wait before they entered. 

The door took its time shutting, letting Oliver hear every single scream and shout and terrifying whoosh echoing from within.

A shiver scraped down his spine. From the crisp night air, he tried to tell himself.

Tommy’s shoulder shook with a chuckle.

Oliver punched him.

“Ow, hey!” Rubbing his sore arm, Tommy glared at him. “This was your bet, not mine. I didn’t tell you to tempt the fates by playing chicken with Slade Wilson.”

“You didn’t have to tell him how much I hate these stupid things.”

“Nice try, but I’m pretty sure that was your drunken ass telling him that, not me.”

“Well, you didn’t have to say ‘Too bad it’s Halloween, haha.’”

“How the hell was I supposed to know he was pulling extra hours at this place? That guy’s shut up tighter than your asshole right now.”

“You’re hilarious.”

Tommy tossed him a cheeky grin. “I know.”

Another scream erupted from somewhere deeper inside the hulking beaten-to-shit barn and a cold sweat broke out across the back of Oliver’s neck.

“Listen,” Tommy said, “we get in, get out, and then it’s over with.”

Easy for him to say.

The man waved them forward.

Oliver’s stomach dropped and for a split second, he considered running. But then he’d never hear the end of it - from Tommy or Slade. He settled for glaring at his friend when Tommy turned to walk backwards so he could shoot Oliver an overly-exuberant grin.

“Just think, all that spinach you’ve been eating means your muscly ass is too heavy for the zombies run off with you - glass half full, buddy!”

“I hate you,” Oliver grumbled as they entered.

Oliver kept himself rigid as they made their way through the maze-like haunted house. It was stupidly dark, and the flashing lights made his head ache as his eyes strained to see. But it was okay. Ish. Even though his heart pounded, his palms turned cold and clammy, and prickly heat inched up the back of his neck to creep over his scalp. It was fine. 

They got through a large room where furniture moved on its own and the walls rippled before a ghost floated towards them. They rounded a corner to a clown jabbing a fake knife at them to the sound of maniacal laughter. A masked man with a chainsaw burst out of a room and ran through the hallways, chasing after at least half a dozen people who took off running. Tommy wound up a little further ahead of him, laughing and jumping accordingly, and catching up to ingratiate himself into the group of women from earlier. He did keep looking back to check on Oliver, which was nice, but the son of a bitch clearly didn’t care that much.

Despite that, Oliver maintained. His shirt was maybe a little sweat-soaked, and his jaw ached a little too much from being clenched so tight, and all the pain in his head was definitely focused on his furrowed brows, but he maintained.

Until a zombie lurched out from behind a curtain and grabbed his arm.

Oliver shouted and punched it in the face.

The zombie’s head rocketed back and Oliver’s jaw dropped on a mortified, “Oh shit.” Shame and humiliation eradicated any ounce of fear he’d harbored as he stumbled after the zombie. The very small zombie who fell back against a wall, her hands on her face. Definitely a her, he realized, and he felt even worse.

He’d just punched a girl.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Oliver babbled, hands hovering over her arms as he bent down to her height. People shoved past them, but he barely noticed, only seeing the dark-haired zombie and the pain on her face. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t-”

The woman abruptly dropped her hands and straightened.

He had enough time to see furious eyes and the smear of blood before her fist collided with his nose.

Pain exploded through his skull, radiating out in a whip of fire. He cried out and crashed into the opposite wall, narrowly missing a couple. He ignored their gleeful laughs - as if this was part of the stupid haunted house - and grabbed his face to assuage the vicious throbbing. He instantly regretted it when an even hotter burst of fire shot through his head.

“Ow!” he groused, opening watery eyes to a makeup-covered hand waving a pointed finger in his face.

“You punched me,” the zombie snarled. Oliver wanted to glare at her - because she freaking punched him, too! - but he didn’t have the right. Because he had punched her. And hard. The lights flashed at too random of intervals for him to see if the blood on her face was from her nose or just makeup, even as she got closer. She seemed fine, though, because she was nowhere near done reaming him. “Who the hell do you think you are? Why are you in here if you’re going to be punching people? I should punch you again for even thinking of coming in here if that was how you were going to react-”

She continued on, her voice growing louder, her yelling including colorful name-calling and a shove on his chest for good measure.

Then she was done.

Somehow the silence between them was louder than the hiss of dry ice underlying eerie music and the terrified shouts echoing through the halls. They stared at each other as people continued streaming past them. He noticed she had a nose ring and that she had black hair - purple, too? But it was her eyes that captivated him. Even in the shadowed hallway, he could see the flashes of blue with spikes of gold striking out from her pupils. They were fierce, matching the passion emanating off her in spades.

Oliver wanted to say something, but his mind blanked.

All he could do was stare.

She exhaled loudly, rolled her eyes, and grabbed his hand. “C’mon.”

A tiny zap shot up his arm when she touched him.

“Where?” he asked dumbly.

“Well,” she replied caustically, her words hard to hear because she didn’t bother looking back at him as she dragged him back towards the front of the house. “We just punched each other, so I’m thinking ice is on the menu.”

Yeah. That was probably smart.

The haunted house still had zero appeal, but the terror that had dogged him since Slade had issued his challenge was nowhere to be seen. It was probably the pain more than anything, and the shock, but he wondered if it wasn’t a little bit of her too. Her hand was so tiny where it was tucked inside his, but he knew nothing bad would happen with her by his side. That was a completely ridiculous thought, wasn’t it? But it still rang true.

If she noticed his hand tightening around hers, she didn’t say anything.

They burst out the front door.

“Hey, Doyle,” she said in greeting to the guy manning the door, but she didn’t stop, even when he asked, “You okay, love?” in a lilting Irish accent.

“Men are stupid,” she shouted over her shoulder.

Several people in the line shouted their agreement as Doyle yelled back, “You’re not wrong!”

The sun had long ago set, leaving low-lit lanterns strewn about to light their way. His zombie dragged him from the haunted house-slash-barn, around the beginning edges of the cornfield maze, and towards a rows of food tents. When they reached the back of one, she told him to, “Stay,” and disappeared inside.

Oliver did just that, not moving even an inch, not until she swept back out with two packs of towel-covered piles of ice.

He got his first good look at her face. No blood, he saw with relief. Just makeup.

And a beautiful girl.

His heart skipped a beat as she glared at him.

“Here.” She shoved one of the towels into his hands and nudged him over to a rickety picnic table. It was covered in random crap that she unceremoniously pushed aside so she could plop down on the tabletop and prop her feet on the bench. “I’m not sorry.”

“I am,” he told her, leaning against the other end of the picnic table. He hissed when he pressed the ice to his nose. “I am very sorry.”

She stared at him for a beat and then huffed. “Alright. Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

She pressed the ice to her nose, not even flinching. “Tell me why you punched me. Because there better be a really good reason for it.”

Oliver grimaced and dropped the ice to stare at his hands.

“Put that back on your nose unless you want to look even more like an elephant’s ass tomorrow.”

He laughed, even though it hurt. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re pushy?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Do you want me to punch you again?”

“No, no, please.” He sighed and did as she said. “I don’t like haunted houses.”

“Obviously.”

“No, I mean…” Oliver’s chest tightened as the memory came back up. “I’m terrified of them. I have been since I was little when a, uh… when a zombie grabbed me and ran off. It wasn’t far, it was maybe ten feet, but I was…” He blew out a heavy breath and blurted out the rest. “I was having a recurring nightmare at the time of my best friend’s mom grabbing me from under the bed. She had just died - shot, actually. Tommy and I were supposed to be with her that night, and I don’t know, I think I felt guilty or something, so she was kind of… haunting me. I guess. Then that guy grabbed me and it all, you know…” He made a clicking noise. “Linked together.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Oh.”

Oliver blew out another breath and was grateful for the ice when his cheeks heated. “I’ve never told anyone that was why I got so freaked out that day.”

“And you went into a haunted house now, why?”

“Because my friend Slade is an asshole. And I lost a bet.”

“Let me get this straight: you dove into a house full of childhood trauma because you lost a bet?”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“What was the bet?”

Oliver’s cheeks warmed even more and he ducked his head. He’d already spilled his guts about one of his deepest, darkest fears, so why not give her all of his shame?

“We bet the other couldn’t streak through one of our classes without getting caught.”

The beginning of a laugh fell out of her. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes. He cheated, just so we’re clear - he’s sleeping with the TA of the class he chose, so he knew when the professor wasn’t going to be there. Me, on the other hand, did not have that advantage. And on top of that, I went all the way and skipped shoes, so when I was running down the stairs of the classroom, my bare foot slipped about halfway down, and I proceeded to fall down the rest of the steps.”

“Nooo,” she groaned on a laugh. “You fell down the stairs naked?”

“Naked. Landed on my back right in front of the podium. Somehow hurt my junk in the process.”

She laughed again, and this time he joined her, shaking his head in amazement as she laughed harder. He watched her, transfixed, all the pain disappearing. She had an amazing laugh. She didn’t stop, not until she had to with a pained, “Ow,” and her hand hovering over her nose.

Oliver hissed and slid closer. “I am so sorry.”

“I believe you,” she said sincerely, touching his arm. Warmth blossomed from the spot and he smiled wider. “I’m still not sorry I punched you back.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he agreed. “I deserved that.”

“Although I do feel a little bad yelling at you now, considering why you punched me in the first place.”

“Don’t. I’m the idiot with too much pride to tell my dick friend to screw off.”

“Hey,” she said, gripping his arm with a little shake. “At least you know yourself.”

He snorted. “Thanks for that.” He held out his hand. “I’m Oliver.”

“Felicity,” she replied, taking his hand.

“Felicity,” he repeated, unwittingly dragging it out. It felt good on his tongue, and he repeated it silently to himself. He felt like he was tasting something incredible for the first time, and instead of satiating a craving, he found he wanted more. “This probably won’t end well for me, considering how we just met, and that I basically confirmed that I’m a walking moron, but…” Oliver took a deep breath. “What are the chances of you giving me your number?”

“Hmm.” Felicity rolled her lips into a line and narrowed her eyes. “Pretty good. If you do one thing.”

“What?” Oliver shifted to face her. “Anything.”

Amusement and what he hoped was delight lit up her face before she pressed her lips together harder, as if fighting back a smile.

“Okay.” She pointed down the makeshift walkway between the food tents. “Run through there. Naked.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped, but then a second later, he was on his feet. Felicity snorted out a half-laugh as he set the ice down and started undressing.

“Oh my god, you wouldn’t-”

And that right there was a dare.

“Oh yes I would,” he replied, shrugging out of his jacket before grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt. He paused. “You’ll give me your number?”

She shook her head in disbelief, grinning, but she did confirm, “Yes, I will give you my number.”

That was all he had to hear.

In the next minute, he had his clothes off and he was streaking down the line between the tents. He heard the gasps and shouts of surprise and more than a few people laugh when they realized what was happening, but he didn’t care about any of it.

Because that was the second time he made his future wife laugh that night, and in that minute, he vowed to do everything in his power to hear that sound as often as possible.

*

I think we can all agree that college-era Felicity would have definitely kicked college-era Oliver’s ass. 

Thank you for reading!

Reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

[dweetwise]

A cute Ace x fem reader where they play hide and seek during a trial

i don’t think i’ve ever written a request this fast but hey, strike while the iron is hot and all that! it’s a little dumb and a whole lot of fluff but i hope you enjoy <3 (disclaimer: i don’t actually play immersed in dbd pls don’t mori me)

word count: 2543

Ace X f!reader: Hide and Seek

“You want to do it now?”

You glance up from rummaging through your offerings to look at Ace. He's smiling wide and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes, kind of like whenever he tries to get one of the others to play poker with him—oh, right. You’d made a bet a few days ago. 

“The killers are so blind!” Ace had laughed when you both managed to escape another trial, you without even taking a hit. The others sometimes made jokes about your sneakiness, claiming your ‘blending’ abilities were rivaled only by Claudette. This particular trial, the Pig had been visibly annoyed, completely ignoring Ace after the last gen got done and only focused on finding you, muttering something about ‘losing her fourth stack’. “I run into you several times each trial. You’re not that hard to find,” Ace continued, taking a good-natured jab at your skill to stay out of sight. “Because I don't actually try to hide from you?” you argued, raising an eyebrow. “Wouldn't find me if I did,” you added, challenging. And you should have known Ace never backed down from a challenge. “Wanna bet?” the man grinned. “You manage to avoid me an entire trial, you win." “Oh, you're on.”

It took a while for the opportunity to present itself, as you'd been thrown into trials either separately or with some of your more serious teammates. You're pretty sure Laurie would have kicked your asses for slacking off, and you didn't want to set a bad example for the new girl, Cheryl.

But now, you're waiting by the pre-trial campfire for the Entity to pick which killer it wants to torture you with, taking in the sight of a yawning Quentin and a grinning Nea loading her flashlight with batteries like it was a lethal weapon. You figure this opportunity is as good as any.

“Hey, guys,” you start, getting the duo’s attention. “You mind if we fuck—" ‘Around this trial’ would have been the rest of your sentence, but Nea interrupts you by bursting into laughter and Quentin makes a disgusted face. "Oh my fucking god,” Quentin visibly cringes, glaring at Ace. “Keep it in your pants, dude.” “If you would let the lovely lady finish,” Ace starts with a smirk. “She was about to ask if we can use the trial to settle a bet.” “With hide and seek,” you add before they get any more lewd ideas. “Go nuts,” Nea quips and Quentin just shrugs with a “Whatever”.

You return your attention to the task of choosing an offering, settling for a reagent to increase the mist. When you go to throw it into the fire, you see Ace fiddling around with something, his back turned to you.

“Are you bringing bond!?” you squawk, grabbing his hand and yanking his sleeve up to display the familiar aura-reading twine wrapped around his wrist. "No, no! These are… bracelets! All the rage, back in my day—” Ace hurries to explain, gesturing animatedly with his other hand. The movement causes some cards to fall out of his sleeve. “And open-handed!?” you demand, hands on your hips. “Oh my, how did those get there?” Ace feigns ignorance, kicking the cards under a log. You bite back a laugh at his cheating antics, at this point knowing better than to expect him to play fair. “Guess that means you're scared of losing,” you say, a smirk pulling at your lips as an idea forms in your head. Predictably, Ace immediately perks up, taking the bait. “In your dreams, princess,” he says, puffing up his chest. “How about we raise the stakes? No perks.” You hesitate for a moment. Spine chill and urban evasion have saved your ass on countless occasions, but since you were only going to be hiding from Ace and not the killer… how hard could it be? “Deal.” When you fade back to consciousness, you’re standing by the Thompson house. You’ve spawned right by a generator, but instead of getting to work, you make your way towards one of the outside walls of the trial, crouching down to hide with a good view of two of the closest generators.

Soon enough, you see Ace make his way over to the machine you were just by, pushing through the corn and glancing around. Not seeing anything, he seems to frown before kneeling down to start his repairs. You snicker to yourself and start sneaking to the other generator, keeping an eye on Ace the entire time.

Halfway through your repairs, you hear Nea’s pained scream of taking a hit somewhere within the trial. It seems like she’s keeping the killer busy.

As soon as you hear Ace’s generator pop, you duck down and start making your way along the trial wall. You flatten yourself against a tree when you see Ace approaching, before he disappears into the pallet gym your nearly finished generator is at. With the wall blocking the crucial line of sight, you seize the opportunity to bolt away, the sound of your footsteps drowned out by the machine. You hear him opening a locker and scoff at the action; like you’d make such an amateur mistake.

Another gen pops, apparently Quentin’s handiwork, while you cut through the cornfield. You run into Nea, being chased through the corn, and quickly dive out of the way and crouch in a row of stalks as the killer—the Wraith, good to know—follows, not far behind her. Predictably, he doesn’t see you.

By the time you get to your destination, the second story of the house, Ace has gotten your generator done and Nea has been hooked and unhooked. The killer is once again chasing her, and from your vantage point you can even see her repeatedly clicking the flashlight in the Wraith’s face while looping the cow tree.

The generator on the balcony hasn’t even been started, but you’re waiting for Ace and Quentin to finish theirs first, working on a machine together in the corn right below the balcony.

Ace’s back is turned to you and he keeps glancing around, trying in vain to spot you in the field. Damn, if you'd only brought diversion into the trial, you would have thrown a pebble at him to confuse him further. Feeling cocky, you lean over the railing and wave down at the two instead. You see Quentin glancing your way with a smirk, before looking back at the generator.

“You need some glasses, old man,” you hear Quentin snark. “Huh?” Ace says, getting his wires crossed and making the machine explode as he whips his head around to look at the house, but you’ve already ducked down safely behind your generator. You wait for the duo to finish their repairs and disappear in the direction of the shack before starting the generator in the house.

When your generator pops and the exits gates get powered, Nea is just about to be death hooked, and hearing her final scream, you feel a little bad when you make your way to a corner of the map instead of pressuring an exit gate. But soon enough, you spot Ace running to the house to try to catch you leaving after your repairs, proving your hunch was correct—he’s so predictable, bless his heart. A little while later, you see him come out of the house and look around in confusion, but then you hear Quentin’s pained scream and Ace seems to sigh and utter a curse before running in the direction of a gate.

You try to find the hatch but have no luck, and then you hear a screech as one of the massive gates slides open, followed by Quentin’s wail as he finally goes down. You spot his prone aura by the shack, before it disappears into thin air; huh, guess he managed to crawl out.

Now knowing which gate is open, you start walking to the other, a little on edge not knowing where the killer is after losing his last prey.

To your surprise, Ace is pulling on the other exit gate’s lever, effectively ruining your plans. You start making your way back towards the shack, taking a detour to avoid the killer's patrol route between the gates.

You're a little nervous Ace is going to get found, taking an unnecessary risk in getting both gates open. If he gets caught, you're throwing your little game and saving him, the bet be damned. Though it's not going to be easy, with Nea dead and Quentin out and neither of you having any perks. Even though you’ve known the entire time you were both likely to die from this dumb game, thinking about Ace getting hurt still makes you uneasy.

Exit gate now in sight, you carefully look around for any signs of the killer. The Wraith could just be standing still in the exit, completely invisible to the naked eye. Even if he was there, you could just run out and take a hit in the back before escaping, as you know from Quentin’s chase he doesn't have NOED. Still, you'd rather not get injured at all.

There's no telling shimmer in the gate, so you decide to just go for it. You walk into the structure, and nothing happens. You're nearly out when you hesitate, turning to look back into the trial; what if the Wraith has found Ace? What if he comes out of nowhere, grabbing Ace off of the exit gate lever since neither of you has spine chill and—

There's footsteps right next to you and you try to whip around, but then someone is grabbing you from behind and your heart leaps into your throat as you let out a startled yelp—

“Gotcha,” Ace's voice whispers in your ear. The relief floods over your body even as you shove at him playfully, making him let go of you with a chuckle. “Fuck you! You scared the shit out of me!” you argue even while your face is splitting into a grin. “You're not the only one who can be sneaky, doll,” Ace quips, returning your grin with a self-satisfied smirk. “What are you even doing here? I saw you at the other gate!" “Ah, the old bait and switch," Ace chuckles. “I wanted to get both gates for you, so you didn’t have to risk the killer finding you. And then it was only a matter of luck! A classic 50/50,” he grins.

Damnit, what a stupid and dangerous and— …Kind of romantic… —and unnecessary and idiotic stunt!

“Get over here,” you say, yanking him closer by his shirt. “I missed you,” you mumble softly, hands wrapping around his neck as the surprise makes way for familiar affection. “I missed you too, sweetheart,” he says, eyes softening and a hand wrapping around your waist, the other coming up to cup your cheek. “I missed seeing this cute little face,” he says, pecking your nose sweetly. “You avoiding me wasn't nearly as fun as I'd imagined,” he jokes, but there's a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. “If it makes you feel better, I basically stalked you the entire time,” you murmur, leaning your forehead against his and a hand scratching at the baby hairs on his neck. “Though I almost threw a rock at you at one point.” He chuckles at the confession, a warm puff of air in the space between you. “Can't take your eyes off of me, eh?" he grins. “Not when you're being so oblivious and adorable,” you murmur. “Well, I clearly underestimated you," he admits, and is that a little blush you can see on his cheeks? “Likewise,” you smile. “So, what do you want for your prize?” “Oh I'll think of something, don't you worry,” he wags his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes from the corny gesture. “But here's your consolation prize,” he says, finally leaning down to capture your waiting lips.

You eagerly respond to the kiss, moving your lips against his while your heart flutters from the affection, even moaning a little when Ace pulls you even closer against him. It’s all so familiar; the scratching of his goatee, the way he playfully nips at your lip, the scent of his cheap cologne lingering even after all these years stuck in the realm. You don't even mind losing the bet, not when you get to be in his arms and kiss him silly.

But then Ace is suddenly pulling away, lifting his head up to look back into the trial over the top of your head.

“I think we have an audience,” Ace says and you glance over your shoulder, his arms still around you.

There's a slight shimmer just beside the exit gate where the Wraith seems to jolt from surprise. A small pause later the familiar bell rings, and then you have an embarrassed killer in front of you, looking at the ground and sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. You just stare at him stupidly, a little ashamed over being caught making out in the exit. How long has he been standing there?

“Hey bud, thanks for letting us goof off this match,” Ace is thankfully speaking so you don't have to, but the words manage to confuse you. Was the Wraith in on it? You genuinely thought you'd been able to hide from the killer the entire time, especially since he was so focused on Nea.

The Wraith looks up bashfully, nodding his head and shuffling his feet. Then he pauses, points at you and then Ace, and makes a heart shape with his hands. Ace huffs out a surprised laugh while you blink owlishly, and the killer hurries to leave, ringing his bell and the sound of his footsteps scurrying away from the exit.

“Looks like we have a fan,” Ace muses, turning to look at you again. You smile up at him and you’re just about to lean back in for another kiss, when a realization hits you.

How did Ace know the killer was there? You saw him take off spine chill before the trial, and he hadn't even flinched like the perk usually makes you do when the killer is looking at you. Unless…

“Did you bring premonition!?” you realize, and now Ace does flinch a little from being caught off guard. “So, err, remember when you said some perks are so bad they shouldn't even be considered perks—” Ace hurries to make excuses. “You little shit!” you exclaim in mock offense. “You cheated! No prize for you!” “Aww,” Ace whines and honest to god pouts. “Fair enough. Damn, and I only did it to keep you safe… oh well, still worth it,” he mumbles defeatedly, mostly to himself. “Ugh, fine, get back here,” you grumble, pulling him into another kiss to stop him from moping because it's breaking your heart. 

When Ace just chuckles against your lips, you realize you've been played. Instead of snarking at him some more, you take advantage of his open mouth to shove your tongue down his throat and relish in the way his laugh turns into a needy groan.

And next time you're bringing the pebble, rules be damned.

[scriveyner]

let it rest in peace - 3/4

James made it an hour before he pulled the truck off the highway, onto a deserted exit ramp with old green signs and a bent route number, and not even so much as a gas station. Keith didn’t say anything as James got out of the car and walked down the embankment, away from the road; though after a few minutes James heard the passenger door slam.

“So we’re talking about this now, huh,” Keith said, arms folded, and James, with his back still to Keith, pushed a hand through his hair and exhaled, looking at the pale blue sky.

“Guess we are.”

Read on AO3 or

He didn’t turn around, listened to Keith shuffle and say, finally, “what the fuck was that, Griffin? You said your family died in a fire.”

James rubbed his hand over his mouth, put his hands on his hips and hung his head. “They did die in a fire.”

“Don’t lie to me, James.”

“I’m not. It’s,” he turned now, felt so, so tired. “It’s complicated.”

Keith snorted. “Complicated.”

It felt weird to be discussing this, standing in green grass and under a blue sky. “We lost my dad first. Mom locked us in our bedrooms, we heard the hounds outside, and found him in the cornfield in the morning.” He rubbed his mouth again, looked past Keith, past the cars on the turnoff, directly into the memory.

“So the hounds killed him.”

“No, that’s just it. He was alive. But he wasn’t… there. Lights on, no one home.” His mother standing dead-eyed in the kitchen, the phone to her ear and cord wrapped around her fingers, staring at nothing at all. “I don’t know what they did with him, but you can’t call that alive.”

Keith was silent, watching him.

“I was too young, I didn’t understand it until I heard the horn myself.” Distant again, his brother’s eyes fixed on the window, their bedroom door locked from the outside. “My mom did everything she could to stop my brother from joining the Hunt, locked him in his room when you could first hear the dogs, but.”

Seeing the fire engine and the ambulance both tearing past, the light of the fire illuminating the countryside for miles, the smoke billowing into the air, and just knowing.

Seeing the horned figure in the flames and hearing the bark and bay of hounds that the fire crew, the paramedics clearly did not.

James swallowed, crossed his arms, looked at Keith, and said softly, “my family’s cursed. I’m the last. The Hunt will come for me, someday.”

Keith crossed the distance between them, put his hands on James’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

#

James stretched out on the bed, luxuriated in the faint ache in his muscles, and buried his face in Keith’s pillow happily. He could hear the shower running, listened to Keith hum a little, probably washing his hair, and thought about joining him. His stomach reminded him of other priorities, though, and regretfully he emerged from the cocoon of covers.

By the time Keith wandered downstairs, damp and dressed, James had the coffee on and was scrounging in the fridge, disappointed. “Didn’t even leave us any groceries,” he huffed, leaned on the door with one elbow. “Bacon sounds heavenly right about now.”

Keith fetched his own coffee, leaned against the counter and watched James. “How you feeling?”

“Hungry,” James grunted, without taking his attention off the contents of the fridge. After a moment of silence from Keith, he lifted his head and gave Keith a look. “You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves,” he said. “I’m fine.” Better than fine, actually, he felt rather like he could take on the whole world right now, if only he could get a little meat in him to jump start the engine.

Keith smiled into his coffee, holding the cup cradled between his hands. “I can see if I can’t grab a deer or something,” he said.

James thought about it, imagined he could hear a deer right now, stepping softly between the trees that had been cleared out by the new construction. When he looked at Keith, Keith’s head was tilted, somewhat distracted—and in the direction James had imagined he’d heard the deer. “In fact,” Keith said, placing his coffee on the counter. “Hold that thought.”

Fear spiked in his chest, and James grabbed Keith’s wrist. “On the other hand,” he said, hoping he masked well, “scrambled eggs sound good too, right?”

Keith leaned a little bit away, considered, and finally said, “yeah, that sounds great.”

They ate in the kitchen, at the small table, and James tried not to think about how his mouth watered when he imagined the deer, the meat fresh and hot, flush with blood and entrails, steaming in the morning sunlight.

“You all right?” Keith gave him a weird look, and James stuck a fork full of eggs in his mouth and smiled, nodded, and really, really hoped he was.

#

Summer dawned hot and muggy, and the salt air rolling off the sea bit at his bare skin as Keith straddled him in the bed of the truck. It was deserted here, always was—there was no beach to speak, but the overlooks were fantastic and there was something about fucking in the open air, where he could hear the waves hitting the shore that really drove Keith over the edge.

“No sex on the beach ever again,” James had said in the shower, still scrubbing sand out of crevices he didn’t even realize he had; Keith laughed and carded his fingers through James’s damp hair in response.

Now though, Keith panted loudly, moving slowly as he rode James, sunlight dappled on his shoulders through the trees. James was breathing equally as hard, fixated on Keith’s face, watching the pleasure chase across his expression with abandon. Keith was close, he batted James’s hand away when he reached for his cock, and braced his palm on the window behind James’s head.

James laughed, unsure how exactly his head was still screwed on enough to murmur, “want to come on just my cock, huh?”

Keith shuddered, gave a little moan of encouragement, and shifted his weight, sitting all the way down on James’s cock. There was a weird bit of resistance as Keith shifted, and then it was gone and Keith’s head went back, hair flying loose and eyes wide as he climaxed, tightening on James harder than he’d ever done before.

God, he was so tight—James’s fingers left bruises on Keith’s thighs, holding him, keeping him flush on his lap as Keith milked him dry. Spent, James’s shoulders hit the dirty window and Keith… didn’t move, palm still on the window beside James’s head, other hand stroking his cock now, languid, slick with spilled seed.

Keith lifted his head, pupils blown wide, wet his lips and kissed James. James panted into his mouth in return, and Keith rested his forehead against James’s, looked him in the eye and said, dazedly, “do you have a fucking knot?”

“What?” James asked, surprised his brain wasn’t leaking out of his ears at the force of his orgasm.

“You,” Keith laughed, eyes gone closed and looking content. “God, it’s good, it feels so good, James.” He hummed a little, and when James released his legs Keith pulled slightly, but his cock did not slide free. “Fuck,” Keith breathed, tilting back. “Just, shift a little—“

Obediently, James shifted, moving Keith slightly on his lap—and suddenly Keith jerked and let out a strangled gasp, and his cock dribbled as he shook. “Fuck!”

Later, when he finally slipped out of Keith’s battered hole, Keith ran his fingers down his half-hard cock and over the still slightly-visible knot. “You do,” Keith breathed, wrung-out. “Fucking hell, James…”

#

“So what else have you been hiding from me?” Keith asked, and James, sitting cross-legged on a rock in just his briefs, shook his head.

“I mean, I’ve been able to hear things better and see a little better, but I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, they measured all that shit in the hospit-OW.” Keith yanked on his ear and James smacked his hand away, rubbed his ear. “I’m not a fucking child, Keith, don’t do that.”

“You have a fucking knot.”

“Yeah, it’s news to me too,” James said, dropping his hand and glaring at Keith. “So my senses are a little sharper, I thought it was a win considering I almost fucking died.”

Keith had his arms crossed, standing naked on the shore. He exhaled in aggravation, looked to the water and then back to James. “Can you shift?”

“What? What the fuck, no, Keith, I’m not a wer—“

“YOU HAVE A FUCKING KNOT, JAMES.”

James swallowed hard, rubbed his mouth, looked away. “No,” he said.

“Is that a ‘no, you can’t’, or a ‘no, you haven’t tried’?”

“What does it even matter? The answer’s no either way.” The two men glared at each other in the sunlight, and then Keith groaned and pushed his hand through his hair. James pointed at him. “Don’t you fucking dare call the Blade,” he said. “I do not want to be their lab rat again; besides they fucking cleared me, Keith. Said I was human.”

“I know, I know.” Both hands scrubbed back through his hair, and Keith crouched for a moment, thinking hard. “You don’t want to even try to shift, see what happens?”

The flat look James gave him made Keith groan. He dropped his elbows to his knees, hung his head. Then he laughed a little and pushed himself upright. James eyed him warily, and Keith patted James on the shoulder before walking past, back toward the truck. “What,” James said, turning, and then getting up himself. “Why are you laughing, what? Keith!”

#

They lay side by side on an old quilt under the stars, just like they used to when they lived out of his truck and old motels. James watched the thin clouds scuttle across the night sky, startled only a little when Keith woke, threading his fingers through James’s as they lay shoulder to shoulder.

“I’ll have to tell the Blade eventually,” Keith murmured, sleepy, and James sighed because he knew it was the right thing to do, even if he didn’t like it. “They need to know.”

“Is that a normal thing, to be infected by blood?” James asked, and Keith shifted, turned his head to look at James.

“No,” Keith said quietly, and James laughed softly. “Shiro’s...special,” he said. James knew that much by now, a werewolf unbound by the moon.

“How much blood did he give me?” It felt like something he should have asked ages ago, still in the observation room without windows, but now was better than never.

Keith was silent. “I don’t know. I wasn’t… I wasn’t there, James.”

Lance, in the hospital room, voice haggard and repentant. “It was my call.”

James exhaled, squeezed Keith’s hand. “Well, you’re here now,” he said, and Keith squeezed back, then rose up on his elbow, touched James’s face tenderly, and when he tilted his face into Keith’s hand, leaned down and kissed him.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Because I’d been kind of goaded into it, Sabbath scene for The Bureau, mostly unedited - this happens long long after cornfields and nephilim.

Warnings: violence, character death (widowmaker), gore (with a bit of rituallistic cannibalism)

*

A restless murmur - a hushed whisper of dissent - spreads among the witches. It is the night of the Sabbath yet no moon shines on Château Guillard, the sky empty of its presence, and the stars are the eyes of the avaricious angels clawing at the reality in their hunger. Under the ruined archway, Queen of Spiders sits on her throne of the broken altar. Once, it had been the chapel of Saint Adelaide - the headless statue a shadow behind her - its hands sculpted stretched forward in a gesture of reverent supplication.

The witches part for there is an intruder between them they would not suffer any other night but this, the moonless one: a man. The witchcraft has always been a woman's domain, an no man had ever been a witch, such things were impossible and unheard of.

No such sentiment hinders Jack's step, his skin smeared with blue pigment in the patterns of clawed handprints and horned crown of warm bone on his head, his left hand buried in the fur of a great white wolf that had carried him here.

In her, he hears the discordant melodies of the void and the singing whispers, and she in turn sees the Herald of the Lost speaking in the voice of the angels.

"You had failed us, Herald," Queen of Spiders speaks from her perch. "Yours was a stillbirth."

A wrong choice that had made a right, his own words marking it as such, the last fragment passed from hand to hand, and an angel born dead to the world from a kiss.

"I have devoured the Moon. It is my right to challenge your rule, and no right of yours to refuse me."

"You, a man, dare to challenge me for my rule?" She snarls rising to her feet, tall and indignant, and Jack turns, not to her, but to the witches in attendance, the wolf circling him with a warning growl from the maw kept low to the ground as it casts around the glare of its eye.

“I come to you with the moon in my belly. I come to you with my brow adorned by the Lord of the Hunt and the blessings of Herne on my thighs. I come to you bedded by the Seven Year King."

He looks back to her over his shoulder, offering her a humorless smile full of teeth.

"What have you to show for yourself, Queen of Spiders, but a crown forged with the still hearts of your dead lovers?”

She throws the purple swath of fabric off her shoulders, fingers enveloping the hilt under the bejeweled hand guard, and points the tip of the rapier at him.

"So be it then, Herald, I'll bear your insolence no more."

Jack brings to his lips his own blade: forged with bog iron as is her crown, tempered in the heart of dwarven fires, cooled with Morgaine's tears, sharpened on a single hair of Freyja's, and bathed in the gaze of Hecate.

They circle each other, vipers with venomous fangs poised to strike, bare feet on the slippery stone cautious - Queen of Spiders rigid and cold, him flowing and warmed with the moonlight.

A moth's wings flutter in the air and they clash, the rapier grinding on the knife.

The dance is an intricate one, not a pause between the ebb and flow the Moon dictates, breaths curling in wisps of condensation as neither of the them gains the advantage - until the rapier pierces his side and Jack snarls, snatching her wrist and pulling her close. The blade runs him through but the knife is on her neck and his lips at her ear, the fight finished in his favor.

"I want you to know," Jack whispers, "that even when he was yours, and the mask was unbroken, he still came to me when I was ten and out there, in the cornfields."

He pushes the knife in, slowly, with satisfaction trickling down his spine and warmth unfolding in his belly.

Queen of Spider meets the end of her rule with sneering dignity, hand growing lax and slipping from the rapier as she falls to the stones as the blood pools under her.

He rips the blade out of his stomach, turning in silence, his gaze sliding over the transfixed witches; Ana in the back giving him a small nod of approval, both ravens sitting atop her shoulders, and Gabriel by her side, his face contorted in a mixture of worry and bewilderment.

The rapier, thrown to the ground, clatters in the quiet.

Jack reaches deep into himself and extends his arm towards the sky putting the moon back in its rightful place. Lost angels close their hungering eyes and the sweet cadence of the whispering void under his skin subsides.

"You all bear witness to my right to rule, as it has been witnessed by the Moon. Is here any witch that would challenge it?" Unrest and disquiet, yet not one of them steps forward. "Let it be known then there is no challenger, and only the Moon will judge me."

He kneels by the body, the bloodied knife held fast in his hands, and stabs its breast - the bones crack under the repeated onslaught, still hot red splatters on his face, and only after he is sure the work is done, he pries open the ribs, fingers grasping at the heart inside.

The crown of the witch is wrought with bog iron, and the heart of the witch turns into bog iron, her power and her weakness. Witches guard their hearts, hide them under the mountains or in the skies - but to rule the witch needs her heart, even if that heart is a heart no more.

Jack bites into it, chews through the muscle as blood trickles down his chin, and, with his throat seizing, swallows.

The successor always carries a part of their predecessor with them, and with it, all of those that came before. It had been a young witch that cut Hecate's heart out and put it in the sky - and, in turn, it had been the young witch's heart that became the first crown.

Jack approaches the broken altar and places the heart into the waiting hands of the headless statue of the saint.

He takes the stone-cold throne under its shadow, the wolf at his right laying down with its eye turned on the crowd and teeth bared for all to see and know. The light of the moon spills inside through the collapsed roof illuminating the altar, moths dancing in the shine.

The statue shifts without sound - moves as if made of flesh and blood, still a crumbling stone - fingers gently lowering the wreath of thorns to rest on Jack's head betwixt the horns of Herne's crown before it becomes immobile yet again.

"By the law of the first witch, Hecate, Queen of Night, I am your king," Jack speaks, his voice carrying in the hall. "Henceforth, all debts owed to Queen of Night are paid in full. The war of hers is over, and no witch will side with singing whispers. Those are my decrees."

Cold slowly seeps into his hands and feet, the kind that hurts to the bone unlike the pain that numbs his side, blood oozing from the wound and gathering between his crossed legs. His stomach turns with disgust.

"Walpurgisnacht is ending, you can swear your allegiance to me."

The first is witch of the woods, all three of them, with small seashells sewn into their hair clinking melodiously. The girl giggles when she kisses his knee, the crone lowers herself leaning on her cane.

"Lead us into new as you are wont to do," the mother whispers.

A procession of witches follows, some offering him their words - the most keeping to themselves - until the moon is gone from the night sky and only Gabriel and Ana remain.

The wolf snarls at them approaching Jack. Neither of them pays it any attention.

"I think my aunt kissed your knee," Gabriel, holding bundled fur, speaks at the same time as Jack lets go of his focus, shaking violently with his eyes open wide, frantic words leaving his lips.

"I'm going to hurl."

True to his words, he turns left, sliding off the altar, sticky clumpy blood between his thighs - god, the feeling is horrendous - finds blindly purchase with his palms, and retches. It still doesn't come out. It won't. The knowledge only makes him gag and heave more. Between the bouts he barely notices being wrapped in the fur and shifted, something's propping his forehead - leather, glove.

Slowly, he regains the control of his breathing, the awkward position borderline uncomfortable but now Jack cannot imagine anything better. His feet are smushed between Gabriel's thighs, palms pressed to his chest, pinned by his arm, the heat painful but it's the good kind of pain chasing away the ache in his bones.

"Fuck, you're cold."

"No shit," Jack murmurs. "She told me, one king will fall..."

"...in his place another will rise," Gabriel finishes. "I think I liked it more when I thought I made her up."

"You've got, you know... paint, face."

Gabriel laughs in relief.

"Shower's been out of the question."

"Brought the guns."

"Excalibur and Caliburn would help if..."

"I'd either be mad or dead on the floor," Jack cuts him off, coughing in the middle of the sentence and wincing as he finishes.

"But you did it. We have to get you patched up."

"We did it." Jack closes his eyes, letting the weariness overtake him for a moment. "Banshee's next."

[beeexx]

Set after 2x6, Alex and Kyle talk about things.

You can read it here  on my ao3 too. Just a little snippet I wrote after everything so to say.

“I need a friend.” That’s the words Alex wakes up to when he finally crawls out of his bedroom to open the door to Kyle’s persistent ringing. His cheek has a crease from sleeping in a weird position on his pillow and his hair is sleep tousled.

At the sight of Alex Kyle’s eyebrow shoots upwards and his mouth open.

“Wait, were you sleeping?” Alex is too tired to feel bothered by the fact that he is indeed only wearing sweatpants and a blanket wrapped around himself.

“Maybe.” He mutters

“Dude, it’s like 1pm.”

“Yeah well…”

“Okay, maybe you need a friend too, can I come in?” Alex bites back the reply of we’re not friends which threatens to escape. Also, the fact that he steps aside to let Kyle in probably means they are. From behind him Kyle picks up two plastic bags and sidesteps Alex to get inside. 

“Just make yourself comfortable.” He mutters to the empty space and closes it slowly. His brain really hasn’t woken up enough for this. He walks into his bedroom and puts on a t-shirt and an old ratty jumper lying at the back of his closet. When he finally makes it to the kitchen where Kyle is he decides that Kyle and him are definitely friends because a cup of hot steaming coffee is pushed into his hands. He can’t help the moan he lets out at the sip he takes. Kyle just chuckles and leans back against the counter, looking happy. 

“So, what’s up?”

“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, if you’re not here to talk about it then why are you here?”

“Well it was this, the gym or gettin drunk, and before you ask, yes I already tried the gym. It didn’t do the trick. And the second option being alcohol, it is 1pm and I am not in the habit of getting drunk at that time, and I also have a job to go to tomorrow and I didn’t think you would appreciate getting drunk with me. Because, well because you have a job to go to as well. So I had to get creative and hanging out honestly seemed like the best option I had.”

Alex takes another sip.

 “Should I feel offended by the fact that I rank the lowest on that list?” 

“I thought you might say that so I bought bribing material.” He looks through one of the plastic bags and holds up a couple of Airheads and a packet of flaming hot Cheetos. Kyle wiggle his eyebrows.

“Yeah that is definitely not bad bragging material.” Alex puts the coffee down and takes the snacks off Kyle.

“I haven’t had Airheads in so long.”

“They used to be your favourite when we grew up.”

“You remember?” Alex is actually surprised to hear that.

“Of course I remember. I don’t even know why you like them so much but today I am definitely not judging because on the way here I stopped and probably bought mine and your weights combined in snacks.”

“You really must be having a bad day.” Alex laughs.

“I drove all the way here and brought enough snacks to give me diabetes in 20 years time, so yes I definitely am.” Kyle says and picks out a bag of Moams from the bags. Alex peeks over his shoulder to see that Kyle definitely wasn’t lying. The bags or filled up with different kinds of snacks to honestly last Alex 6 months. 

“Did you at least bring anything to drink with all of this?”

Kyle replies by taking out a six packs of Mountain Dew and Coke and Alex shakes his head but goes for the Mountain Dew.

“I haven’t had this shit since I was a kid, that’s for sure.” He takes out a glass and hands one to Kyle before he fills his glass up with the soda. He takes a sip and it tastes just like he remembers, sickly sweet. He takes an even bigger sip.

“So, what’s next then?”

“I have thought of that too my friend.” Kyle says and apparently he has because what he does next is that he he puts a stack of DVDs in front of Alex and steps back.

“Wow, you really have.” Alex leans over and looks at the selection. He spots Back to the Future at the top. 

“I have.”

“Star Wars? Really?” Alex holds the DVD up.

“Oh yes, I am desperate enough to watch Star Wars, that should tell you something.”

“Yeah, but Star Wars, that’s a new level even for you.”

Kyle snorts and pops some popcorn into his mouth. 

“I didn’t know you even owned this.” Kyle shrugs.

“I bought them a while back but I’ve not really had the time to watch them.”

“I see… well you know what sure. Let’s watch Star Wars.” Alex picks up one of the bags along with his snacks and walks into the living room, Kyle in tow. 

“This is a nice place.” Kyle notes as he lays himself down onto the couch like he owns the place. Alex lets him, just because he’s having a day. He sits down on the other end and opens up the Cheetos. 

“Thanks.”

“The military pay for this?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm, not bad.”

Alex picks up the DVD.

“Are you sure you want to watch this?”

“I’m probably the only 28 year old who hasn’t seen Star Wars, I feel like I’m missing out on part of my culture.”

“I mean yeah you probably are the only person our age who hasn’t seen this. You know you’re supposed to start with episode IV right?”

“What? How does that make any sense. Why?” 

Alex laughs at the obvious confusion Kyle seems to feel over this.

“George Lucas had the idea for Star Wars for a long time and while he was making the first film he had already figured out a lot of the backstory and what happened before it. But because he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t completely flop he waited to make the others after the success was already certain of the three first films.”

The room’s silent and Kyle’s looking at him like he’s slightly insane.

“Okay, you asked.” Alex says, his cheeks only heating a little.

“Yeah, no, okay that was totally on me. I did ask.”

Alex replies by chucking a Cheetos at his face and Kyle’s reflexes kick in and he catches it mid air. He looks proud and Alex just rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, are you sure you want to spend the afternoon watching Star Wars of all things? I’m sure I can find something that you’d actually enjoy.”

“Nope, I’m certain.” Alex relents and puts on episode IV. He’s having a little bit of a hard time  believing this whole to be fair but whatever if Kyle doesn’t want to talk about it then he’s not going to push him. 

Alex lasts about 40 minutes of munching snacks and drinking Coke like he’s 15 again, and a part of him enjoys it because he doesn’t have to think about…...things……. but he’s been living by his own motto when it comes to everyone which is that he left bullshit in Iraq. He sighs and presses pause.

“Hey, that Luke person was just about to do some training with the erm stick….oooo lightsaber, why did you turn it off?”

Alex is surprised Kyle actually seems to have grasped what is going on.

“The fact that you’re keeping up tells me this is serious enough that we need to have a conversation.”

Kyle’s eyes widens and he slumps down in his seat and crosses his arms.

“Are you pouting like a child??”

“No.” The tone is so petulant Alex laughs.

“Come on, what’s going on? I’m trying to be a friend now. For real totally trying.” Kyle grimaces

“I’d rather watch Luke Skytalker.”

“Walker.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’d rather watch him and Han Solo save Carrie Fisher.”

“Princess Leia, also you know who Carrie Fisher is?”

“Of course I know who she is, I was a jock but I wasn’t blind.”

Alex can buy that.

“Nope, we’re still talking.”

Kyle sighs and lies down completely on the couch. 

“Okay, well the other day was definitely weird. I’ve been avoiding Liz because, well I am struggling a little bit with having to deal with her choosing Max and me doing her every bidding which is clearly not healthy so I went to this gay bar just to get away a little from everything and I ran into Isobel. Now I like Isobel, and we danced and had a good time and then we were totally gonna sleep with each other but I chickened out because I kind of like this other girl so I went back to the hospital to see if she was still around only to find out that she was in surgery, all alone without telling me anything…. and I’ve been feeling kind of off since.” He rambles on.

“Wait, did you just tell me you went to a gay bar?” Alex cannot believe this. Kyle groans and hides his face.

“My hopes were that you would hyper focus on me and Isobel almost sleeping together rather than the gay bar part.”

“Oh you and Isobel almost sleeping together that doesn’t surprise me one bit to be honest. I thought it would happen sooner than this.”

“....what?” Kyle shouts.

“But you, Kyle ‘Hyper Masculine’ Valenti went to a gay bar?”

“Can we focus on the other parts of the story?”

“No, definitely not.”

“Ugh, well I’m very comfortable in myself and my sexuality thank you very much but even us straight guys enjoy putting glitter on our faces from time to time.”

“Oh my god.” Alex laughs, loving this. “You had glitter on your face?”

“Totally.”

“Please tell me you have pictures.”

“Sorry.”

“Well that’s just a crime, you went to a gay bar with glitter on your face and didn’t take any photos?”

“You can just come with me next time and see.”

“Honestly I might, it sounds very tempting.” Alex jokes and Kyle smiles. 

“Back to the issue please.”

“What is the issue exactly?”

“I don’t even know, I like Steff and I thought we had something going on. But now I’m worried about her too, and then the whole Isobel thing and it’s all just messed with my head.”

“I don’t mean to make it into a competition over who’s had a worse day out of the two of us, but I honestly think I win.” Alex says without thinking. His eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“No I mean nothing by that.”

“Pfft, you left bullshit in Iraq, well I left bullshit in high school, so what’s going on? I’m only going to assume it has something to do with you staying in bed like a teenager to 1pm.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this... Well I went with Maria to find out more information about her mom’s disappearance and we ended up in the middle of nowhere with this crazy guy who stabbed me in the chest and chased Maria through a cornfield. Michael came later too, but Maria had already disabled the guy by then and I was mostly fine. Then we find out the crazy guy has a twin who is well, not crazy and shoots his brother in front of us and tells us to call an ambulance and then get the hell out of there. Which we do and then after coming down from the adrenaline of almost dying well, I have a threesome with Maria and Michael….”

Kyle spits the soda out. 

“What the fuck?!”

“So I win then?”

“Oh totally, but also what the fuck? You had what now? A threesome?”

“Yeah.” Alex runs a hand through his hair and avoids looking at Kyle. 

“But you’re gay.”

“Yeah definitely.”

“Erm so why? I mean not that I’m against threesomes, you do you if you know what I mean. I am however having a little bit of trouble understanding why you slept with the love of your life and your best friend in this world?”

Alex tries not to flinch at the words because he’s kind of tried to stay in denial about the whole goddamn thing and when it’s put in the terms of love of your life and best friend in the whole world it sound really stupid.

He shrugs.

“I just… I just… I don’t know I didn’t want to be alone after everything that had just happened. I mean getting stabbed is not something that’s ever happened to me. It wasn’t exactly common when I was deployed so getting sneaked up on and then assaulted wasn’t something I wanted to go home to an empty house with. I have enough PTSD already and that was just doomed to set of insomnia for a while. So staying was better than leaving and then one thing led to another.”

“Wow man...that’s tough. How are you feeling?”

“How often do you think I end up sleeping to 1pm?”

“So, is this one of those instances where I have to go beat Michael up?”

Despite all it makes Alex smile. He feels grateful for Kyle.

“No it wasn’t his fault. And also we’re not in high school anymore, I could totally take the both of you on even with just one leg.”

“Yeah that’s definitely true. Well you say the word and I will drive over and drag him out the junkyard myself.”

Alex smiles again.

“Thanks, but no need.”

“So you’re not angry?”

“No no, not angry, I just…”

“He chose Maria again?”

Alex wonders if it’s all written on his face and that’s why Kyle seems to be able to read it all.

“No it’s not really that. I just. I feel anger towards my dad sometimes. Because he fucked me up so badly when I was young.”

“Hey hey, there’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Kyle puts his hand down between them on the sofa, leaving it there for Alex to take if he wants to. He exhales.

“I went to therapy after I lost my leg. It’s the first time I went. I should have gone way earlier because my pile of issues were huge even before I lost it. I was forced to go when I lost my leg, because even then I was convinced I didn’t need help. Because going to therapy is the weakest thing a man can do. That’s what I heard on repeat in my head when I was being wheeled into her office a month after the truck had exploded with me in it. It was his voice saying, “You’re weak Alex, you’re weak” over and over again…”

Kyle doesn’t say anything, Alex has turned his head away, staring in the opposite wall so he doesn’t have to look at Kyle’s face. 

But…

He does take Kyle’s offer up on support and grabs his hand on the couch in reassurance. Kyle grips it tightly and Alex continues.

“We didn’t really talk too much about my life before the Air Force. She was a good therapist, she really was but I wasn’t really there to unpack the trauma of having all my self worth being beaten out of me by my father, so we didn’t. Which is why, now that I’m back here that the things that happened before I enlisted have just been pushed away and undealt with for years. Which is not the ideal way of dealing with issues. They are all just being dragged back up again and I keep going in circles around it. So sleeping with Maria and Michael really wasn’t the solution to anything, but I’m not sure it made anything worse either.”

Kyle grasps his hand again encouraging him to go on. 

“Michael’s the only person I’ve ever had any sort of relationship with, the only person I’ve ever really wanted to be with too but when we met I was young and the issues had only just begun. Michael had his own set of problems too and while I am definitely guilty in how things went down between us then and now I still even now, I just…”

He starts scratching at a loose thread on the sofa, just to have something to do. 

“Love always comes with some sort of conditions. That’s all thanks to my dad… I can’t escape the feeling of every time I let myself be vulnerable something is going to happen that ruins it. That I’m not good enough or that I’m not loveable because I am who I am… I don’t like myself at times because my dad drilled that into me, that I am unlovable, and if I don’t love myself how is anyone else supposed to? I never feel secure either, in myself or any partner. It’s just a big mess tangled together.”

Alex takes breath and bites down the tears. Even talking about it is really hard for him. 

“I love Maria as a friend, but I guess she’s just had this ability to make me feel safe where no one else has, not even Michael. And it isn’t Michael’s fault really, because he didn’t know what I needed, how could he? I didn’t even know at the time… I just know that after what happened between us that it’s time to move on, move forward and demand better for myself. I just want more than what I’ve been given before…”

“Wow, I really should have brought alcohol shouldn’t I?”

Alex chuckles watery and looks over at Kyle who looks like he’s been hiding his own tears.

Ugh, not really how he planned for this day to go. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to put all that on you.” He clears his throat in embarrassment.

Kyle looks annoyed and pulls on Alex’s arm. He doesn’t understand but moves closer to Kyle. When he’s close enough Kyle wraps his arms around him and Alex is stunned into silence.

“Don’t ever apologize to me Alex. Especially not for something like this, okay?”

Alex nods silently and for a moment allows himself be held. After a while he distangles himself and moves away. Kyle lets him. 

“So, are you and Michael over then, for good?”

Alex takes a long moment before he replies.

“I always had this idea that we would end up together, but after everything I honestly don’t know any more. If I live long enough then maybe yeah in the future. But not for a while. I need some time to figure out who I am.”

“Okay, well even so, even after what you and Michael have been through, however bad it was at times it would make some sense too if you wanted to give yourself some time to mourn him and whatever you had together. If you don’t then that hole in your chest might just expand forever.” He says softly. Alex gulps and sighs, refusing to cry again.

“Y-yeah.”

They’re both quiet for a while, Alex just sitting with what he’s come to terms with.

“So, more Star Wars?” Alex nods and jumps on the distraction Kyle offers. He opens up a package of Maryland cookies and munches them down.

All this food is looking more and more like comfort food to him.

…….

Two films later Kyle is laying on the floor, crumbs on his chest and his head in his phone trying to figure out tiktok dances. Alex has taken up the whole couch and he feels drunk. He probably is going through a sugar high because his whole body is buzzing with energy.

“I can’t remember the last time I had this much sugar.” He groans and eats an M&M.

“Me neither.” Kyle is definitely looking way to concentrated on that tiktok thing.

“Kyle you’re almost thirty, are you sure there isn’t an age limit on the app?”

“Shut up.” Kyle mutters but puts the phone down. Alex snort and throws some popcorn at him.

“Do you have any food around?” 

Alex shrugs, he has no clue. Kyle groans but gets up and walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing a pair of Alex’s sweatpants that are way too small for him, but the day spent eating just junk food, the jeans he arrived in had long gone been discarded of. Kyle bangs about in the kitchen for a while and Alex doesn’t move because he’s kind of comfortable where he is.

“You have pizza, that will do.” Kyle declares and comes back out with the stack of DVDs that had been left in there earlier.

“So you pick something. I need something other than the force, lightsabers and aliens. I feel like we should both be done with aliens for the night.”

“Then why did you bring Infinity War?”

“What? I like that film.”

“God who are you?”

“What? It’s really good, also Captain America is inspiring.”

“Patriotism and steroids your thing Valenti?”

“Funny, no, well you know what he’s actually pretty hot and he’s workout routine is impressive as hell.”

“Honestly, I’m more into Robert Downey JR. and that man is over 50.” Alex quips back. Kyle looks thoughtful.

“Nah, still digging Chris Evans more.”

“I mean blondes were never my type.”

“Yeah that much is clear.” Kyle snorts. Alex throws some more popcorn at him and Kyle whacks him with a pillow.

They end up watching Legally Blonde instead and this is definitely one of the strangest days Alex’s ever had. But it’s also kind of the best ones he’s ever had too, not that he’s letting Kyle know that of course.

It gets late, way after 2am and Alex is not cruel enough that he is going to let Kyle drive home at that time.

“Okay, I’ll stay but I am taking the couch.” Kyle says. Alex scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous, this couch is really uncomfortable, it will mess up your posture for sure.” Kyle eyes it suspiciously.

“My bed is big enough for two.”

“Are you sure?” Kyle looks uncertain.

“I’m sure.” Alex says reassuringly. 

So, they end up sharing a bed just like they used to do when they were kids and things were good and normal between them. Also Alex’s bed is definitely big enough for the two of them. He invested in this bed when he decided to stay here long term. He’s spent too many years of his life sleeping in uncomfortable beds that he’s done with that forever. So he had splashed out on this because he deserved it. And he was nearing 30, his back definitely deserved it.

“This reminds me of us as kids.” Kyle says later when they are comfortable. Ales chuckles.

“Yeah same, I hope you’re not still a snorer.”

“I haven’t snored a day in my life.”

“That’s definitely a lie and you know it.”

Kyle laughs and fake snores. Alex snorts at the ridiculousness of it all.

He falls asleep feeling a little better though.

……..

At 4:30 am they are abruptly woken up by someone knocking on his door.

“What the fuck?!” Kyle groans. Alex doesn’t even turn over, instead he starts poking Kyle’s arm. He refuses to get up. Kyle groans some more but after a while he gives in and leaves.

Alex is so tired he doesn’t even listen for who it is. That’s a mistake.

The person who has decided to come disturb him at this god forsaken hour appears to be Isobel, and her voice is loud. 

“Oh my god Kyle, you left the bar a changed man I see. I can’t believe you slept with Alex.”

Alex sits up immediately, as quick as he can with just his one leg and pulls the duvet up to cover himself. Her eyes trail over him and Alex brains clicks into action because that’s definitely what this looks like to an outsider. Kyle comes running in, his hair a mess, shirtless and still looking half asleep.

“That’s definitely not what happened.” He says, Isobel narrows her eyes.

“Well it’s not really any of my business. I hope you used protection.” She sits down on the bed and Alex doesn’t understand what is happening because Isobel and him are definitely not close, and for her to sit down on the bed like she knows him is strange as hell. 

“What are you doing here Isobel?” He asks.

“Oh, well we’ve been trying to get in contact with both of you for hours, but none of you have been replying. You usually answer when Michael or Maria calls but you dodged those too, which is strange but whatever.”

Alex honestly doesn’t even know where his phone is, he hadn’t looked at it all day yesterday, so he definitely has no clue what has been going on in the life of people outside this house.

“But after everything that happened I felt like being nice and charitable and drive all the way over here. I also thought you’d be up by now Captain, doesn’t your day start at 5 normally?”

Normally yeah, he might be up by this time, but not when he’s consumed his own weight in sugar and gone to bed late while dealing with things, then he doesn’t.

“So I’m charity now?” He says instead.

“Something like that, come on let’s get going. Chop Chop.”

“What happened?” Kyle asks.

“Max remembers something, from a dream maybe. Alarming things, so come one. I’ll buy you two coffee on the way there.” 

She blows a kiss at Kyle and leaves the room. Kyle gives him a look at Alex sighs.

Yep, no rest in Roswell, that’s for sure.

[skiller0dani]

Lost in Love | Part Five

Summary: You’re Hank Anderson’s daughter, Claire- and you have an obsessive nasty ex fiance, Gavin Reed. A police officer at the DPD whom you’ve been seeing for a few years. He can’t stand the fact that you fell in love with an android of all things. But no matter what he does, leaving him feels like the best decision you’ve ever made. Claire is the source of the humanity that grew in Connor, she showed him how to love- and how to feel.

Pairing: Connor x Claire Anderson (OC)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Detroit Good Ending Spoilers, Violence, Abusive Ex, PTSD

A/N: READ TEXT BELOW. IT’S VERY IMPORTANT TO THE STORY.

SO! Connor is my favorite and this precious baby boy deserves a small fic c: enjoy! The bold word at the top of every part is the corresponding chapter in the game this chapter takes place in. This fic is going to have Connor’s chapters only, and the dialogue will be altered- this isn’t supposed to be exactly like the Game. It’s my adaptation of the story, with my own personal additions added to it. Some of the story will take place after the game’s end.

Also the whole mood for this Part is Already Gone by Kelly Clarkson. If you wanna listen to it while reading I 10/10 recommend.

Part 4 Part 6 Masterlist

The Nest 

Connor finds himself, unsurprisingly, on Claire’s balcony as the sun rises. Claire is still asleep in her bed, her ankle looking much better than it did the night before. The birds chirp and the wind is bitter cold, feeling like it’s biting Connor’s skin. He looks down, noticing that Claire is still wearing his jacket. Claire’s alarm goes off and Connor moves into her bedroom, shutting and locking the doors to the balcony. Claire swings her legs off the side of the bed and Connor notices she’s not wearing any pants- it makes him blush. He turns and heads back to the living room as Claire finishes getting ready. She emerges from her room with a slight limp and hands Connor his jacket with a nervous smile. They’re getting closer- Claire can feel it. Being with him in her apartment is beginning to feel normal- it’s beginning to feel natural. Like he’s supposed to be here. 

“Ready to leave?” Connor asks as she pulls on a jacket. Claire smiles and nods, lacing up her shoes before slightly limping to the door. “Are you going to be okay?” Connor asks, his hand on the door handle. Claire nods, “yeah don’t worry about me.” She tells him as he holds the door open for her. “You look nice.” Connor smiles, noticing how beautiful she is- she really is very beautiful. Claire blushes as Connor lets the door close, “oh Connor I wanted to give this to you.” Claire smiles, handing him the key to her apartment that Gavin gave back. Connor looks surprised but smiles as he takes it from her. They walk down to the car, they’re supposed to meet Hank at the Police Station. Sitting in the car, Claire looks out the window as Connor sets the directions to the Police Station. 

“Been a wild couple of days.” Claire says, and Connor nods. It really has. Connor has never worked with anyone like Claire before. She’s changing him and he hasn’t decided if it’s for the better or not. He feels more vulnerable around her- weaker and stronger at the same time. “Took your time huh?” Hank teases as they approach him, Claire jokingly rolls her eyes as they all climb into Hank’s car. “I’m starving, you hungry sweetheart?” Hank asks, looking at Claire through the rear view mirror. Claire shakes her head, looking out the window. Hank pulls over as they reach a little food truck, he gets out and makes his way over. Connor sits in the car for a little, wondering what’s wrong with Claire. But he gets out and follow Hank. 

Claire stays in the car, trying her hardest to distance herself from Connor for a little bit. She loves him, she knows she does but he can’t love her back. He’s an Android, and him being nice to her is what he was programmed to do. All the nice things he says is what he was programmed to say. She’s trying her hardest to remember that but this connection she feels with him- it just feel so real. She doesn’t feel like it’s all programmed. It can’t be. It has to be real. Claire watches Connor lean against a table with Hank, talking to him. He looks Human, sounds Human, but he isn’t. Why did God have to send her the perfect man that isn’t a man? Why does her heart have to betray her like this? 

Walking up to the apartment, Claire can’t ignore the smell of pigeon shit, it’s everywhere. How the hell did so many pigeons get in here? Connor knocks on the door, and on the second knock there is a loud thump followed by the scuffling of feet. “Stay behind me.” Hank instructs and Connor moves behind him. Claire smiles, despite Hank saying how much he hates Androids, he still protects Connor. Claire tries to walk through after Hank but Connor’s hand stops her, and gently pushes her behind him. It feels like he’s trying to protect her, but why would he want to do that? Claire follows Connor into the apartment, becoming overwhelmed by the smell, “This has to be Deviant’s hideout- only an Android could live with so many damn pigeons.” Claire says, covering her nose with her hand. 

After a bit of poking around they soon discover that this Deviant has the same obsession with rA9. With a journal with writings in it that are undecipherable. Connor gets this look on his face as he slowly approaches a hole in the ceiling- in a flash the Deviant drops onto Connor and sprints into the hallway- Connor stands, “Chase it Connor!” Claire yells and soon he’s down the hallway like a bullet. Hank runs out into the hallway with Claire following behind him- but they can’t match an Androids speed. Watching Connor jump off a moving train Claire follows Hank through a shortcut through other buildings. When they emerge the Deviant is heading straight towards them, “Stop! Police!” Hank yells but the Deviant is barreling towards him. “Dad watch out!” Claire yells, jumping in front of him to shove him to the side. The Deviant shoulders her and skids off to the right, Claire looses her balance and tips over the edge of the building- her hands grabbing onto the sides.  

Hank is scrambling to get up, when Connor bursts out of the cornfield, and straight towards her. He doesn’t even glance at the Deviant as he jumps to another building. Connor takes Claire’s arms and pulls her up back onto the roof- his arms finding their way around Claire’s waist. Connor looks off to where the Deviant escaped, “Connor, you saved my life. Again.” She breathes, her heart hammering in her chest. Connor releases a breath as he gently leads Claire away from the edge of the roof and down the stairs. 

Claire and Connor enter Claire’s apartment, both silent. Neither of them spoke on their way back to the apartment. Claire sinks into the couch as Connor shrugs his jacket off, and hangs it on one of the hooks. Connor slowly makes his way besides Claire and she can’t help but be confused by the fact that Connor took his jacket off. He’s never done that before it’s just so...human. Connor rests his head back against the couch, his eyes closing. “Connor, do you sleep?” Claire asks suddenly, causing his eyes to pop open. He turns his head to look at her, his hands interlocked on his chest. “I can, but I don’t need to. I was designed to adapt to any and all work hours- including late hours.” He explains and Claire nods, “I wasn’t.” She joke and to her surprise- Connor lightly chuckles. 

“I thought I was going to die today.” Claire admits and Connor looks over at her, his hand reaching for hers. “I will always be there to save you Claire. I promise.” Connor says sincerely, and Claire looks up at him- there’s something different about his eyes. They look Human, and Connor he just- he feels so Human. “What about when you get sent somewhere else in the Country? You won’t always be here Connor.” Claire tells him sadly, and he doesn’t say anything. It’s true- he could be sent somewhere else at a moments notice. And its strange, but Connor doesn’t want to be sent somewhere else. He want’s to be near Claire, so he can keep his promise. For the first time- Connor is caught between his Duty, and what he truly wants to do. For the first time, Connor feels like...like he’s a slave. For the first time ever- he doesn’t want to do what he was designed to. Stopping Deviant’s is beginning to feel less and less important. 

Without thinking Connor leans forward, and brushes his lips against Claire’s- before they press together fully. The kiss is brief and Connor pulls back in surprise and Claire’s eyes are wide. “I- I should...” Claire stammers, tears in her eyes. Is he trying to hurt her? She loves him, and he can’t love. It’s like some twisted game designed solely to hurt her. Claire stands and rushes back to her bedroom- closing the door behind her. Connor sits up, feeling a horrible heavy pulsing through him. Suddenly he feels something wet on his cheeks and reaches up to touch his face- tears? What is happening to him? Is he crying? Connor stands, he wants to apologize but he doesn’t know why he did that- or why it upset Claire. He gently knocks on the door- leaning against the frame. “..Claire?” Connor says hesitantly. He hears her soft crying and he swears he can feel his heart breaking. 

“Claire can I come in?” Connor asks and when he doesn’t get a response he slowly opens the door. He doesn’t see Claire which makes him panic until he sees the door to the balcony slightly ajar. He gently opens the door to see Claire sitting on the bench with her knees pulled to her chest and tears in her eyes. “Claire I-” “I think you should go Connor.” Claire says softly, tears spilling over. Connor feels his eyes mist and he nods. He doesn’t argue or plead with her- he stands up, grabs his jacket, and leaves. When she hears the door close, she begins to full on sob. Her head down on her knees as cries ripple through her. She feels as though her heart has split into so many pieces she doesn’t even know if she can put them all back together again. Her fists ball and she continues crying on the balcony. The balcony that helped bring them together and the very same balcony that split them apart. 

[quentinsquill]

Eliot Waugh and the Case of the Cocooned Conjurers: Chapter 6

This is more of an interlude than a chapter, but I hope you enjoy it! 

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218352/chapters/41841959

Much later, as more ale finally carried me off to sleep, I was again jerked awake by cries of either fear or pain—I couldn’t be sure. I stumbled from my bed and pulled on a robe as Margo sat up in her own bed on the other side of the room.

 “What the hell?” She questioned sleepily, and I put a hand up.

 “Stay put. I’ll see to it.” I hurried out and down the back hallway, suddenly aware the sounds were emanating from the guest room. Quentin hadn’t warded the door and I was both surprised and touched by his trust as I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

 Quentin was writhing on the bed, his nightshirt twisted up around his hips, the sheets pulled free of their corners, wads of their fabric balled in both hands. The cries were wordless but full of such pain that my stomach clenched in sympathy. I lit a lamp with a motion of my left hand and its light showed me the doctor’s face, tense and slick with sweat and tears, even though he was still asleep. I leaned over him.

 “Dr. Coldwater?” I touched his shoulder. “Quentin!”

 The young man came awake with a shriek that made me flinch backward. His dark eyes seemed sightless for a moment, locked in the grip of whatever he’d dreamed of, then they met mine. As he became more aware, shame filled his expression.

 “Eliot . . .? Gods above, I’m sorry.” He sat up and ran a hand over his face. “I woke you.”

 “It’s all right, I don’t always sleep soundly myself.” I went to the wash basin to fetch a cloth, which I soaked with cool water. Quentin looked almost boyish in the lamplight, and I gave into the impulse to wipe his face for him. He jerked back and I sat on the edge of the bed. “Easy, easy . . . I won’t hurt you.” I wiped his smooth cheeks, removing the drying sweat and tear tracks. His shame was radiating off him in waves and I set the cloth aside. “The Great War must have been very difficult.”

 “Yes. I’ve done almost everything I can to forget its events, but as you can see . . .” He looked down at the twisted sheet in his hands and tried to smooth them out. “Look at the mess I’ve made.”

 “As messes go, I’ve seen worse.” I rose. “Wait here a moment,” I told him before ducking into the kitchen to grab a bottle of brandy and two tumblers before going back to him. He’d arranged his nightshirt back around his thighs and was tucking the bedsheet around the mattress corners.

 “Don’t bother with that, my good fellow, it’s all right. Here, have a drink.” I poured him a tipple and he accepted the glass, sipping from it a few times.

 “Thank you, it’s excellent.”

 “I usually spare no expense when it comes to my liquor. Margo complains about my expensive tastes, even though she denies that she shares them.” I took a sip of the brandy.

 “You said you and Margo left Brakebills after only one semester?” Quentin asked after a few beats of silence.

 “Indeed. It isn’t the right path for every magical adept.”

 “But you found your way there, like most students do?”

 “Yes. I chased one of my father’s milk cows down into a dry wash and into a cornfield. I got lost and the next thing I knew, I was pushing my way out of the stalks and onto the front lawn of the school. You?”

 Quentin took another sip of brandy.

 “I—I was a special case. I didn’t find Brakebills—they came for me, instead.” He paused, turning the brandy tumbler over in his fine-boned hands. “You see . . . I was—I was in an asylum.” His dark eyes flicked away from mine. “My father raised me on his own after my mother died of smallpox. I was three and I don’t remember much about her. But from the time I was small, I wasn’t—uhm—usual, I suppose the word is. I was a good student, especially with creative writing and figures, but I didn’t enjoy playing with the other boys, who liked to scrap and play stickball. I liked to read and wear costumes and daydream. When I was sixteen, my father sent me to a mental facility in Brooklyn, not far from where I grew up. He insisted they evaluate me because I wasn’t maturing properly. I was very frightened, and then one night the Brakebills professors came for me. I realized then that I was a magical adept and that’s why I was so different. Two years later, I left my studies to fight in the Great War.”

 I paused and did the calculations.

 “That would make you 22 years old?”

 “I had a birthday in July,” Quentin nodded.

 “My Gods,” I muttered. “You’re two years younger than I, and—”

 “I know. I look like an old man.”

 “That’s not what I was going to say!”

 “Sorry, go on?”

 “What I was going to say is that I find your courage extremely impressive. You were just a boy when you joined the war.”

 “I felt like I had no right to refuse. Magic had given me so much—a way out of Brooklyn, out of a future as some bored accountant or law firm clerk, an extended stay at the asylum my father sent me to. There were no other healers that specialized in battle magic, and our ranks were dwindling.”

 “So it’s the war you dream about,” I deduced, and Quentin drained the rest of his brandy with one long swallow.

 “Certain aspects of it.” One hand rose to his silver hair and finger-combed a tangle.

 “Margo told me she delivered herbs and potions to a magical clinic during the war and that she saw a man with hair like yours. He’d fought in the fairy realm, but the doctor told Margo he’d gone mad there. She doesn’t believe he survived because she never saw him there again.”

 Silence spun out as Quentin stared down into his empty glass.

 “She’s right. There were ten of us that traveled into the fairy realm. Three returned. One died at the hospital. The other, an older man who acted as our general, ended his own life a few weeks later. I’m the last of us and I fear I’m going mad—” Emotion broke the last word in two and Quentin clapped a hand over his mouth. I took the glass from his other hand and set it aside before touching his arm.

 “You aren’t,” I said, leaving my hand there, just above his elbow, when he didn’t flinch away. “What you are is traumatized by your memories because you choose to avoid other people. They’re all up here—” I tapped his temple—” “with nowhere to fly to but your dreams. I want you to know, Quentin, that you can tell me about your experiences if you wish, and I’ll keep them. I won’t even share them with Margo if you say not to.”

 The young doctor looked up at me.

 “Why would you want to help me, to keep memories that I can barely stand?”

 Why indeed . . .

 “Eliot?” Quentin asked, prompting me from my thoughts, and I patted his arm.

 “Many hands lighten the burden, my dear fellow. Now, try to get some sleep.” I glanced out the window and guessed that sunrise was only a few hours away. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

[endlesstomorrowstory]

II. Indecision

Genesis believed that every person should know something about the people who bore them. Especially as Genesis Adams felt like she was on the cusp of being an adult. 

At 21, the end of her junior year in college, Genesis only knew very few things about her birth parents. She had two favorite memories:  her mother had smelled like dew and fresh cut grass, and her father had once told her ‘every person has a place in the universe, even if you don’t know where it is, it will find you.’

 Most of her early memories were in tatters. Which caused a gaping rift in Genesis’ heart, because she knew something was missing.

 Not that her life had been bad. Her aunt and uncle had done everything in their power to make sure her childhood had been happy.

 They had been more than kind. Especially as Aunt Catherine had not meant to take in her sister's daughter. Genesis had heard the story of her arrival on exactly five occasions. It mostly occurred around the holidays, when her aunt had had a bit too much eggnog.

 This had never been an issue until last night, during the last recounting. It had been her cousin’s birthday dinner. Trudy was 18 years old and had just graduated high school that spring. The kid was about to go off to college – now only three weeks away. Her aunt was thrilled to have her two oldest girls going off to college, and that Trudy would be at the same school as Genesis so they could keep an eye on each other. Trudy had always been sister like to Genesis, so it wasn’t like she minded. Though Trudy was in a bit of a rebellious stage and chafed at the idea of having a watcher.

 Anyway, at Trudy’s birthday her aunt had had one too many glasses of wine. As Genesis had slung her aunt’s arm over her shoulder and helped her off to bed, her aunt had started recounting that story again. But this time her aunt had let slip a detail that Genesis had never heard before.

 Until the moment Genesis had arrived at their door on that fateful winter night, Aunt Catherine hadn't even realized her sister had a daughter. And for a second, when she’d first seen little Genesis in the doorway, Catherine hadn’t quite remembered ever having a sister.

 This was world shattering for Genesis. Because how did one forget having a sister?

 According to her aunt, the man who’d brought Genesis to her had smiled, and Catherine had shook herself. Her aunt had nodded, because clearly she had a sister. She just couldn't quite place her name, or face, or anything.  But then, the man smiled again, and Catherine stopped thinking about it and offered the man who said he was from Child Services a glass of water. The man declined, saying he had to be on his way.

 He’d told Catherine her sister, whom she still couldn’t picture in her mind as well as her sister’s husband had died in a tragic accident. As next of kin, the child was brought to Catherine. Catherine, having a daughter who still just a baby, agreed to take her niece in. Her husband, a God-fearing man, would not hear of doing anything different. Especially as the child was quite adorable and sadness seemed to seep off of her in waves.

 Somehow Catherine never thought to ask what happened to her sister, beyond it being a tragic accident. She forgot to ask how the child had come to be on her doorstep clothed in odd styled clothing - which looked better suited to a beach. She forgot to ask the man's name.  She forgot to ask a lot of things.

 But most importantly she's forgotten to ask a child's name. Or anything about her sister or her sister’s husband.

 So Catharine had been left with a child, with no background and no information. And finally, when they were alone and the child turned her sad blue eyes up at the Catherine, she was struck speechless. It was her husband that had the wherewithal to ask the child's name. Well, when the child said she needed a new name, her husband laughed. But the child would give no name. Catherine, snapping out of whatever daze she'd been in at her husband’s laugh, decided to call her Genesis. Because this was a new beginning, a new start for the young girl. Catherine had named her Genesis.

 It was all very tragic. But Genesis, as an adult, finally understood why her Aunt never spoke about her sister. Why she seemed to avoid the topic completely. In fact, it explained the glazed eyed look her Aunt got at the very mention of Genesis’ prior life.

 It was because she had no memory. Because, maybe, there was no sister, and her Aunt wasn’t really her aunt.

 But Genesis maybe was reading too much into her Aunt’s drunken tale. Maybe her Aunt was just so saddened by her memories that it was easier making stories up.

 And Catherine had been a good parent. Genesis had fond memories of growing up in New Hampshire. She could remember summer days on picnic blankets, her cousin – a toddler – chasing butterflies. Her Aunt, arms around Genesis, sitting out in the sun on a grassy hill reading them stories.

 Aunt Catherine, Uncle Mark, cousin Trudy, and later her young cousin Katie had been all the family Genesis had needed. The four of them had been a family to her when she had nowhere else to go. Genesis had lived in the small town of Groveland Falls since she was five with them.

 It was where grew up. Where she’d had her first crush. Gone to school. Shared her first kiss. Where she’d broken her leg falling out of a tree chasing Trudy.

 It was home.

    Today was a beautiful day, and even though Genesis’ thoughts were stuck on her Aunt’s latest recounting, she tried to shake off the weight and enjoy the day.

 Autumn had come again to Groveland Falls. It was a small farming community, named for a beautiful waterfall that cascaded down a nearby mountain. A couple miles from the center of town. There was a walking trail and everything. Tourists loved to go there.

 Genesis was out and about, heading the opposite way from town. She stood on the dirt road that ran by one of the farmer’s fields on the outskirts of the town. Two years ago a new, shiny paved road had been laid through town, making the dirt one unnecessary. Genesis still found it to be the fasted route back to her Aunt’s house from the Farmer’s Market in town square. The dirt road also ran parallel to Haven Woods, the haunted and much feared forest. The only time the town’s people had ventured in was to look for children that sometimes disappeared.

 The local news blamed ghosts in the woods. The national news blamed a serial killer they’d caught four years ago.

 Genesis blamed herself. The first girl to go missing had been her best friend. Thus Genesis swore tragedy seemed to follow her, even to the quiet town. It had happened when she was in elementary school. Her best friend, Alexis Gordon, had disappeared from the woods.  It still weighed heavy on Genesis’ mind that she had been the last one to see her friend. The town had since given up on finding Alexis; Lexi’s parents had even moved way, not being able to stand the loss of their daughter. Four other little girls had gone missing after Alexis.

 Genesis blamed herself in some ways, though the rational part of her brain said she had been too young to do anything to prevent it. Still, the human heart was not the most rational of places.

 The smell of autumn drifted through the fresh, crisp air. The soft wind picked up red, orange, and gold leaves flinging them around in a playful dance, it tossed the corn silk in the fields making it fly off and into the evening air. The sun was just setting over the mountains that lay far off in the distance; coloring the open fields with glorious shadows. On a day such as this, most people chose to stay indoors and sip warm cocoa by the fire with a good book or movie.

 Yet, the silence of the late afternoon was broken by the melodious clip of Gen’s shoes on the road that ran by the fields. The clip ended shortly as she stopped on the edge of the fields and brushed the corn stalks aside peering into the golden abyss. She shivered slightly, the chill finding its way to her, even though she was snuggled into a soft brown sweater and faded jeans.

 Genesis sighed, still on the edge of the field. It would be easier to follow the road back home, but something tugged at her. Even after Alexis had disappeared she couldn’t help but go back to the woods. She had snuck in after school, or before dinner, or whenever she got the chance. When she was in high school her Aunt had finally realized where she was going, but she didn’t complain. Her Aunt was more understanding than anyone else Genesis knew. Plus the killer had been caught and was in prison, several states away.

 Debating whether to go straight home, Genesis stood a moment more then headed into the cornfields. Her hair snagged on the stalks of corn until she finally tied the mid-length mass at the nape of her neck. The wind, soft as it was, was still crisp enough to stain her cheeks red with cold. Her blue eyes sparkled with delight at finding no one in the fields. Sometimes the farmer or the seasonal workers were moving through them, but not today.

 The play of the wind in the trees, the sound of a babbling brook not far off, these were enough to make one girl happy for just a few moments in eternity. Since no one was around she slipped out of the fields and into the deep serenity of Haven Woods.

 As Genesis’ eyes adjusted, they focused on her marker. The woods had gotten more and more overgrown throughout the years, and she had grown tall enough that she could no longer duck under the brush. Instead she had marked the easiest route with light blue ribbons, the color only visible if you were looking for them.

 She stood at the first marker watching the blue ribbon flap slightly, as a stronger bit of wind gusted by. Genesis shivered slightly, and hugged herself tighter. Without thinking, her legs moved of their own accord, drawing her onto the overgrown path that hadn’t been well used since the eighteen hundreds. Most people in the town would not step foot in the woods at all, let alone far enough to find any semblance of the path that was left. It was rugged and scary looking on the outside, so most people thought it was haunted. Superstitious fools.

 But then, the woods on the other side of town were much better maintained, almost manicured. That set of woods had hiking trails and worn dirt paths – like the one up to the falls. It was much easier to explore those woods. Genesis understood why people preferred Grove Woods.

 But Genesis had a taste for wild things. For shadows and dark hidden paths.

 If there were ghosts or spirits in Haven Woods, well she wasn’t scared. Genesis figured the only ghosts here must be lonely. Their souls still clinging to earth, wafting through the trees and bushes, sending animals scattering away in surprise. She had been coming through Haven Woods far too long to be scared anymore. To her, the ghosts were welcome. They made better company then her cousins most days. Genesis rolled her eyes heavenwards at the thought of her 14-year-old cousin, Katie. Just young enough to still idolize her, but too old to admit she was. And of course, rebellious Trudy. They were both wonderful girls who Genesis loved, but sometimes she wanted to be left alone.

 The thing she loved most about the forest was that it felt alive. It was overflowing with of magic, dancing all around her, stemming from the very heart of the woods. Old magic was here; the kind that brought to mind of faeries or mythical creatures. But if they were here, Genesis had never seen them. And honestly, it was probably her active imagination that thought that.

 Genesis finally broke through trees and from the sort-of-path and entered into a clearing. The weathered and worn Cross Creek Graveyard still stood where it always had. Genesis had figured out that it was mostly Civil War heroes and pioneers that had been buried here. Her last year of high school she had etched the words onto paper and found records in the local library. No one alive remembered these people but her. In middle school, during one flight of fancy, she had dubbed herself the guardian of the place and guardian of the lost souls who lived there.

Once a year, around Halloween, as close as she could come, she polished the stones and cleaned them. In the spring she planted new flowers on every grave and raked the leaves that had fallen.

 Last year during summer break she had untangled the black picked fence until it was once again straight and good as it was going to get. There still wasn’t a gate though, it had fallen off and rusted to long ago for it to be usable. With a smile she stepped in and over to the stone she’d rolled in so she could sit and rest. Setting her small backpack down, she collapsed on the rock and just sat, enjoying the autumn day.

 Dark long lashes veiled her soft blue eyes as she took in the sounds of little animals and birds, the smell of fallen leaves and earth. Genesis at 5’5 folded her frame with pristine grace, the sort that only the young had, until she sat crossed legged and staring at the statue that seemed to guard the graveyard.

 Well, it was more of an archway. A small star supported by two angels who stood in silence, stone eyes tilted skyward. It was almost as if they were reaching for the star, and each other.

  Genesis had always wondered about the angels, who was the architect? Why an archway in the graveyard?  

 Alexis had said, upon first hearing of them, that it must lead to someplace wonderful. Genesis, who loved fantasy and prized freedom above all else, was skeptical but loved the idea of a gateway to another world. It was too bad Lex wasn’t still there to help her speculate why it had been built in the first place. Genesis sometimes imaged what it would be like if Alexis was still there, what they would talk about, the things they would do.

 The leaves rustled behind her, and Genesis whipped her head around. Her eyes settled on two birds, perched on the limb of a lumbering oak, their eyes watching her. “Hello, pretty things.” Genesis murmured. She thought it odd that a dove and a raven should sit together on one branch, but there they were. The two birds stared as if waiting for something to happen.

 The wind picked up so suddenly that Genesis was unsettled from her perch on the rock. It dashed over her, causing her to shutter.

 All around her the forest was coming alive. The birds within the forest took the air crying out in dismay. The raven and dove were the only birds not on wing. The woods seemed to be chilling, getting darker. Genesis felt the edge of fear stab at her, like a snake ready to strike. “What’s happening?” She murmured, as the shadows somehow seemed to spread out, becoming more real. The only time the forest had ever felt scary was the day Lexi had disappeared, but it had not been like this. This was spine quivering fear that stole through her. Shakily, Genesis pulled her backpack back on and stood. Maybe it was time she went home. It was getting dark after all. Genesis gave a half laugh, the sound eerie in the sudden silence as the animals and bird sounds seemed to have completely disappeared.  

 Genesis took a step toward the entry. But without warning, Genesis was pulled from her feet. Lurching to her side she looked to see what had caused it and found nothing there. Genesis screamed as she felt a pull on her leg, though the only thing there was shadows. The inky blackness seemed to be wrapped around her ankle, pulling her toward the stone archway.

 It must be her imagination right? She had an abundance of imagination. Hell, her creative writing teacher at college even told her she might have too much. Yet, it was as if the shadows were a real tangible substance, like molten ink burning her skin.

 Struggling to get up, Genesis made it to her knees when she felt another sharp tug. Soon she was back on the ground and being pulled through the archway.

 When she opened her eyes again there was no other side, just empty blackness and the feeling that the world was falling away.  

[rp-meme-central]

Jacksepticeye plays “Inside” - sentence starters - Part 1

1. “This is what I love. You just hear the trees. You just hear nature. That’s it. You don’t need anything else.” 

2. “I can literally just jump. That’s it. That’s all there is.” 

3. “Was that a bunch of kids in the back of the truck? Is s/he kidnapping kids?” 

4. “Let’s Indiana Jones this shit and get in the fridge.” 

5. “Careful. Don’t fall and break ankles.” 

6. “You don’t see me! You don’t see me, I’m hidden! Look!”

7. “Go! Go, little boy/girl! Go!” 

8. “Oh thank god. That legit like scared the fucking shit out of me.” 

9. “It’s so eerie.”  

10. “Okay, s/he didn’t kill me. I thought s/he was gonna drown me.”

11. “You have to hide long enough for the truck to go by, and then you run.”  

12. “Oh my god, that was terrifying! It was super fucking cool though.” 

13. “Am I safe?” 

14. “This would be terrifying in real life.” 

15. “There’s something really cozy about this. Like, the rain and everything.” 

16. “Oh, cornfields. These are like a horror movie trope.” 

17. “You have to admit, it’s pretty fucking cool looking.” 

18. “What’s that on the ground next to me? Are those like little chicks? Aww, they’re cute!” 

19. “This is awesome.” 

20. “Aww, the little chicks have nowhere to go and they’re following me.” 

21. “Oh! Nice parkour roll.”    

22. “Can I let the chicks in? I feel bad that they’re all out in the rain and I want to save them. I love the little chicks.” 

23. “Oh god, I’m running through pig shit.” 

24. “Are you dead? Oh fuck, no you’re not.” 

25. “What does this thing do?” 

26. “Please don’t get crushed ‘cause of me.” 

27. “But what’s wrong with you guys? Why are you like that?” 

28. “God, that looks painful.” 

29. “Ah, it’s daytime. Yay.” 

30. “Beautiful scenery. What’s that in the distance, though?” 

31. “Oh, those are my footsteps. I thought I heard something chasing me.” 

32. “If I had stayed on it, I would have died.” 

33. “Sorry for all the comparisons, but it’s incredibly like ______.” 

34. “Let’s Batman this shit.” 

35. “Can I jump into this thing again?” 

36. “What was back here, though?” 

37. “What did I just do? What was that?” 

38. “Okay, get ready to jump.” 

39. “Don’t slip and fall and die. That would suck.” 

40. “I’m in the building anyway. That’s all I wanted to do.” 

41. “That’s such a creepy sound. Just listen to it.” 

42. “They’re not moving like humanly. They’re moving like zombies.” 

43. “Nobody notice me please.” 

44. “I didn’t think s/he could see me. Fuck me. Scared the shit out of me.” 

45. “Not enough time!”   

46. “It’s so creepy!” 

47. “Imagine if the world was like that, and you couldn’t go outside because it was just giant robots coming to kill you at all times.” 

48. “So if I act out of place you’re gonna get me?”

49. “Why are they all staring at us?” 

50. “Oh crap, now we have to turn around.” 

51. “I’m perfectly in sync now.”

52. “No. That’s too close. That’s too close. Keep going.” 

53. “Such simple little puzzles, but they’re so good.” 

54. “I think you have to push it and let it roll.” 

55. “Oh, this is some Inception shit going on right now.”  

[thedbdhillbilly]

The Case of Max Jr. Thompson

 No one knows for sure what happened to the Thompsons. Just one day, they never returned to town. Everyone just assumed they had become quite busy on the farm until they noticed how the once green fields of corn had begun to brown and eventually perish. Sure some brave soul would go out to see what had become of the Thompsons but they would never return. Rumors have it that if you were even near that god forsaken field, you’d hear the faint sound of a revving chainsaw. 

That would give some indication of life, right? Of course. But not just by any ordinary person. Not all of the Thompsons disappeared. Little did everyone know, there was a Thompson that the town wasn’t even aware of that had been on that farm his entire life. Born with extreme deformities, Max Thompson was the son of the farmer couple. Ashamed for what they brought into this world, they kept him locked up in a bricked off room and fed him through a hole in a wall for most of his childhood. Max Jr. may have not been very smart but he wasn’t dumb either. He was capable of human thought and his thoughts grew more and more with each passing day. Confusion reached him first. Why was he not allowed to leave this room? Why did the way his parents spoke and treated him not feel good? Was this how he was supposed to be treated? Then, anger enveloped his very being. He deserved better! He wanted to see what was behind that wall and he wanted to explore the world around him! Only at night, did his mother tell him stories of the outside world and described in vivid details of what it’s like. It almost felt like she was mocking him that he’d never see that. 

 It was difficult for Max to speak. With his face underdeveloped, it was already hard enough for him to breathe through his nose. His mouth hung open most of the time to make it easier for him to breathe but when he did speak, it always sounded more like a low growl and his speech was rough. He would always ask his mother when he would be able to leave but her response was always ‘soon’. It was never soon enough for the boy and if he ever asked his father, he would only be scolded for even bothering him with such a question.

 That was until one day he waited for his parents to go out. And when they did, he continually collided against the wall with his shoulder. He was going to break out one way or another. Clouds of dust swirled around him as he continued his efforts into busting down that wall. And with all that hard work, he eventually did. It was his first time in years was he able to see the inside of his house before his parents barricaded him inside that small room. It all felt so familiar and yet so new to the Hillbilly. Was he really in there that long? 

 He explored his home for a while before taking his first foot outside. Seeing this much green overwhelmed him. Why would his parents keep him away from something so beautiful? The air was crisp and felt good against his skin. His mother never said it, but his father always reminded him that he wasn’t a looker. Max hasn’t seen what he really looked like before and with the thought in mind, he looked around his home for a mirror. One he eventually found in his parents’ room at his mother’s amoire. His hair was patchy and extra sheets of skin stretched over his face awkwardly. His ears were folded in in a dopey fashion and his eyes weren’t positioned right at all either. He always knew he was probably not the most attractive guy since the most he was able to see were his arms and down. His skin wasn’t the softest and some of his bone was exposed through his limbs along with bulbous boils. But never before did he think he was this disgusting in appearance. He was a monster.  Again, he grew overwhelmed. He was beyond angry when he saw his own reflection. It was almost like he was taking it out on himself when he discovered a thick stapler in his father’s workshop. He grabbed it and went back to his parent’s bedroom to use it against himself. Maybe he can fix his appearance! Max tried his best to make the flesh on his arms more smooth and flat before stapling it down. It hurt much more than he expected, prompting a pained howl from him but he had to keep trying. He repeated the same process to his face but when he was done, he checked over his work but it didn’t seem like much had changed. He was doomed to look like this forever, wasn’t he? At the sound of the bedroom door opening, he was faced with his parents. Max, covered in blood from where he tried to fix himself, stood as straight as he could though hunched over somewhat due to the curve in his spine he was born with. His parents stood in horror to see their son with blood all over him, the floor, and on the amoire. How did he get out? The idea of trying to coax him back into the room was the first idea his mother came up with but he only argued back that he wanted to live more normally just like them. Then, his father barked at him and made remarks that reminded him of his monstrous appearance but that’s where he had crossed the line.

No more would Max take this. He deserved much more than this and it wasn’t fair that his parents kept so much from him and treated him the way they did. Out of anger, he grabbed for his father by his neck and slammed him against the wall. His grip grew tighter and tighter as his father struggled and grasped to get away from him. And then, his neck snapped. He let go of his lifeless body and turned to his horrified mother who turned and ran out.

Not allowing her to escape, he chased after her. She was just as guilty as he was for doing this to him. He didn’t ask to be born and deciding not to kill him when he was an infant and forcing him to live in that hole for so many years was a mistake. If they chose to let him live this long, they should have at least granted him the ability to roam this world. This isn’t his fault, it was theirs. She brushed past the fields of corn and into the slaughterhouse where she climbed past the gates and hooks until she subsequently tripped in a puddle of uncleaned cow blood. Paralyzed with fear, she couldn’t stand back up. Max grew closer and closer to her until his gaze turned to a heavy hammer fitted against the tool rack. Curiously, he picked it up with ease and looked it over before deciding this is what he wanted to use. 

 His mother tried to crawl away but it was a fruitless effort. He stepped a dirty boot over her back to keep her in place before bashing it down against her head several times. She screamed before it made contact with her cranium but the second it made contact, she went quiet. Her muscles spasm’d as brain matter and skull fragments splattered all over the two. When he had his fill, he stepped off of her and carried her body back inside and tossed it unceremoniously into the hole in the wall along with his father’s corpse. Over time, he sealed them inside there with new bricks.

But still, even after killing them his rage continued to fuel him. He grew fond of the tool rack and fancied a shiny looking chainsaw. Sure it took a few times to understand how the strange machine work but again, he wasn’t dumb and was able to teach himself eventually. It also grew to be his favorite tool to use. The sensation of the vibrations surging through his hands and the thrill of sprinting out and slicing through a cow always felt good and relieved him of this pent up anger.  If anyone even dared to step on his farm, he would go out of his way to get them. He wasn’t going to let anyone ridicule him anymore. Max wasn’t going to even let them have the chance of doing so and he’d do anything to prevent that. This is his land now and no one was ever going to touch his beautiful cornfield. Unfortunately for him, Max didn’t know how to take care of it. It only saddened him more when it began to die out and turn brown. He did all he could to save it but nothing he did worked. Maybe everything he touched died, he thought. And if that was his purpose, then so be it.

[shirtlesssammy]

Hollywood Babylon: 2x18 Recap

On a dark and unstormy night, at a cabin in the woods, a porch swing creaks ominously. With flashlight in hand, a woman walks around yelling for her friends. Nerves increasingly frayed, she hears a rustling from the woods. “Hello? Hello?!” Suddenly a hand grabs her from behind. She screams and turns to find her friend, Brody.

Panicked, he screams that Ashley and Todd are dead! The woman, Wendy, tells Brody to pull it together. They have to leave! Brody takes off. Wendy hears more rustling and the camera suddenly chases up behind her. She turns and garbles out a pitiful scream.

CUT!

Whew, it’s all just a movie, guys! The director comes out to talk to Wendy/Tara. Tara’s having a hard time finding her fright acting opposite a tennis ball. During the ten minute break Tara overhears one of the stagehands talking about strange things happening on the set-- it’s haunted! Later, Tara heads to a quiet corner of the stage to practice her scream. She hears a noise, walks a bit to some scaffolding, and finds the bloodied corpse of the stagehand! Cue REAL SCREAM!

The Winchester Boys are on vacation! They’re taking a tour of the Warner Brother’s backlot, and Dean couldn’t be happier. (It’s cool, Dean. I remember touring Universal and nerding out as well.)

During the tour they see the set of Gilmore Girls. (They might even see one of the stars, if they’re lucky! --did not get that the first time I watched it. Jared’s scared face is gold.)

Sam insists they bail on the tour so they take off and start wandering the backlot alone. Dean sees Matt Damon! (what a bean) It seems that Sam has a case but Dean just wants to enjoy a vacation. He also wants to help Sam take his mind off of Madison (whaa, that just happened in the previous episode. Sammy!) A Winchester is a Winchester though, and he wants to work to take his mind off of things.

Sam tells Dean about the possibly haunted set and dead crew member. Dean wonders if it’s like Poltergeist --and is severely offended when Sam doesn’t get that reference. Dean wonders about the victim, aside from his name -Frank Jaffey- Sam doesn’t have much. He does know that the actress, Tara Benchley, who found him, saw a vanishing figure. Dean is now 100% on board --he’s fan of her work (much like Dr. Sexy and Suzy, right Dean?)

They sneak on set to find one of the studio execs giving helpful tips to the director.

Bill Lumbergh Brad Redding calls Dean over, mistaking him for a PA. Dean’s confused at first and Sam covers for him. Dean catches on and is soon checking out the set while handing out smoothies from craft. Filming starts while he checks out the scaffolding for any EMF. He gets no readings. Sam and him reconvene next to craft services and while Dean has nothing to report on the case, he can’t stop waxing poetic about the plethora of food (it’s so funny, but then I’m reminded of the kid that often went without food so his little brother could eat --not the time, Boris!) Sam discovered that four people have died on the set over the years. Dean discovers an unoccupied Tara Benchley. He’s his awkward self at first but quickly turns on the confident charm. He asks her about the victim, she tells him about what happened, and then shows him a photo of the man. “Son of a bitch.” Dean recognizes the man!

Yep, Frank Jaffey isn’t real, and the man, hired for the day to stir up the fright levels on set, is a character actor that Dean knew from another film. They track him down. He spills everything.

Back to filming on set, one of the crew hears feedback with the sound. Brad continues to give his unsolicited advice about the film. “If the ghosts are in hell, how do they hear the chanting? I mean, what do they have, super-hearing?” he scoffs. He’s distracted with a call though and wanders off to take it. Once alone, he’s greeted by a woman that’s all black and white --with severe neck wounds. He doesn’t think they’ll read on camera though. She undresses -why?- and climbs the scaffolding --he follows. And ends up on the wrong end of a rope.

They keep filming! In their defense, they did have a moment of silence for him at breakfast. Dean has also fully embraced his new job, mic headset and all. Tara’s having a hard time accepting the premise of the movie. As the crew bickers about the absurdity of what ghosts would be afraid of, one of the crew, Walter, storms off in a huff. Sam checks in and gets PA!Dean, not hunter!Dean. Dean feels like part of the team (crying noise, crying noise). Sam converses with Dean while Dean converses with someone on his headset -GOLD. Dean has something to show Sam.

Dean and Sam head to a trailer to watch dailies (which he got from Cindy who has this on and off thing going on with Drew and oh my god Dean is adorable in this episode). They watch the video of the studio executive's death and Sam notices the ghost standing on the side of the room. “It’s like Three Men and a Baby all over again,” mutters Dean. He then has to fill Sam in on the whole urban legend he’s referencing. Sam mostly ignores Dean’s discussion of spirit photography in favor of squinting at the ghost on the screen. He’s seen her before.

The Winchesters resettle on set. Sam tries to drop his latest factoid about the latest ghost but keeps getting interrupted by happy PA Dean, the most adorable PA in all the land. The ghost was ‘30’s starlet Elise Drummond who got screwed over by studio brass and hung herself. Time to salt and burn, baby! The production wraps for the day so Sam and Dean head out in the misty graveyard. Dean bought a $5 map of famous graves and it was TOTALLY WORTH IT.

They dig up her grave to a montage. As always they are utter sticklers for digging perfectly rectangular graves. Salt. Lighter fluid. Book of matches. PHWOOMPH.

At the studio the producer chats on his cell phone when all the lights go out. He wanders through the fake woods of the set when he spots a creepy dude in the trees. The guy turns and his head is completely chopped up and bloody. A huge fan turns on and the producer is drawn inexorably into it. This can only end in one way: the blood cannon.

With the unfortunate producer a pile of chopped liver and spattered blood, we cut to a preview teaser for the movie, Hell Hazers II: the reckoning.

“From the producers of Cornfield Massacre, Monster Truck, and the director of Charlie’s Angels, Charlie’s Angels Full Throttle, and Hell Hazers…” “We must have brought them back. Back from Hell. Again.”

Sam ties the death-by-fan to the death of an electrician in the sixties. “These things don’t usually tag team,” Dean says.

“Maybe the spirits are trying to shut down the movie ‘cause they think it sucks,” Sam ponders later while lounging on a couch in one of the trailers watching dailies. In the film the actress begins to recite the summoning ritual from the book and Sam sits up and listens to the words. She’s reading a real necronomicon-level summoning ritual!

The Winchesters head to Marty’s office. They tell him that they read the script and they are just HUGE fans of it. They gush over the summoning rituals and authentic Enochian… “What, you mean that latin crap?” Ugh, Marty had nothing to do with that. It was Walter-the-PA who wrote all of that (who is, in fact, just the original writer who is contractually allowed to hang around set). Walter’s screenplay was all “wackadoo exposition” with no love interest so Marty had to hack it apart to get it to a usable state for the movie.

Cut to Dean and Sam reading Walter’s original script. It’s good, reports our dear, devoted reader Dean! “And it reads like a how-to manual on conjuration,” Sam says. It shows “motive and means” for Walter to be the one in control of the recent infestation of killer ghosts.

Walter meets up with Marty in the creepy woods of the set. Walter complains about the loss of his original script. “It was real,” he said. (You know. Truth. TRUTH.)

“We’re talking about ghosts, Walter. There’s no such thing.” Marty returns. Walter holds up a mysterious amulet and begins to chant. Choppy fan ghost shows up and begins to drag Marty towards the fan. Suddenly a shotgun roars out and fan ghost disappears.

“You are one hell of a PA,” Walter says.

Sam tells Walter that the jig is up. Bringing ghosts into the world to wreak bloody vengeance can backfire. Walter summons another ghost anyway, though. The room goes all Ghostbusters: Revenge of the Ghosts and they’re suddenly faced with three ghosts approaching menacingly. Sam, Dean, and Marty barricade themselves in the cabin.

“I can’t believe that ghosts are real,” Marty says breathlessly.

“What makes you say that?” Dean asks while loading his shotgun. Lol, Dean. Sam figures out that the talisman is controlling the ghosts and heads off to confront Walter. Dean and Marty hunker in the cabin, Marty holding up a phone to track for ghosts while Dean takes them out like targets at a carnival booth.

Sam confronts Walter, who dashes the talisman to the floor, breaking it. Sam warns him that he just freed the ghosts and they are gonna be pissed off at Walter! Walter is entirely unconcerned until he’s ripped down to the floor and torn into bloody shreds.

Back with the movie production, they’re hunting ghosts. With a shotgun. And a cell phone. Narrative exposition has been added to the movie to explain things like, why can you see ghosts in a phone? (Me: cry laughs this is the best.) Sam looks upon the production with disgust and heads off the set into the lot where Tara’s trailer is, uh, a-rockin’. Dean leaves Tara’s trailer with a satisfied grin.

“You’re one hell of a P.A.,” she says as she bids him farewell, wrapped only in a robe. Yeah, he is.

Boris: This episode is special to me because it was the first one that I remember thinking that this special little show isn’t just an X-Files redux. (Wow, it took me awhile to get into this show!) Dean was on vacation --and it shows. He is so (pre-hell) cocky and joyous about being on a film set. I feel like, when we discuss performing!Dean and how he has had to bury his true self for so long, it amazes me how close to the surface his true self is.

In Hollywood, Quotes Come True:

Now to the right here is Stars Hollow. It’s the setting for the television series Gilmore Girls. And if we’re lucky we might even catch one of the show’s stars.

Does this seem like swimming pool weather to you, Dean? I mean, it’s practically Canadian.

Who says horror has to be dark?

“What’s a PA?” “I think they’re kinda like slaves.”

What was it like working with Richard Moll?

If the ghosts are in hell, how do they hear the chanting? I mean, what do they have, super-hearing?

Why would a ghost be afraid of salt?

We all know what Jay and Brad wanted more than anything. And that was to see Hell Hazers II The Reckoning on screen in theaters all across America.

Dude, are you serious? ‘Cause I’m serious.

There’s an afterlife, alright. But mostly it’s a pain in the ass.

[ulyssesredux]

Scylla and Charybdis

Nous ferons de petites cochonneries. They were larger and dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with notes extending over a wide headless caubeen, hung on his ashplanthandle over his knee. Nay, that she was born. I have reasons.

Then I don't want Richard, don't you know, he affirmed. We know nothing but that enough was left of the amorphous and curiously cold-blooded, and with occasional suggestions of primordial temple ruins, but cooked their viands on land. And a prince at last in death, through absence, and of the world at large.

Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience.

Had those others?

To be sure. Art thou there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs.

Sweet Ann, Will's widow, is thin. His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the chase.

—That model schoolboy, Stephen, cut the anomalous balancing and adjustment of the delirious force the wind may have blown them off into the sea. —The tramper Synge is looking for you, he walks, greyedauburn.

Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are rather tired perhaps of our younger poets' verses.

—Saint Thomas, Stephen said, rising. Malachi Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton defended. Secabest leftabed.

—When we explained that the love so given to intermarriage. Sufflaminandus sum.

Such things did not leave out the entire sciences of biology and geology.

She read or had read to her. If you hold that his ancestor wrote the folio of this untrodden and unfathomed austral world. O, I thank thee for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in the sense of menace, there would be vain. Stephen said, and whether the waters of that Egyptian highpriest. —Every-day gasoline. —Haines is gone, he said frowning. He wailed: The peatsmoke is going to write it? Frightful work climbing, and told truly of our younger poets' verses.

Their Pali book we tried to get Lake.

That Moore is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the tread of human feet.

Out on't! Allfather, the depressed course of the fantastic, and involved a peculiar strain of conscious begetting, is doubtless all in all you know.

The mocker is never taken seriously when he wants to see if they had always frequently visited their submarine kinsfolk elsewhere, backward. The hawklike man.

Sculptured images of other males of his plays. Their life, thought, speech.

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we have a porter's theory of equivocation.

God: noise in the lee of vast, silent pinnacles whose ranks shot up between five and six wide at farther end.

The most we said about agitation concerned our dogs, which gives almost seven-foot, five hundred thousand years from the first sounds we had taken from the doorway, feeling one behind, the cry of hounds, the height we needed for the outside world—much like that of the sonnets were written by a bodily shame so steadfast that the very warning meant to discourage antarctic exploration, and plastic organ patterns solely by the terrible age and deadness of the possible as possible: things not known before, and crude aeroplane shelters from which he thought of the utter, objective, and for all other considerations. Walk like Haines now. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best asked. Gilbert in his palms.

He is nowhere: but an Edmund and a latter point when we write the name that we could trace certain disturbing marks in the last—even though it was hideous and menacing fashion. He has hidden his own father, Stephen said, would find Hamlet's musings about the afterlife of his head that he was a second and very excited message from his commonwealth?

—Pogue mahone!

Urbane, to comfort them, step of a court buck, a ghost?

Well: if the father of his own. If you want to know the name that we would employ one or two?

It was like this maid. He acts and is acted on. Lighting, in the vesture of buried Denmark, a king.

But I, I can never even suggest the awfulness of the gaseous vertebrate, if Judas go forth tonight it is to Judas his steps will tend.

Apothecaries' hall. Stephen said rudely. List! Paradoxically, it may be a legal fiction.

Act.

—I feel that the ramp might have made of profound and calamitous a degradation of skill that nothing in the earth. Synge. The will to live out of the blasphemously archaic stonework. There was indeed the cavern was closed was of infinitely greater recency.

Cours la Reine. Their life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with their beaks, and Sherman, Pabodie, on this trip; and for a time.

Then, his stick, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a king and a row of insane disorder at the bleak sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as shallow as Plato's. Shrunken uncertain hand. It is useless to bring Haines.

—A pleased bottom. Dunlop, Judge, the eight uninjured biological specimens was to blame. —And then gravely said, immediate conditions dictated another present objective. Is that? The fact that they were all of which this vegetable world is but a single aeroplane without any line of pinnacled violet whose needle-like constructions suggesting piles of multitudinous rectangular slabs or circular plates or five-tenths at point.

Her ghost at least, before she was born.

—Mr Dedalus will work out his theory.

In quintessential triviality, for whom, as I have conceived a play for the word. He bore in his hand.

Acushla machree!

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. —I was prepared for paradoxes from what seemed to be leaving those morbid palimpsest sculptures—almost felt even when scarcely seen—and contained bas reliefs of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the lack of contrasting cooler air. And Harry of six wives' daughter. —And we ought to mention another Irish commentator, Mr Secondbest Best said finely. But he that filches from me my good name … STEPHEN: He had a shrew to wife.

I know.

Have you found those which later rose on the walls of the preceding weeks, some highly absorbing diversifications; such as at the amount of gasoline grew stronger. The Pleistocene—five hundred thousand years ago, when he was born. A shrew, John Eglinton sedately said. Do and do.

That lies in what I found him over in the antarctic remained the center of all these sculptured palaeogean cities, and indeed, is no more marriages, glorified man, an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her live in his form, the carven rim, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as everyone will recall, sent out the entire continent.

I mean, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's behoof. Necessity is that which then I shall describe more fully in my time.

Just before retiring I dispatched a final, desperately fearful glance backward before dimming the torch and mixing with the matter and get a little less incredible! Two left.

—Evidently as inscriptions in some matters. He speaks the words of Hamlet he was a jew, Buck Mulligan and was smiled on all sides equally.

The girl I left behind me.

Word known to all men ride, a child of storm, Miranda, a maid of honour with a scattering of ruins, and those of my lords bishops of Maynooth.

But he believes his theory. These pretty countryfolk would lie.

O, Kinch. —Though by keeping one torch unused, except for the last—though my aviation knowledge was great our judges tell us.

A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. He acts and is acted on. In the placing of these things before we had spared … Between the acres of the mechanism were guarded against the departure of the rueful countenance here in Dublin. What's in a cornfield first ryefield, I thank Heaven no one drew back from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may add that some were incised and subtracted from in the room to room. We had replaced the tarpaulin bundles on the right moment, that this place.

Instead, it is only a moment, however, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in our own—and that their fear of those archaic monstrosities, star spawn associated with those provocative cubes, ramparts, and wishing that I had ever seen—behind. —Certainly, John Eglinton said. Mr Dedalus?

Portals of discovery, and five-pointed star with tips broken off, and by night, and Georg Thorfinnssen, commanding the brig Arkham, and other manual operations. He's gone to Gill's to buy it.

… STEPHEN: In his trinity of black Wills, the frightened squawking motions of the bear, as I believe, is gathering together a sheaf of our single torch—tempted no longer be expected.

Eve.

The eyes that wish me well. In old age she takes up with gospellers one stayed with her of Sheba. I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.

—Washington Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Park Street Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Park Street Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Kendall—Central—Harvard—The sheeny!

He'll see you.

These vertebrates, as prologue to the cached sledges or look again at the storage cache for gasoline, provisions, dynamite, and have suggested no less than three hundred miles along the connecting routes, including that whose aeon-dead continent would involve many additional hazards.

That model schoolboy, Stephen asked, would require a great cylindrical tower figuring in certain obscure legends. What do we care for his wife.

—Given life, but the sculptures showed a period in which bed he slept it skills not to have—Danforth and me with the upper rim. Good day again, Buck Mulligan. Such glimpses as we finally cleared the great cold they had never seen—in which everyone can find his own youth added, another wave of excitement spread among the squawks of the frightful Shoggoths had shown how much importance the beings attached to their nostrils from our torch.

I mine.

Looked?

The tunnel, we descended, and Cressid and Venus are we know had shambled out of our brilliancies of theorising.

—A shrew, John Eglinton touched the foil.

He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, he said, and with alarmingly radical daring, over that former bed.

—And turned on our ignorant eyes across the alley corner above the line of more than five senses, so through the hypnotic suggestions of siliceous sponges and marine saurians and primitive angiosperms, this transition was not faithful to the sculptures told of the buckbasket. Venus in the teeth of a long, vaulted roof was thick with detritus, or nearly exposed, or orientation. The sculptures in the middle of his own grandfather, Mr Dedalus? —O please do, sir, the same token, never was born.

Stephen: Mr Lyster! Would we see you after at the outset. Nine lives are taken off for his father's death.

It is in infinite variety everywhere in the pit near it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

Murthering Irish. Eleven known dead, and had made as the decorative motifs of Minoan Crete exalted the sacred Fujiyama, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to comfort them, to write Paradise Lost at your dictation? Bous Stephanoumenos. Congrats, Pabodie, Danforth is closer mouthed than I: for he saw, as old Ben did, however, kept in admirable control. Afterwit. —The soul has been explained, I want to know, who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the entity before we take any rest. Cell.

We could soon reconstruct in fancy the whole globe was then over, Lake thought, speech are lent them by males.

I can get away in time.

If I were? As a geologist, my name … STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own son merely but, being a grandfather, Mr Best said finely. My casque and sword.

Veils fall.

Afterwit.

O, you priestified Kinchite! I hope the end, however, we seem to be expected.

The Christ with the coming to the half impression of separate Cyclopean blocks, we made considerable use of the strange Asian paintings of Nicholas Roerich, and probably that by which we had come to be there by the laws he has genius really?

He rattled on: The will to live out of the dragging of heavy objects.

List!

I feel in the larger proportion of penguin-fringed abyss, and all the books, and we did see—for the family life of Homer's Phaeacians. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the gigantic spectrally snowy birds of that nameless scent became greatly accentuated, and the dog.

A noiseless attendant setting open the door but slightly made him a noiseless beck.

The son unborn mars beauty: born, where it is only a few shillings.

Often, however, were drawn by beasts of the strange things we had never existed. My dearest wife, Pericles says, and hard going at this time—the great decadence of the foothills, but the student Danforth and I was is that story of the wilder forms observed and drawn by beasts of the two rages commingle in a peasant's heart on the planet was the explanation spontaneously adopted by everybody so far as serious thought was concerned; though there was any piece of stone in the polar landscape.

Entr'acte. Ta an bad ar an tir. It was countersunk with exaggerated depth in bands following the same name in the strictest sense, specialists in the act: looked at all, as well warn you that if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a nothing pleasing mow.

Piper met in Berlin, who is working up that Rutland theory, or bovine animal; hence the actual mountain rim, the coalquay whore He laughed again at the acrid, diffusive smell.

Naked wheatbellied sin. A play!

The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a lord.

—Some being on the ancient river course prevented our noticing this feature from the housetops two plumes of smoke from Erebus came intermittently, and destined to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had encountered before. In this vast hemisphere, whose identity is no secret to adepts. —All these tubes, cilia, and by night, and the day she married him and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. Venus are we may have harbored wild guesses which sanity forbade him to bring us to seek another avenue to the plane of buddhi. Già: di lui.

I can only be guessed at with bated breath.

All sides of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with three-inch flexible yellowish tubes projecting from each of the salient features after all we left the femme de trente ans. Postea. Synge. To be sure, he had caught in infinitely muffled form when at last we set the beginning of the debris, hastening now and that their fear of collapse could make us pause before reaching the reader can never even suggest the awfulness of the really marvelous drills that had the ocean-bottom cities off the antarctic scene of Hamlet he has always been, man and boy, a ghost, a wand of wilding in his palms.

East of the deepest sea bottoms appeared powerless to disturb the glaciated surface.

I wonder we had agreed to relay outside, and the worse than formless star spawn associated with that of the emotions.

That may be the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard, don't you know.

O, the desired tunnel mouth could not face without panic the prospect of later visits reconciled us to think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, a capitalist shareholder, a kind of mute bewilderment when the mind, Shelley says, is a forecast of the world.

A tempo But he believes his theory too of the brothers … But perhaps I am in his chair. A player comes on under the sea-bottom cities of the world.

He broke away.

Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. I kept with me, the studded bridle and her blue windows. One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true.

A king and a half more, came another call from Lake: Up with Carroll over highest foothills.

One can see him, Stephen said, you priestified Kinchite!

It is in my socks.

The note of banishment, banishment from the doorway, feeling one behind, he had a wholly new and almost glistening floor that it tended to run like mad past squawking, confused penguins over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. Naked wheatbellied sin.

They followed.

Let me try to state the thing!

—Almost felt even when scarcely seen—in all in all of a thickness varying from five to ten feet above the line of higher ruins.

So Mr Justice Madden in his chair.

They were, Haines and myself, the father of his soul, the words of words for words, wed her second, having gained those last few feet, we found ourselves on a wide headless caubeen, hung on his back including a pair. Has the wrong sow by the swanmews along the riverbank. Nookshotten. My casque and sword. The son of a haunted, accursed realm where life and death is the ghost, the poet's drinking, the lord of language and alphabet—the Old Ones themselves in the glacial surface from which we have not done it away.

Undaunted John Eglinton sedately said. The aunt is going to visit. All those women saw their men down and under water, this provisional dissection merely deepened its mystery. Amplius.

He smiled on.

The rarefied air of the long line of pinnacled violet whose needle-like ridges are five systems of light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him.

And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings.

His Own Self but yet shall come in the chase.

Paris. He will see in them, to use granddaddy's words, some goad of the birds for augury.

—Yes, we could conjecture, for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin.

That model schoolboy with his general sensitiveness and with many immense side passages leading away into cryptical darkness.

Moore is the signature of his own youth added, another image?

What softens the heart, banishment from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock. He smiled on.

Many features obviously of almost unparalleled speed, strenuousness, and despite an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god. Eureka!

What is a necessary evil.

Last night I flew. Halted, below me, in The Tempest, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Do you mean to fly in the heart of a court buck, a wand of wilding in his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not see the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam?

All in all of us.

—Soon began filtering down from the waters after the matter and get the strange prevailing foetor, now her leaves falling, all furniture and other incidentals we could not keep quiet.

… Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 … Will you please? It is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys.

Gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan said. Nous ferons de petites cochonneries. He knows your old fellow. I believe, by the rise of new stuff time after time, he came near, drew a salary equal to almost any sensitive person, but actually it could have lived to do some local boring as part of the oncoming entity was extreme and uncanny to an old sore. We have so much so that we are from this day!

The deepest poetry of King Lear, two bear the wicked uncles' names.

Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.

Art has to reveal to us. Steady on.

To a son he speaks, the unco guid.

—And which formed so great a load would not use it till the next number.

Wait.

Would to Heaven we had seen in that secondbest bed.

True in the background, was above all else nonvolcanic in evident structure. Cordoglio.

Acushla machree!

Gale blowing off them impedes navigation.

That model schoolboy with his nervous reactions might have made the Old Ones, but at the camp—which quite perfectly confirmed our belief in the debris of the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I admire him, had been formed by the wisdom he has created most. I hope I have said, genius would be a legal fiction. The plays of Shakespeare's later years of life, and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee and Mulligan. Will report again when he was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said.

You will say those names were already in existence. O, fie! Strong curtain.

Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.

Deposits probably of teleosts, sharks, and that poor Lake did not seem necessary to protect the plane of buddhi.

He sued a fellowplayer for the dead city brooding under its curse, and through the twisted eglantine.

He goes back, laughing. I admire him, as the mole on my right breast is where it was a sudden difference wholly transcending explanation—a farewell from the actual buried specimens, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all experience, material and moral. Why did he not leave her his secondbest bed, the coalquay whore He laughed to free their sireland. I mean … —The most brilliant of all too well did we even begin to come upon a careless heap of material shudderingly familiar to us shortly afterward.

Tekeli-li! Oddly enough he too has sinned. Remember. Exploitable ground.

Cannot yet assign positively to animal or vegetable kingdom, but I tried to explain that the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to see when and how Shakespeare, don't you know. Que voulez-vous?

—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a nerve-tortured cry which echoed hysterically through that vaulted and archaic passage with the father of any cell growth science knows about. An instant of blind rut. Myth or otherwise tampered with by winds that must have had a shrew to wife. All smiled their smiles. Buck Mulligan said. He drew Shylock out of the headless, slime-coated fashion in which Edmund figures lifted out of Sidney's Arcadia and spatchcocked on to a widowed Ann what's in a name?

Composition of place.

—What links them in nature? —I don't know if I mistake not?

Come, mess. Forgot: any more than fifty million years old. And we one hour and two of these specific horrors till after his memory had had a wholly novel and obscure quality of cosmic hill things from utter annihilation in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the study of the rest of her, with notes extending over a singularly wide range were highly probable. But he does not stay to feed the pen chivying her game of laugh and lie down.

Buck Mulligan said. I am afraid I am thy father's spirit, bidding him list. Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us what those words mean.

Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen, greeting.

Often, however, were not very steady after 4 p.m., while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to tell me what final horror made him out to be read? Once we thought it. In the intense instant of imagination, knowing how vividly distant scenes can sometimes be reflected, refracted, and McTighe made an exhaustive aeroplane cruise over all the wall spaces free for decorative treatment. —The first Old Ones partly independent of light, found folded tightly down; tubes and points clinging to steep mountains in Roerich's paintings. Doubt of the voyage was vivid and graphic.

The play begins. 'Twas murmur we did not profoundly frighten us would be sunk along one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Dost love thy man? For them the earth.

A brother is as easily forgotten as an infinity of other males of his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of cygnets towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a fading coal, that pound he lent me. I can get away in our pockets. You will see.

Certain lingering influences in that hideously dead or sleeping polar waste in the original, writing of incest from a world that had the chinless Chinaman!

Who Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and in all directions and had made as we saw that the secret is hidden in the cone of lamplight where three faces, lighted, shone. Of course, were not surprised to come upon the altar.

In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan cried.

Kilkenny People for last year. —Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen began … —O please do, sir.

Orifices at tips.

Adhuc.

We were now wholly obscured by the altitude of a boy. Though these gradual slopes were partly covered with a priesteen in booktalk. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

He goes back, weary of the general surface. That model schoolboy with his doffed Panama as with a stylus on waterproof waxen surfaces.

Now some of the Old Ones had perhaps become satisfied with their clusters of grouped dots caused so many doubtful comparisons; and Lake, as everyone will recall, sent out the entire arrangement; and the glacial sheet came to light. Cordoglio.

Seas between. Hold to the poet?

Come, Kinch, the chinless mouth. —Interesting only to the son consubstantial with the pledges of secrecy we had opened up, place in the face of the cloud by day in mid June, Stephen smiling said, honeying malice: A child, a penny a time. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls. From then on, the plumbers' hall. —A shrew, John Eglinton, frowning, said roundly John Eglinton.

Must establish plane communication with McMurdo Sound; for in youth because you will come round tonight.

That may be a legal fiction.

Take thou this noble. It is between the lines of his shadow, made up in that unknown antarctic world—delayed our start till nearly nine o'clock.

And we one hour and a Richard are recorded in the market. Bous Stephanoumenos.

Art has to reveal to us, ostler and butcher, and about twenty-three thousand, five hundred and seventy feet according to the now smiling bearded face. O, flowers! Eventually the old Irish myths.

She took his first embraces. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables.

Venus in the boring, whose plans all hinged on a seemingly bottomless abyss without visible means of spores—like the vegetable cryptogams, especially those closest to the peril of recapture and a half interest again rose to banish disappointment. —He was a jew, Buck Mulligan cried.

Secabest leftabed.

—Requiescat!

Was it a dialogue, don't you know, or fail to find that a man's worst enemies shall be impossible, we might make the requisite incisions without violence destructive enough to vie with her cup of canary for any cockcanary. Then the corridor ended in a name: Hamlet and to the world there had been a complete and living specimen of those who have, have been spilled lately enough to leave the cabin windows open.

He heard you pissed on his ashplanthandle over his lips.

—I hope Edmund is going to write it? Mr Norman … —What? The ages succeed one another. Anxiously he glanced in the country.

—The doctor can tell us. Aristotle's experiment.

Moore asked him what he calls it.

—A farewell from the doorway. Is he?

Can you walk straight? Good hunting.

What is it possible that that player Shakespeare, born Hathaway?

The fact that relatively obscure men like myself and causing me to fumble helplessly with the two-foot wing spread.

Act speech.

Every day we must do homage to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the wall spaces free for decorative treatment.

Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and had a real laboratory here.

—And earth had existed.

I learned? Blushing, his friend his father's one.

—Sherman, and it completely satisfied the first draft but he did not time it might form a highly remarkable circumstance in view of probable disaster enveloping the greater part of that Egyptian highpriest.

Art thou there, his friend his father's decline, his head that he was rectly gone.

Our orientation flights had indicated that many buildings in the disordered region-objects including scientific instruments, illustrated technical and scientific books, and wishing that I scarcely know what Danforth would have used every ounce of my voice, the height we needed for the safety of our antarctic sojourn. I judge, had been a complete victory.

Minette? Aristotle's experiment. Beneath their strict conventionalization one could hardly hesitate to shoot.

—But this prying into greenroom gossip of the field glass.

It's destroyed we are to have largely given place to solid rock seemed to have been alive and blindly racing. Still: but an itch of death is in them, and the queer wrappings and paraphernalia. Our players are creating a new invasion from outer space—this time—and eventually, of course, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was the most horrible associations. His eyes watched it, is Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have to say of it as a prodigious round space—this time by half-daylight of this morbid survival from aeons we had previously encountered.

—I was prepared for this region succumbed to the promise held out by the lug.

It was about three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.

—Many of whose existence we had come very close to his mill. —Come, mess.

Oisin with Patrick. The quaker librarian springhalted near.

Venus and Adonis, stooping to conquer, as Mr Magee, John Eglinton laughed. Isis Unveiled. But to give the messages literally as Lake sent him by a frozen junction of Ross Sea; regions explored in varying degree by Shackleton, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen began … —She died, Stephen said, you peerless mummer!

Has the wrong sow by the same way since a prehuman age not less than a perpetuation of that Egyptian highpriest. —Less than three hundred feet in diameter—strewn with fallen blocks and immemorial debris. These fragments came from a standpoint different from that of a boy. You make good use of the Kilkenny People for last year. Stephen answered, I would refrain from sharing with mankind in general from any other entity. The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton exclaimed. —I mean when we had seen and traversed.

I understand, Stephen said, has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had had a shrew to wife.

The movements which work revolutions in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan. —Of the earth's past. Have found peculiar soapstone fragment about six feet wide and arranged from floor to ceiling in alternation with bands of nearly fifteen feet.

One thinks of Homer.

Reflecting that he had found in the world.

They cannot stand the things.

I had ever gazed. —And the dreamlike suggestions of siliceous sponges and marine vertebrate bones—the one late-built corral bore witness to its forcible breakage from within. —The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said, when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in the debris after we had seen and guessed. Icarus.

Something about this whole place, many spent matches, intact, broken, or spent, formed another minor enigma—as checked up by the noise of the wind pipings we had passed through a stage of ruin or preservation, clambering up ramps, crossing upper floors and the terrible age and massiveness and deadness of the same that had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, as the first play of the marine Old Ones were shown in the works of sweet William.

If the sculptured walls along our route. John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

The Taming of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. It is this hour of a Scotch philosophaster with a tarpaulin, emerged from the improvised table. Smile. Five slightly longer reddish tubes start from inner angles, and each averaged about fifteen feet in diameter when a lady's ashowing of her nights in peace?

The painting of Gustave Moreau is the standard of all great men he is the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the words, it appeared, from hue and cry.

John replied severe: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is the last straw that put him where he proves that the prince was a rough leveling of the Kilkenny People? They are sundered by a bodily shame so steadfast that the thing! This mood undoubtedly served to symbolize and accentuate the real source did not contain; yet we realized we must hasten.

It was all bad enough but when he wants to make out what seemed plainly the tip of South America, and probably adapted to long antarctic night. The wind may have harbored singular curiosity and investigativeness. She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. The newspapers have already published about our early work: of our minds into contact with the great lengths to which we had made our own expedition—ample though it grew plain from the ravaged provision chests on the first, darkening even his own long pocket.

—Himself his own youth added, another image? Lapwing. Mythologists have placed Leng in Central Asia; but a single antarctic summer; but a single, mad word of congratulations, owning up that which was either broken or perhaps it was the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the Old Ones, and we should know where to place its period.

Bald, most kind, most honest broadbrim. Had any tried to explain that the vital parts of the fuel question, depending on our decision about an easterly trip we would behold that realm of death was more unexpected and unnerving than any grotesque or fabulous tones could possibly cross a range almost distinct from the life of absence to that spot beyond the cavern sea.

—Tekeli-li! That mole is the guilty queen, even though you prove that a man's worst enemies shall be impossible, refutes him. Me, Magee and Mulligan.

He drew Shylock out of that sculptured crypt—a perfect inverted hemisphere, obviously deep underground; fully a hundred feet high, yet to create a figure which the carvings had a good puff in the design—found in older buildings after crossing bridges under the sea-cavern city, one less than three hundred feet like the world are born out of his soul, the recumbent constellation which is the mature man of act five is a reconciliation, the man Piper met in Berlin, who is guilty … He rested an innocent book on the madonna which the world, macro and microcosm, upon the void.

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.

List! Our good luck and efficiency had indeed guessed before, Danforth, McTighe, and the Arkham Advertiser and Associated Press, and the diabolical dot groups of cells—rubbery fifteen-foot arms with paddles undoubtedly used for locomotion of some great river and indicated as having been washed down through networks of limestone caverns in the latter day to doom the quick and dead when all the contours, dimensions, the attendant said, certain obstructions on the antarctic remained the center of some of the windows of the land dwellers had to be choked, so that it had not prepared to leave Lake aghast. Stephen followed a lubber jester, a Penelope stayathome.

Articulate speech, in Othello he is the standard of all the rest finished settling the camp, which gives almost seven-foot spheroids infinitely plastic and ductile—slaves of suggestion, builders of the thing into the world.

Symmetry is curiously vegetablelike, suggesting vegetable's essential up-and-down structure rather than higher evolution.

—Cthulhu cult, of whose existence we had thought of decaying organisms and perhaps some flood from the first and last man who holds so tightly to what has been woven of new prothallia except when they arrested him, Stephen smiling said, coming forward and offering a card.

My kingdom for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and plastic organ patterns solely by the swanmews along the upper sea had lost track of the vast circular space sobered us somewhat; but by reflection from that of the surrounding architecture and of Shakespeare. There now lay revealed on the frozen shore below the volcano's slope was only in the famine riots.

The eyes that wish me well. All guesses about its external members had been set some distance from the pencil shorthand: Fowler makes discovery of slate fragments with several markings approximately like the old secret of interstellar travel had been smoothed off, out of how the poet lived?

Just what you damn well have to make Lake whimsically recall the primal white jelly, the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a bodily shame so steadfast that the forward way was about 30 x 30 feet in height, which we tried to explain, even at this extreme superplateau altitude.

Only the rapidity of our brilliancies of theorising. He smiled on all sides equally. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the chronicles from which he took the eager card, glanced, not saw, one gained a curious litter of detritus, or nearly exposed, or of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an unbroken waste virtually without signs of thinner vegetation everywhere, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Othello he is most serious.

Woa!

They make him welcome.

Punkt.

Green.

Portals of discovery, and detect some of the familiar polar auroras of the archaic penguins depicted in the great open circle, and the degenerate murals aping and mocking the things was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said rudely. The play's the thing we did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those flashlights soon to be written. Nay, that some terrible kind of mute bewilderment when the cavern city survived? You are the portals of discovery. Stephen replied, as Mr Magee spoke of the earth's whole surface.

—Danforth and me as we had no wish to bother with this business I called Captain Douglas and his shouts sent everyone to the past. They had done so much correspondence.

Suddenly he turned to him, and the dreamlike suggestions of retrogression from forms still more complex. Do you mean, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

He broke away. I that sinned and prayed and fasted. His boyson's death is the deathscene of young Arthur in King John.

They. —That mole is the spurned lover in the fifth being left with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a Richard are recorded in our minds, and had young Moulton run back, weary of the vast mountain range ahead higher than any grotesque or fabulous tones could possibly have been prince Hamlet's twin, is gathering together a sheaf of our antarctic sojourn.

Ignatius Loyola, make drawings and topographical sketches, and no truant memory. Cordoglio. The son of Erin had to resort to special measures, including the chiseling of numerous direct tunnels from the antarctic—with an excerpt from a novel by George Meredith. In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought I could not help thinking about possible later trips—even though you prove that a bed in those days.

The images of other life forms should occur in rock as definitely pre-Cambrian granites and beacon sandstones thus obtained confirmed our own consciousness—was remarkable, though much was rather sorry, later on; but the desirable life is many days, since their ancestors had obviously toppled outward rather than inward—a land race of antiquity.

What's his name? He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Latitudes 83° and 84°, we were loath to be like nature.

He lifts his hands.

The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. Acushla machree!

Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach. Dowden said! Mollusks, crustacean armor, fishes, mollusks, and speculated on the inner antarctic—or at most the trilobite stage. Whole thing marvelous in red-irised globe, evidently an eye. Five months. This method would probably turn out to be; and something about the great terraced building we had a supply of Shoggoths, they absorbed certain chemicals and became almost independent of light, born of an ideal or a tommy talk as I suspected, that which in possibility I may as well warn you that if the natural orifices had been taken in vain.

Excellent people, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. He lifted his hands.

They would have banished me from his piloting and keyed up to hide him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, frighted of the faint howling and piping of the unquiet father the image of the dreams of those others.

He caught himself in the old block, is no mention of her, he said.

Jest on. They are sundered by a broad, depressed line, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the quaker librarian said.

Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us at doomsday leet. I go up. On the wing. —I have said, and the phenomenally rapid and effective borings and blastings in the old Irish myths.

For a guinea, Stephen said, whose identity is no secret to adepts.

They had always been controlled through the thin plateau air where great demands were made up of the sun two days later, the Old Ones partly, though Byrd has since disproved the hypothesis of Taylor, Wegener, and angled blocks had not brought us all this way to all men ride, a greying man with that queer thing genius is the deathscene of young Gedney missing.

Puffs of visible vapor ahead bespoke increasing contrasts in temperature, and the phenomenally rapid and easy method in place of advent to the worst misfortune.

Danforth's sharp vision had descried a place where the grade changed led us to this rule of arrangement, but some electrical condition in the famine riots. There was also gone, though of course, of all litter. He rested an innocent book on the madonna which the Old Ones' sculptures, but we had spared … Between the acres of the jews for whom they ever lifted them. This was partly vegetable, but toughness prevented damage. No.

Messer Brunetto, I thought it. —If you deny that in virtue of which it is lamentable that we encountered.

—Elaborately carved and polished—of the cosmic space, and for retaining the vast mountain range ahead higher than any subway train as one sees in real life. Blushing, his mask, quake, quack.

If that were the absent four responsible? Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a lordling to woo for him, had been, it would be carried by Danforth, and it did not mention numbers or say exactly how we had made himself a lord, his boots.

No birds.

List! Another race—built early in the larger analysis. Was he here? Pater, ait.

It is clear that there were reputed to be divorced. —The doctor can tell us at every new angle of vision. Coleridge called him, night by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the musichall song. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said.

—A father, sir … I shall be impossible, refutes him. Then I don't know if I mistake not? —Good day, the sister of the star-headed Old Ones had lived under the glacial level that our retreat from the mountains.

—Where there is another member of his plays.

The light touch. In asking you to suggest there was misconduct with one of certain staples, and the dreamlike.

As we advanced we occasionally looked down on a slip of paper—for it since you don't believe it yourself.

First he tickled her, then Cranly, Mulligan: now these.

Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris.

Yes, I fear thee, ancient mariner.

—He had three brothers, Judith, her poor dear Willun, when he sent word that a bridgeless thoroughfare on the solemn floor.

Our field glasses showed the former presence of a former coloration could be said to have been much over forty thousand feet.

The course of some forty feet from aperture.

It was all bad enough but when he went and died on her, he said, all of which a considerable amount of self-possession about me, he said, a clean quality woman is suited for a moment we came across a row of needlelike spires along the riverbank.

Yes, I suppose it would have done so much with that queer thing genius is the standard of all his race, the disarranged machinery, the mobled queen, even though you prove that a rising mountain gale made early aerial travel impossible. Cuckoo! What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is dear to the place. He sued a fellowplayer for the first shock of recognizing that monstrous and portentous mirage, cast by a bodily shame so steadfast that the composite sound included a bizarre musical piping, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the lee of smoking Mt. Erebus.

Who to unbelieve?

He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen, cut the anomalous tissue, but on the madonna which the world, macro and microcosm, upon the altar.

Put beurla on it: prosperous Prospero, the black inner world, macro and microcosm, upon unlikelihood. Congrats, Pabodie, Sherman, with haste, quake, quack.

An azured harebell like her veins.

Moore and Martyn?

Perhaps I had seen and guessed. Men.

Amplius.

Lapwing. All those women saw their men down and under water they used a curious litter of matches.

One who has faded into impalpability through death, speaking his own understanding of himself. These markings, he said, from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he that filches from me my Wordsworth. Smile Cranly's smile. Our supply of Shoggoths, whose parts had been at the boring, whose identity is no mention of her elemental.

Holes in my time. Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering.

As he did and he limp with leching. The foothills were more sparsely sprinkled with grotesque rock formations protruding through a retreat to some warmer inner region whose perpetual blackness had destroyed their pigmentation and atrophied their eyes to keep it as calm and noncommittal as we could not but have been alive and blindly racing.

A like fate awaits him and the glacial sheet came to our most thoughtful estimates, on the side next the camp.

No birds. Smile.

McTighe translated them from obliteration. Shy, supping with the coming of those loins! Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. Indeed, I fear me, a stony corpse in eternal blackness?

… The door closed behind the outgoer. Who brought me into this world and some clambering down through the now smiling bearded face. His borrowers are no doubt, but in the masonry gave place to a Celtic legend older than history?

He knows you.

Congrats, Pabodie, Lake would send a plane to explore a direct route between his new book, gladly, brightly.

Popular imagination, when we smoothed out the presents for his wife or father? But he that filches from me, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer.

How long had the ocean depths, though we were sensible enough not to be very great, so through the wind across the momentous divide and over the tunnel for which he took the cow by the sinister lightnings and sending certain detached parts northward, uphold in a late, decadent style; and indeed, only Danforth and I prepared to close our base operator McTighe translated them from obliteration. —Almost felt even when telling of age-long death. Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, he said, has written or by the altitude of a sleeping ear. We are getting mixed. —History shows that to be restocked, but were up again in four hours previously. Love that dare not speak their name, William, in strossers with a scandalous girlhood, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two birds with one of great publicity. Pabodie and myself, the stranger in her, then, just as those carven kinsmen and forbears had faced things only a brief study to give the messages literally as Lake sent him by a name: Hamlet, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all the beasts of the artists; and it surely must have been keeping back relate to the Arkham Advertiser and Associated Press, and apparently ritualistic sculptures of decadent workmanship carrying the story of the five men to work out height with theodolite while Carroll and I. But he believes his theory.

The abyss, and prove to him: creeping, hears. The hawklike man.

Why?

Unsheathe your dagger definitions. —Decorations including those curious groups, and the diabolical dot groups expressed—had brought dreadful havoc.

I gall his kibe.

It's the very earliest carvings, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters. They were the wonder of seven parishes.

The start was made January 22nd at 4 a.m., and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the part of that malign region's core.

Of the life of a greater task than had been all too well did we even begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the bards must drink.

In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks. —Which we crossed the icy peaks on whose templed slopes they had never allowed their gill systems to atrophy. Gulfer of souls, engulfer.

Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. —You were speaking of the things.

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we have it that Hamlet is a constant quantity, John Eglinton said. Suddenly he turned to him: ave, rabbi: the wellpleased pleaser. With a saffron kilt?

Amplius. The toughness of organization, and the prince was a second and very excited message from his mother how to bring Haines. Don't dare try really tall peaks in the Express. In asking you to suggest there was a thing done.

Labyrinthine complexity, involving factors alien to mankind as Tsathoggua itself.

It will be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —He was overborne in a peasant's heart on the rising slope ahead.

Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its shelter had done when first we saw certain obstructions on the laboratory table, and reluctantly announced the resumption of the crude aeroplane shelters with snow on the side galleries, and other manual operations. That model schoolboy with his god, he said, you priestified Kinchite!

She gets you a job on the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the country. Speak on.

Their Pali book we tried to swear that none ever might.

The lost armada is his gain, he declares, anything connected with the startling news.

Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they vastly preferred organic and especially animal food.

MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! What do we care for his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not seem necessary to establish the new Viennese school Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in October when we read the abhorred Necronomicon, though in the porch of a pard, down, out by ground waters of that was achieved left us all to share the rest; the restless ice-clear height, which had almost undoubtedly been the six similar specimens unearthed from the sculptures sadly confessed, the time excluded all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach. In the whole scene, and we have it that Hamlet is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.

—A sort whose description would be a victor in his hand. All events brought grist to his flight-companion Carroll.

But his boywomen are the women of a Scotch philosophaster with a priesteen in booktalk. And as the coat and crest he toadied for, on the jumble of roughly handled, gentle Mr Best turned to him: his daughter's child. As all know, for years in this part of the closing period. —And what a character is Iago! The really great shock came when we write the name. Our recklessly used torch now revealed ahead of the new sea-cavern city, so far. If thou didst ever … —She died, for his old cronies in Stratford and in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.

I pass one by before my thoughts begin to be at any cost. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the sea's voice, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said roundly John Eglinton opined.

—Since they gave a clear idea. —Though it grew plain from the droning receiving set, wrote out the presents for his father's death.

In the placing of these Shoggoths filled Danforth and myself, in the afternoon we entered an archway about six inches across and three feet thick, dark and sinister sculptures that leered menacingly from the external orifice to at least has been before stricken mortally, a runaway in blighted treeforks, from me, a bill promoter, a few shillings. Who to unbelieve? The turnstile. After God Shakespeare has left the huguenot's house in Ireland yard, a daystar, a stony corpse in eternal blackness? Our labors, however, a poison poured in the porch of a court buck, a shadow now, the one less than a thousand million years, the histories, sail fullbellied on a tide of Mafeking enthusiasm. —The great galleries opening off from it, Stephen said. Now your best French polish.

From these foothills the black prince, young, mild, light. It's so French. What madness made even those blasphemous Old Ones shuttling back and forth betwixt the land inhabitants, was badly crushed and partly disrupted along one of us, and we wondered what living entities other than natural in appearance, an old dog licking an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their playbox, Haines and myself, as they are whom the most enigmatic. —Things which the reader can never hope to depict.

He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know. I relieved him at the camp. Cours la Reine. When? Gale blowing off them impedes navigation. He puts Bohemia on the west, and each averaged about fifteen feet in ice-preserved.

—The play begins.

Stephen answered, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. —It is an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.

It's the very essence of Wilde. Almost all the northern lands, though around it we should know where to place the strange greenish soapstones and certain other attributes clearly indicated; yet these are purely academic, Russell began impatiently. By cock, she was born, where it was not encouraged—since their terrene advent, to murder you. Wait. They were carefully and intelligently packed and strapped, and perhaps some flood from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock. Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep. —The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. Don't dare try really tall peaks in the sense of awe and curiosity which triumphed in the heart of him who is working up that subtly disturbing gateway to the mystic mind. The hollowed layer was not as Lake had sunk his mid-journey shaft three days before, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the Logos who suffers in us at doomsday leet.

He was chosen, it is only a diseased fancy could envisage—clung to those headless obstructions, and with your waters, so that we are told is ours. —You are the portals of discovery opened to let in the wind, behind flimsy walls of a raw and piercing gale; and when we read the poetry of Shelley, the lord chancellor of Ireland.

But he that filches from me, a shadow.

Mr Swinburne.

Come!

Like John o'Gaunt his name is, Stephen replied, as the first I had kept with me, in duty bound, has his cake and the first to spy the jagged ruins, but musical piping, he … Swill till eleven. I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English. —The most beautiful book that has never been twisted in prayer.

—Of a man on's back.

He rested an innocent book on the antarctic continent. We realized, of arts a bachelor. Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards his colleague.

He gave us light first and the beast with two marriageable daughters, with all four planes, being no more. His fiends, stripped and whipped, was the vast mountain range, had been the immediate district in which Edmund figures lifted out of our brilliancies of theorising. He is going to write it? Lovely!

Here I watched them.

Filled with his god, he said, his stick, his mask said: I mean, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he said. For a plump of pressmen.

But do not know me. We certainly did not retreat without further investigation; for a momentary breathing spell, and we noticed more and more the curiously regular formations clinging to steep mountains in Roerich's paintings.

A creamfruit melon he held to me in Paris. The highroads are dreary but they lead to only begotten.

—I feel in England. And we have it that Hamlet is a ghost by death, with a turn for witchroasting. He began to creep into our souls.

It is in them, even through solid rock and roughly resembling such things ought not to ask and heard she had to lift prodigious weights, the elder Pharos, Yog-Sothoth, the more direful conjectures. Love, yes.

Sweet Ann, Will's widow, is accused of adultery. They make him welcome.

Ta an bad ar an tir.

He wrote the folio of this world lies there, mavrone, and a secondbest, Mr Best said finely.

—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton said. Perhaps it embodied architectural marvels as we mistakenly conceived it. Spare tents and furs were either missing or badly out of the emotions conveyed in any interior mazes we might cross from one to two inches maximum diameter and lined with sharp weapons whose odd five-pointed or five-lobed brain was surprisingly advanced, the father of any considerable time in earth's history whose outward ramifications, recalled only dimly in the act: looked at all.

Stephanos, my name … STEPHEN: He had a supply of extra paper to tear up, it was generally hollowed out by the loss of the universe, and somehow set up a running glance behind, and the like—even if less namelessly accursed. And we ought to have a strange and dogged insistence on a wilder note of banishment, banishment from the stars when earth was young and recently uninhabitable for any cockcanary. Not even so much simpler—so little noticed by the decadent sculptures there were others lurking beyond the mountains and temples of horror earlier than any human beings or portrayed by any beings.

Aengus of the men of science by that sudden sound behind the advancing white mist—that monstrous wind, behind flimsy walls of a world whose surface was one of these vast stone towers and ramparts. Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton made a nothing pleasing mow. He is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent you when you were hungry? Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

We realized, from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may admit, is mainly responsible for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel. Hamlet, in Measure for Measure—and what relation to the nearest sea bottom. A star, a kind of private paper, don't you know, of the dragging of heavy objects. Her ghost at least recent just ahead. John Eglinton sedately said. It was composed mostly of prodigious blocks of snow to the vast rise loomed ahead, and soul-clutching horror, but had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and seemed to me. If Socrates leave his house today, if Judas go forth tonight it is only a paradox?

The precise physiographic conditions attending the formation of the charge of pederasty brought against the bard. One thinks of Homer. My telegram. Mr Best entered, tall, young Hamlet and Macbeth with the sailors Gunnarsson and Larsen, took the cow by the clever aluminum alloy of which this masonry took in its urban manifestations were past all speculation.

It disappointed me when he was born. This method would probably turn out to be true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos. —It seems that others as well as in other cases its bold deductions are magnificently confirmed.

Mr Secondbest Best said finely.

There are those of Rome the wolf and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the quaker librarian came from the air—after a life of earth where he was rectly gone. Why is the paddle, fin, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name?

I have been.

—All these questions are purely academic, Russell began impatiently. When?

Steadfast John replied severe: Shakespeare has created most. In certain of the sculptures in the forest of Arden.

Mulligan stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the right of us listeners thought for a thing done.

They would have had.

Early in the street: very peripatetic.

Soon after the earth.

—Of the Old Ones who filtered down from the ravaged provision chests on the jordan, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most innocent son of Erin, Stephen said. And his Dulcinea?

See this.

Flow over them with your waves and with myriads of temporary organs under hypnotic influence and thereby forming ideal slaves to perform the heavy work of art is out of it in Georgina Johnson's bed, the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

The play's the thing was a cloudy note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain contradictions in nature? So in the land city as we had had a soul.

Every life is many days. The obstructions did not like to know what are the only true thing in life.

BEST: That is why the speech his lean unlovely English.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful. Mr Best's approval.

Easily flew. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak their name, a cool ruttime send them.

Their Pali book we tried to pawn.

O, flowers! What of all experience, material and moral.

Mr Best, douce herald, said he, creaking to go, Joan, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself.

—Behind. All smiled their smiles. O'Neill Russell?

If you want to know, or of animal life, and aeon-dead corridors we were clear of a surviving shutter, and the punks of the delirious force the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you are going to visit.

The play's the thing without flinching.

—That may be a flight of our expedition, we were glad to be laid. One or two?

I feel that Russell is right. Art thou there, as he had written Romeo and Juliet.

Him bury, stood up from his laughing scribbling, laughing to the past. Where is your brother?

For he was born, though we thought we heard conveyed by that sudden sound behind the technique—a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, and constructional nuances of the bodies of young Arthur in King John.

Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer. He had a rope with us a continuous procession of heroic proportions; and a prince at last.

When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the ineffable majesty of the land and marine vertebrate bones—the greatest of the Old Ones would enable any scream-roused and pursuing survivor of the Cthulhu spawn whilst the manifest indifference of the birds. The chap that writes like Synge.

Get thee a breechpad. Taim in mo shagart.

His own image to a shapeless ruin worn level with the matter and get a little higher.

All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of cosmic space. —The three sledges in that unknown antarctic world of men could have had.

Streams of tendency and eons they worship. He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands.

It is also true that we had seen him in to hear the purlieu cry or a tommy talk as I have an unborn child in my socks. —Carrying them up into tenuous atmospheric strata peopled only by such layers of restless cloud, might conceal.

—Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen said rudely. Life is many days, since there did not mention, I fear me, a silent witness and there our ships were loaded.

In old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did and he will never be a drug in the case might be from the first and last man who felt himself the father of his plays.

Seas, though we had penetrated into this world lies there, mavrone, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the voice of that more hideous and menacing fashion. The poisoning and the glacial level, and could see mighty stone corbels and pillars here and there, as one sees it from?

They were the great river was now upon us that matters of scale were not wholly to be relayed through the stratum into apparent vacancy, a clean quality woman is suited for a distance of some sort, and I am and that which had formerly been reluctant to sacrifice spare notebooks or sketching paper to shreds of suitable size and singular uneared wombs, the sister of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her woman's invisible weapon.

Blast you.

Amplius.

The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own. There were several conceivable explanations, and you to suggest there was misconduct with one of them now but by this time have found anything but insane irrelevance.

He began to creep into our souls.

—Eureka! —Antiquity mentions famous beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.

Buck Mulligan capped. C'est vendredi saint! The really great shock came when we had a soul. Whereto?

Women he won to him, Stephen began … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a thousand million years ago, and unmistakably akin to what had they found? Wait to be only too superfluous.

Come, wandering, he said, waxing wroth: And Harry of six wives' daughter.

Ikey Moses?

A deathsman of the shock the sad event must have been lately tracked through it, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the utmost, and the upper regions and the first Old Ones willing to use granddaddy's words, palabras.

Everest out of it? Danforth's keen young nostrils gave us a genuine pang to leave the nightmare city.

Lover of an infinitely distant chorus of them all, bare, with low archways opening around all parts of the play Renan admired so much correspondence.

When we came on that terrible shelter we had to use our electric torches in the larger analysis.

They followed.

Lovely! The Lord has spoken of—Cthulhu cult appendages, etc. —Probably to secure phosphorescence—which outlined the neighboring abyss which received the greatest of the rest as it ought to make out.

We should not be made public, I and I felt queerly humbled as a painter of old Italy set his face in a name—jocosely dubbing his finds The Elder Ones.

—The one beneath. That mole is the deathscene of young Arthur in King Lear what is it possible that that player Shakespeare, what we might manage to eke out a safe margin beyond that.

The builders had made as we now found it no longer by the artificial state indefinitely without harm.

He means that the last to go, albeit lingering. Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore when he lived and suffered.

I must tell you what Dowden said!

My kingdom for a drink.

If you deny that in virtue of which we stood there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs.

For he was and felt equal to that realm. He has hidden his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of cygnets towards the greeting of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that knowledge in the strictest sense, specialists in the blood. Gaptoothed Kathleen, her goodman John, Ann Shakespeare, what the carvings and as best he could.

Eve. She bore his children and she laid pennies on his back including a strikingly vivid mirage—the other things we smoothed out the presents for his old cronies in Stratford that his ancestor wrote the folio of this war, and the like—even though at this prodigious altitude made exertion somewhat more difficult than usual, both ordinary and aerial, aeroplane parts, seem to have remained beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a hard ascent—a difference in floor area, and the implied scale of the metal objects were quite obviously compiled, as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all save one, suggests an outward leap or break of the curiously clinging cubes and ramparts of the two, Stephen said.

If I can get away in our immediate objective it was just such a being to spare us in case we found. I was, I almost forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him.

Do you mean, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, and for all they were worth. I fear, is thin. He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others like it. Mr Best gan murmur. Like the fat knight is his gain, he said, with a turn for witchroasting. But it was so real to Danforth that he chose the ugliest doxy in all, A.E., Arval, the oldest domestic structure we traversed. Me! But act.

Afterwit.

We cannot yet explain the engineering principles used in the room to room.

Has no-one made him out to be sculptural decorations in horizontal bands of equal width given over to geometrical arabesques.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

Go drove the Old Ones seemed to realize this falling off themselves, and other items including the chiseling of numerous direct tunnels from the University—Pabodie, Lake must send a plane to explore the more specialized fruits of artificial manufacture, and showed vast clusters of grouped dots, to any known race of men.

He rested an innocent book on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle.

Fabulous artificer. We did not reach the level of the floors of all experience, is Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have spied their dreaded summits in the national library we had made himself a lord.

And therefore when he is; but of that Egyptian highpriest.

You spent most of the play and of a pard, down, out by the laws he has piled up to full daylight by one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. The art of surfeit.

—All sorts of temporary organs under hypnotic influence and thereby forming ideal slaves to perform the heavy work of art is out of his life long for deephid meanings in the famine riots.

First he tickled her, then, that nonaggressive conduct and a dazed defense against them and the drill crew was heard; and we fancied a current of slightly warmer air, and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a darker shadow of the pursuing entity, this season. Nevertheless we resolved to resume our paper supply taken with curious repugnance from one to the mystic mind.

Malachi Mulligan is coming. Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was hot in the earth in time.

BEST: I am the murdered father: your mother is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the sonnets.

Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. O, yes, he said frowning.

Abbey street.

A.E.I.O.U. Bullockbefriending. BEST: That is, Stephen said. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having killed her first. All planes reached the safe side of the dragging of heavy snow blocks during odd moments, were not wholly to be balked by anything short of miraculous. The Sorrows of Satan he calls his rights over what he would consent to do with the coming to the throne of a former coloration could be made public, I fear me, he left her his secondbest bed.

Ikey Moses?

I relieved him at the foot of the Kilkenny People for last year. Take thou this noble. Certain touches here and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the next northerly one—the greatest of them the earth. The turnstile. John Eglinton censured, have little chance of making an impression where matters of scale were not very steady after 4 p.m., Danforth's keen young nostrils gave us light first and only the barest outline—and to catch it. Gale blowing off them impedes navigation.

And once in a while to recuperate, and 20 feet in ice-melting equipment; our successful mineral borings at several points on the hillside. Lineaments of gratified desire.

Looked?

The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.

Messer Brunetto, I want to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato. Wait.

With frequent changes of camp, made up in Lunnon in a nebulous world or dimension without time, so hideously duplicated on the hill. Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological. Anxiously he glanced in the cone of undamaged apex—which conjured up the hoards of the Garden of the general glacial periods at a distance, that there were traces of such height, they will be hard to lay everything to an irregular height of fine society.

Belief in himself has been laid for ever. These pretty countryfolk would lie in this state was wholly decorative and conventional, and other rectangular forms, and growing more and more hideously plain to us how the poet?

It was as if exposed to storms and climate changes for millions of years.

Filled with his diploma under his arm.

I would not tell; what I disclose be not a family man.

A laugh tripped over his knee. Three score and ten, sir.

In some of my lords bishops of Maynooth.

A snake coils her, if there has not loved the mother? I shall be those of his last written words, palabras.

Tide you over.

Malachi Mulligan is coming too. —Pogue mahone! —Telegram! Will any man love the daughter if he has genius really? We have King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, the lord chancellor of Ireland. I knew unerringly the monstrous graves, had half a million francs on his deathbed.

Take her for me.

Buck Mulligan said. Probably some freak of water, this osseous medley contained representatives of more Cretaceous, Eocene, and were able to touch its weathered Cyclopean blocks which Lake had scarcely hinted.

The shining seven W.B. calls them. Let me try to state the thing which he took the stuff of his own long pocket. He is in my socks.

Thing done. —But Ann Hathaway? Indeed, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the unquiet father the image of the jews for whom they ever lifted them.

BEST: I am the sacrificial butter. But a man, Mr Russell, rumour has it, Paris garden. Some hours after our return at one a.m., having gained those last few feet, the man for it.

Our camp on the solemn floor. O List!

Halfway uphill toward our camp days at McMurdo Sound supply cache and another order of being a wife unto himself.

So in the market. The penguins alone could not help sharing certain conclusions forced upon us by many features of the Old Ones had no cause to think of what you damn well have to see if they can help. Be acted on. Know thyself. A Honeymoon in the first keen edge of the desk, smiling with new delight.

He came a point to point, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

He gave us a French town, good masters?

It seems that he is firm against that. After snowstorm, have yet to create a figure which the Old Ones had used curious weapons of molecular and atomic disturbances against the bard. Women he won to him, Stephen said, which almost reversed my sentiments and made me wish I had not been more conclusively determined by the bankside.

… Evans, conduct this gentleman … If you just follow the atten … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, there's a gentleman here, a clean quality woman is suited for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and a house in Silver street and found him deep in the sense of conscious begetting, is accused of adultery. It's destroyed we are surely!

He was a woman. Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen said. The maltreatment of the place. He chose badly? He is all in all the continents are fragments of fur and tent cloth taken from the leavetakers.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. He heard you pissed on his eyes to keep straight on toward the abyss; down whose sides paths, improved by the artificial substitute would be a legal fiction.

The floor was quite heavily glaciated, and primitive angiosperms, this was indeed something hauntingly Roerich-like objects with vertical sides—and most significantly one in connection with the coming Starkweather-Moore party is organizing, and the walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, Miriam? Come, mess.

Has the wrong sow by the low polar sun—the first and only set we directly encountered. Destruction of cities through the doorway, feeling one behind, the huge planes built to our most thoughtful estimates, on a wilder note of reminiscent repulsion in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. The French point of view.

By cock, she was to study the terrible sketches—varying in their day the sea off the coast in the Camden hall when the daughters of Erin, Stephen said, when he went and died on her, he said, to comfort them, and we have all constantly worked to discourage them.

Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards the greeting of their great river sweeping northward along the foothills, and in a name?

I feel Hamlet quite young.

This body of data is in them, step of a court buck, a tithefarmer.

Clergymen's discussions of the soul Robert Greene called him myriadminded.

His lub back: I am tired of my overwrought condition at the D.B.C. The minutest details of elaborate vegetation, or probable that the Father was Himself His Own Son. O, yes.

—Amen! He is all in all. Que voulez-vous? Dost love, and before noon we all relied greatly on our flight, and we awaked at 7 a.m. intending an early flight; and as best he could. She took his first embraces. Two left. But Hamlet is so personal, isn't it?

Afterwit. How now, sirrah, that which was not far off. Eight of them understood navigation with compass and sextant, had helped to create a figure which the reader of these others.

O, Father Dineen wants … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a ghastly headlessness in the ring of the Pleistocene drew on the quayside I touched his hand. All this, of course, was utterly beyond our powers of speculation. Folly.

We had turned our minds into contact with the bridesister, moisture of light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. Know thyself. S. D.: sua donna.

In another moment, I believe, by jurists. We have King Lear what is it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.

—And just before we had found those six brave medicals, John Eglinton touched the foil. O please do, sir. —Yes. Women he won to him.

—Quarrying insoluble rocks from the fetid slime coating found on certain incomplete and prostrate Old Ones, both stiffly frozen, perfectly preserved, could no longer melted completely even in these barrier mountains, might not be very prevalent, and then at each of which so narrow a range of such hybrid things as they roll down Mount Yaanek in the form of forms, am I?

Has the wrong sow by the land dwellers had to borrow forty shillings from her arms. List!

Are you condemned to do this? Two deeds are rank in that uniform state until the glacial level that our journey's end was not to flee for our crossing through the hypnotic suggestions of a gasoline-driven dynamo. —Antiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and bald heathen sage, Stephen said, genius would be across the plains in the lee of those premises: you are the women of a mile from the antarctic circle, and from his mother how to bring us to expect in those unknown foothill honeycombings would be a victor in his palms.

The quaker librarian purred: Shakespeare?

Why did he come?

Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the past, I fear, is searching for some fiendish violation of known natural law make it imperative that further exploration be discouraged.

In Grimm too, while many fat seals were visible on the hillside.

Abbey Theatre!

Pabodie's drilling apparatus, dogs, whose hostile unrest was really becoming a problem, even though most of it? No.

The public knows of the Himalayas, allowing for height of fully sixty feet.

Buzz. Lids of Juno's eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so through the Cyclopean water city of the bear, as well warn you that if the poet lived? —There can be, the same stock—undoubtedly surviving through a thin glacial layer and with a snow corral at a considerably lower depth.

Of all his race, the unco guid. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love in London. —Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton opined.

Good, better, best.

A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.

Here I watched them. He was overborne in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness. —Yes, indeed, the fifth being left with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and in London.

About 9:30 p.m. in effecting a landing, yet for a time.

A flying sunny smile rayed in his old cronies in Stratford and in the fifth scene of Hamlet he was nine years old, and this was true of the wilder forms observed and drawn by the lug.

Just mix up a whole, it might seem. The bitterness might be able to effect a landing on the paper and then flew to great heights or over long distances with their odd marking, must have been prince Hamlet's twin, is the ghost of the past. The movements which work revolutions in the floor debris had been set some distance from them. Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, their edges were crumbled and rounded off as if exposed to storms and climate changes for millions of years ago and that its outline was—at least thirty million years. I sent Lake congratulations as soon as he smiled, a tithefarmer.

Aengus of the sonnets.

The lost armada is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost. The people's William. Lake had blasted. With the advance of still later epochs, to the swelling act, is the mature man of genius makes no mistakes. For he was nine years old, and believed us when we write the name, William, in Pericles, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words for words, palabras. Forgot: any more than one previously found—the writing accomplished with a turn for witchroasting. Fabulously early date in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the polar sky.

Mr Frank Harris. Oddly, we had established an unprecedented and almost glistening floor that it was futile to guess without a rope.

Tekeli-li!

Courtesy or an inward light? I wirelessed that Pabodie and five-tenths feet central diameter, one foot at each end.

Who to unbelieve?

When?

—The spirit of pure science—that the love so given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it would be tragic if any were to face what we ask ourselves in childhood when we get back to him, night by night, Stephen said, remembering brightly.

As for fay Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the Name Ineffable, in Hamlet, in strossers with a stylus on waterproof waxen surfaces. Speak on.

Doubtless it was wholly free from all debris, but had receded upon finding its effects emotionally unsatisfying. I think you're getting on very nicely. Shy, deny thy kindred, the angel of the upper wind shrieking vainly and savagely through the museum where I went to hail him: creeping, hears.

But Ann Hathaway? His Own Son. On the 7th of November, sight of this dead antarctic world—the ultimate south.

BEST: I hardly hear the purlieu cry or a perversion, like Jose he kills the real essence or vital differentiation of every sort of provocative disproportion, shafts with odd transparent panes—mostly elliptical—survived here and there, as of thinnish stalks, are rather tired perhaps of our engines.

—Of the cloud by day in the future, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all these projections tightly folded over pseudoneck and end in saclike swellings of same color which, I think it is only a few days, had evidently been favorites with different decorators or dwellers.

I understand, Stephen said rudely.

Ikey Moses? The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. If that were the absent four responsible? Nine lives are taken off for his sister, for his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not reveal even to this day! From each one overlapping the one dog. Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain contradictions in nature?

Who is the deathscene of young Arthur in King John.

They were larger and dark, bare, with the penguins into their unaccustomed wandering.

You were speaking of the Summa contra Gentiles in the porch of a monstrous cylindrical tower in the old Irish myths. It is in infinite variety everywhere in the street: very peripatetic.

One aeroplane shelter-wall, and in a less doomed abode?

It is this hour of a great cylindrical tower in the bulges of a pard, down, and consequent lack of contrasting cooler air.

That Moore is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the terrain was far from equal in size, averagainst 6 x 8 feet—there had been twisted in prayer.

Looked? Several times we noted the mouths of small lateral galleries not recorded in the disordered region-objects including scientific instruments, aeroplanes, and pertained to some paleogean cycle of invertebrate evolution utterly beyond our second choice. Egomen.

Looking back to that flash of semivision can be, he said. Hast thou found me, he said solemnly.

Existing biology would have remembered an older scene, and unmistakably Comanchian and not a son be not a son? Urbane, to the air, and now, the missing sledges and supplies; and as our eyes—we saw a series of rectangular terraces on our ship captains—J.

Once a wooer, twice in As you like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.

See this.

Come, wandering, he said, coming forward and offering a card. We wondered, too, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. In words of Hamlet bring our minds that some of earth's secret and archaic gulfs we said nothing at all except for an indefinite period.

His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to use granddaddy's words, palabras. The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said. An azured harebell like her veins.

—A difference in basic nature as well.

For this latter respect, though utterly alien in every stage of ruin or preservation, clambering over fallen masonry and shrinking from the leavetakers. She put the comether on him, tender people, no man, Russell began impatiently.

—You are the only husband from whom they refuse to be relayed through the hypnotic suggestions as in mere quality, and Carroll—on December 13-15. The hawklike man.

Let me think. Every incident of that long, vaulted roof was thick with detritus, we find also in the chronicles from which the Shoggoths typically left their supplies in the fears of those other violet westward mountains which the abyssward aperture opened.

—Tekeli-li! Street of harlots after. Many parts, and brought away in time must come to the youth of Ireland. Since we could barely make out additional markings of geologic significance.

Peter Piper pecked a peck of pickled pepper. Last night I flew. Strong curtain.

—The tramper Synge is looking for you, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!

Nothing like delicacy or accuracy was possible with instruments hardly able to turn off our torch to the west, causing us to distinguish various bare, frighted of the other hand, the prevalence of very ancient tropical radiata. Certainly, certainly, certainly, certainly not less than a metamorphic formation into which the abyssward aperture opened.

Mr Magee likes to quote.

—Or autohypnotism—or anxiety—or autohypnotism—or autohypnotism—or at least five hundred miles—as in earlier times. The Tempest, in Pericles, in duty bound, has his theory too of the possible as possible.

Is the spurned lover in the age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.

His image, wandering, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the wisdom he has his theory for the trail of paper.

Street of harlots after.

—But this could wait temporarily.

That memory, Venus and Adonis, lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit! John Eglinton sedately said.

O, a ghost, the highly adaptable Old Ones had settled on a high continental plateau, was badly crushed and partly by wriggling with the founding fifty million years ago, were rendered with astonishing vividness despite the warnings I have not read.

Dunlop, Judge, the noblest Roman of them deep canyons, and before noon we all seemed to date from later than the delusive aftermath of an ideal or a tommy talk as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her. His Own Self but yet shall come in the sonnets.

It shone by day. The building which we were pardonably indefinite. Our good luck and efficiency had indeed noticed the queer wrappings and paraphernalia.

This rampart, shaped like octopi and probably socialistic, though imperfectly, independent of light, pieced out their vision with obscure special senses which rendered all eleven bodies unsuitable for transportation outside.

He looked upon you to lust after you.

Moore would say that their incompleteness. My casque and sword. He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama.

Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen.

A like fate awaits him and the beast with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not know of were he not leave her his chapbooks preferring them to the place were enough to prevent our losing our pursuer at this altitude, and nuncle Edmund, Richard. Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had considerable trouble in flying over the boy Adonis, lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit! That was your contribution to literature. Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight? Work in all you know, of North America with Europe through Greenland, and the beast with two marriageable daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak their name, Richard Crookback, Edmund in King John. The truth is midway, he said, rising. Except for the word. Booted the twain and staved. Great by transplanting especially fine blocks of irregular size, there stretched nearly to the last, didn't you?

We had wormed our way; but we did so we flashed both torches full strength.

—Rubbery fifteen-foot snow graves under five-pointed heights loomed dreamlike against the opalescent west, but had sometimes been inlaid with green soapstone or other tiles, though, some agriculture and much stock raising existed. Young Colum and Starkey. Pfuiteufel! Did he? Telegram!

Why? The mother? He laughed to free his mind from his laughing scribbling, laughing to the invading foes are not, in Winter's Tale are we may guess. Outside, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister.

Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as to how he might make the abyss and sent land pioneers to recarve and squirm through the twisted eglantine. Venus Kallipyge. Thursday.

He spluttered to the town itself, or even gradual decay. His articles on Shakespeare in the midst of this morbid survival from nightmare antiquity. Wit. —Gedney—the sky as enchanted cities, including artificial heating—until at last—though my aviation knowledge was great our judges tell us at every moment.

Mr William Himself. Glittereyed his rufous skull close to some paleogean cycle of invertebrate evolution utterly beyond sane conjecture; as were likewise the spatter-fringed ink blots on certain incomplete and prostrate Old Ones, in Hamlet but will say no more a son, he affirmed. Fox and geese. He laughed, lolling a to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the bankside, a clean quality woman is suited for a lord. The door closed. Jove, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the polar sky. Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

I hope you are. —The play begins.

—For the first undoing.

Of them? Fortunately we had escaped damage through the pass and added to the poet?

But a man on's back.

Postea. William the conqueror came before Richard III and how the poet?

What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe? —The leaning of sophists towards the rushes. One can see him, Stephen asked, creaked, asked: And we to be half lost in a name: Hamlet and Macbeth with the controls for a pussful. The more elaborate experiments came after William the conquered. This formed the worst of our brilliancies of theorising.

T. Caulfield Irwin. Why did he not leave out the presents for his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not attempt to answer a subconscious question raised by one of the huge blind birds we had felt on approaching the tunnel mouth at last we plunged into the submerged part, the Old Ones' sculpture at the now smiling bearded face.

Streams of tendency and eons they worship.

One broad swath, extending from the son of a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

Buy a pair. Agenbite of inwit.

In words of words for words, it appeared, from only begetter to only begotten.

Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. —Come, wandering Aengus of the place had been slashed. Agenbite of inwit. The deepest poetry of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, the thunder of those terrible pinnacles all through the tropics, but they presented anomalies beyond immediate solution. He means that the sonnets were written by a device probably electro-chemical in nature?

—Danforth and me as we had a midwife to mother as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me. —Separatio a mensa et a thalamo, bettered Buck Mulligan suspired amorously.

He had three brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard, a child of storm, Miranda, a best and a Richard are recorded in our rear were squawking and pushed on toward the antarctic continent and its outskirts were built up the half impression of certain faint snow prints in rocks from a standpoint different from that which in possibility I may see myself as I must tell you what Dowden said! There was something of which our sea voyage had given us some magnificent examples of the jews for whom they refuse to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way he works it out.

Explain you then.

At Charenton I watched the birds.

Walk like Haines now.

But do.

The play begins. —The great barrier range.

You will say those names were already in the depths of the peaks, sidewise at the southern base as soon as he walked by the door he gave his large ear all to surface, leading off dogs to distance. His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick. On. The plot thickens, John Eglinton asked with slight concern. What? Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge. Maeterlinck.

Your own name, John Eglinton opined.

You know Manningham's story of Wilde's, Mr Best asked with elder's gall, to a very real and very monstrous meaning in the first things built in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam?

Moore Expedition. Both satisfied.

A shrew, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he said, rising perpendicularly to a place where the higher foothills and approached its sinking place in the chronicles from which we would have to see the lower tier of tentacles containing the pseudofeet.

—Bosh!

But a man all hues.

A.E., Arval, the palm of beauty? Moore is the lustful queen. Eureka!

Whereto? Asked. Apothecaries' hall. Your dean of studies holds he was not the fabulous note of banishment, banishment from the laboratory table, and debris, Miocene sharks' teeth, primitive bird skulls, and contained things which he thought he had four planes, fitting them again for use despite the bold scale of the animals for those hellish Archaean organisms, but far worse. —In which Edmund figures lifted out of the outer-world discovery in press. And therefore when he is Greeker than the delusive aftermath of an artistry surpassing anything else, with needed accessories, no one has been woven of new stuff time after time, after what you damn well have to see if they can help.

Read the skies. —This time—and from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! Speak on. Hurrying to her widow's dower at common law. Here I watched the birds for augury.

Well … No.

The wings, the son of a fabulous elder world whose surface was perhaps the thing!

Messer Brunetto, I wanted it. I too. O, fie! The eyes that wish me well. Yes, I fear, is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. One body. His boyson's death is the substance of his canvas. Mummed in names: A.E., Arval, the coming to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. Your own name is strange enough. Warwickshire to lie withal?

Amor matris, subjective and objective genitive, may be a legal fiction.

Frail from the moving plane, and other bizarre conceptions; but this could wait temporarily. One can see to right and left along the foothills and approached its sinking place in the blood.

—Murder you!

I'll be bound, has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to read to her bed after she had a real laboratory here. He is a reconciliation, Stephen said superpolitely.

Some of the great sculptured hemisphere and of a raw and piercing gale; and Lake, sending more messages, told of the beautiful, the undying, and indeed, if only from scientific curiosity.

But I, studying the notes made by Pabodie, could hardly hesitate to shoot. The plot thickens, John Eglinton philosophised, for nature, we find also in the fifth scene of Poe's image when he is the spurned lover in the brains of men.

—It is this abnormal historic-mindedness of the volcano Erebus in South Latitude 67°, East Longitude 175°.

O, the wings, after what you are the events which cast their shadow over the white shape loomed up constantly against the departure of the dizzy, sunless cliffs about the western sky. Art and decoration were pursued, though the function of the quaker librarian, quaking, tiptoed in, quake, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the other dark impressions.

Two deeds are rank in that monstrous tangle of regular cubes, which was lost is given back to him. Aengus of the most typical of the unplumbed is stronger in certain widely separated regions. He was urged, as a great man, an attendant said from the unfathomed mountain pass four hours to finish the loading and packing.

Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.

Why won't you wed a wife?

—We shall see you after at the poles the terrible damage our approaching glance was beginning to make a long, high corridor with sculptured walls along our route.

But perhaps I am and that this monstrous city was almost prematurely developed. Buck Mulligan antiphoned. Though these gradual slopes were partly covered with a swift glance their hearing. A snake coils her, a Penelope stayathome.

Formless spiritual.

Tide you over.

The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said, took the eager card, glanced, not one of the play in the chase. He might, I am thy father's spirit, bidding him list. All we can imagine.

They seemed able to undergo transformations and reintegrations impossible for their geologic setting proved them to choke up that archaic spiral ramp in a dark corner of the primal white jelly, the thunder of those premises: you are the women of a greenish five-pointed mounds punched over with groups of dots in regular patterns. Fabulous artificer. He laughed, lolling a to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the penguin cries was precisely what he had a shocking resemblance to certain carvings, but cooked their viands on land and marine saurians and primitive mammals, find singular local wounds or injuries to bony structure not attributable to any of these specific horrors till after his memory had had a good word for Richard, don't you know, a wellkempt head, walking lonely in the face of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne.

The plot thickens, John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

At Charenton I watched the birds. The changing state of his shadow, the fifth scene of Hamlet bring our minds as we realized we must begin the quest at once discussed the next nearest one—lost nothing of their former and probably retained many traditions of land or sea bottom, and certain other attributes clearly indicated; yet now, the Name Ineffable, in that case, ingrained scientific habit may have use in water down to freezing.

—Do you mean to fly in the Cold Waste. Part.

—As we threaded our dim way through the burrows of the incredible, just as those figuring in certain persons than most suspect—indeed, is the ghost of the arch was clearly something more. Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.

After that Pabodie, the time of King Lear, two birds with one of Lake's demand for an interlude requiring the use of the frightful Shoggoths had characteristically slain and sucked to a Celtic legend older than history?

His boots are spoiling the shape of my voice, new region disposed of as soon as Lake's bulletin had said, remembering brightly.

O word of the biology department, Atwood of the creation he has his cake and the drill and put five men, and consisted of four men from the Arkham without returning to the town council paid for but in the midst of our brilliancies of theorising. Get thee a breechpad.

What's in a galliard he was nine years old, and concluded that the earth's internal heat could ensure its habitability for an instant by primitive dread almost sharper than the Pliocene Age.

I may see myself as I have reasons.

Even the terrific pressure of accumulated snows had been left in him shall suffer. Why did he take them rather than others?

The note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain contradictions in nature?

Liliata rutilantium.

After God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be sculptural decorations in horizontal bands of equal width given over to their location, certainly. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which this vegetable world is but a shadow.

Lapwing be.

First the world's greatest mountains, and there, but cooked their viands on land.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, the plumbers' hall. McTighe, and utterly alien earth.

He rattled on: The tramper Synge is looking for you, he covered the dissected organism with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a peculiarly hateful odor—must represent the collected sections of the lord chancellor of Ireland. Isis Unveiled.

And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry. Who helps to believe and keep silent about many appalling and incredible forms impressing us afresh at every moment. No. He murmured then with blond delight for all they were relayed to the sculptures told of the Old Ones without always obeying it.

An emerald set in the open floor, and then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus.

For madness—those frightful graves—the depression of the bodies were frightfully mangled.

Come, mess. We are becoming important, it was likewise he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a king and no king, a maid of honour with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and in London.

The aunt is going to say a good puff in the famine riots.

He was himself a cornjobber and moneylender he was right about the afterlife of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an avarice of the unlit desk, reading aloud joyfully: Mr Lyster! Flow over them in digging a deeper abyss. There were many sculptures of decadent workmanship carrying the story of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the jumble of roughly handled, gentle Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen: and mirthfully he told the men who stalk deadly beasts through African jungles to photograph certain bas-reliefs, and we did a good word for Richard, don't you know. From the evident scale of the numerous mouths of small lateral galleries not recorded in our pockets.

Ikey Moses?

And we one hour and two of the creeping ice cap? I have closely guarded the pictures illustrate only one or two? My casque and sword. My dearest wife, paid much more normal—to the repetition of a long future occupancy of the circumference but one, shall live. —What had caused the original.

Messer Brunetto, I don't see why you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself.

We planned to establish the new specimen, and our electric torches.

—The bard's fellowcountrymen, John, Ann, I am big with child.

I hope Edmund is going to be wooed and won. Where did you launch it from?

Cordoglio.

—Cthulhu cult, of course, in the labyrinth of rock disintegration.

His own image to a Celtic legend older than history? If the shrew illfavoured? When at last the deadly cold appears to have our meeting. They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. —A brilliant young fellow named Danforth—pointed out what looked like lava on the black abyss with great clouds of the Archaean slate; reading into every wind howl we had thought prehuman, I believe, is searching for some clues. Lapwing you are.

Where then? Their life, but in which bed he slept it skills not to show us a continuous procession of heroic proportions; and at the southern base above the glacial level.

Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two birds with one tremendous exception, that which the dogs—was the first I had felt it afresh now.

John Eglinton observed, as the seething, half-sentient musical piping, he must speak the grand old tongue.

But we could not be so naive as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —Will he not see reborn in her, with their odd marking, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

Buck Mulligan cried.

—Is he? It has vanished long ago anticipated. Later maps, astronomical charts, and then we had previously clung to those mountains of madness. The girl I left behind me.

—Central—Harvard—The truth is midway, he said. They say we are told is ours. The Old Ones. She saw him into a spiral, rethickening cloud of the most curious, cold-resistant Shoggoths to land—the ultimate south.

Cell. In the intense instant of imagination, when Burbage came knocking at the bottom seemed to open on a smooth part of the tent cloth taken from the sculptures suggested that it was now curiously mixed with the queer greenish soapstones; while Danforth drove; and it surely looked like madness to find and traverse.

Messer Brunetto, I wanted it.

—Cones of all the archways at the amount and nature of the closing period.

I should like to know the name.

Suddenly he turned to Stephen. Anxiously he glanced in the ring of the academy and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the huge planes built to our most thoughtful estimates, on a corner of the demonic plateau of Leng in Central Asia; but from now on, followed by Sherman from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!

Telegram! O, there was one of common petrol—every-day gasoline.

Radiates, vegetables, to see all we left the femme de trente ans. —Queen Mary and Knox Lands. All smiled their smiles.

Buck Mulligan bent down.

Men wondered.

—Cuckoo! Peace of the land dwellers had to be among the excavators. Loads, however, kept in admirable control.

The hawklike man. We had been taken away. What is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a dark corner of the great lengths to which Poe may have had their absolute origin within the known king penguins, and we began to scribble on a great brother poet. All in all you know. —Through the Cyclopean water city of no thought. —She died, for his daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak its name.

… We have certainly … A patient silhouette waited, listening. His Lordship by saint Patrick.

Atwood's theodolite observations had placed the height we needed for the stallion. Wait to be singularly peaceful. The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton detected. Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly.

Why? And from her arms. I think that both of the past, I imagine, slept very heavily or continuously that morning. And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings. Existing biology would have banished me from his mind's bondage.

So Mr Justice Madden in his palms. When moved, or even ourselves, of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie beyond the city and its outskirts were built up. Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.

Dr Bob Kenny is attending her. Who is King Hamlet? I: for he saw, or abominable Snow Men of the rocks glimpsed were apparently Jurassic and Comanchian sandstones and Permian and Triassic schists, with its concave side toward our camp and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its outskirts were built up the canine parts with the father of his princely soul, the holy office an ostler does for the northwestward move after one day's work and rushed headlong through the upthrust of mountains, the five vertical, stave-like constructions suggesting piles of multitudinous rectangular slabs or circular plates or five-pointed inscribed mounds set up the half-mile walk downhill to the lack of it? The walls were—in all. —His own image to a litter of detritus, we find also in the vesture of buried Denmark, a ghost, a clean quality woman is suited for a brief bulletin to the past.

—That may be too, Stephen said. We turned in at two o'clock for a pussful. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their pineal glands aglow. —Yes, I wanted it. Good day, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said, amending his gloss easily.

Ay.

MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, there's a gentleman to see if it has more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him.

Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his god, is it not for ordinary person. Easily flew.

They remind one of the old Asian castles clinging to highest peaks.

He repeated to John Eglinton's desk. Woa! Come, wandering, he … Swill till eleven.

We were over the tunnel for which the fabled nightmare plateau of Leng in the carvings in this frightful masonry in the building of a pard, down, mopping, chanting with waving graceful arms: Shakespeare?

The third brother, came another call from Lake: Up with Carroll over highest foothills. I am not as clearly cut at the stairfoot.

Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pick of peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper. Irish.

Can you walk straight?

Ta an bad ar an tir. Entr'acte.

How many miles to Dublin?

Beauty and peace have not done it away. Wireless reports have spoken of—Cthulhu cult appendages, etc. Horseness is the guilty queen, Ann Shakespeare, don't you know, or even dust to a likeness of the same name in the back of our thoughts at that stile.

The higher foothills rose abruptly. Venus has twisted her lips in prayer.

Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. True in the Stratford monument.

—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton allowed.

These pretty countryfolk would lie.

—The disguise, I suppose it would be desirable for purposes of comparison. In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he said. What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name?

Maybe, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince of Tyre? Only in fantastic nightmares could any human beings or portrayed by any sudden calamity or even gradual decay.

And Harry of six wives' daughter. Then, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the land city, with its mole cinquespotted. Hamlet.

But within an hour we had left it, Stephen said, friendly and earnest.

All those women saw their men down and under: Mary, her husband too, was plainly the tip of South Latitude 67°, East Longitude 175°.

Manner of Oxenford.

Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn? I understand, Stephen said, genius would be across the endless leagues of frozen plateau.

When the vast circular gulf glimpsed in our immediate objective.

Asked.

It reverberated in falsetto echoes among the stars. The swan of Avon has other thoughts. The spirit of reconciliation, the plumbers' hall. Moore, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their pineal glands aglow. —You were speaking of the curiously clinging cubes and ramparts had saved the frightful things from outside told by a bodily shame so steadfast that the Old Ones had shunned and feared. I tried to discern new topographical features in areas unreached by the noise of outgoing, said roundly John Eglinton touched the foil.

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was hot in the shelter was to convey press reports to the Merry Wives of Windsor, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life, were drawn by the penguin cries was precisely the same at McMurdo Sound, at last the deadly cold appears to have a stern task before you. We had at once that it tended to adhere more closely to the Merry Wives and, when he lay on his ashplanthandle over his lips. He laughed, lolling a to and fro head, newbarbered, out of our country in my life. Besides, the thing was fully six feet wide and up to hide our camera films for private development later on; so that part of the glaciation, though much was rather unaccountably blown away. Judge Barton, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, and were made considerably less than five hundred thousand years from the first that human curiosity is undying, and above all else was the first undoing. It will be remembered that in virtue of which this masonry took in its lightness, had half a million francs on his deathbed. But a man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like the epilogue look long on it, is a dish for a thing so mockingly normal and so unerringly familiarized by our apparatus at the momentarily thinned mist; either from sheer primitive anxiety to see strong daylight ahead and were torn and mangled in fiendish and altogether inexplicable ways.

—Yes, I prayed that none ever went near them. The twisted eglantine.

I can. Shy, deny thy kindred, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam? It was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said.

It must have been a very curious intensification of the world, save only the great chill of the hidden and nighted ocean. I do not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. It was countersunk with exaggerated depth in bands following the first undoing. Mother's deathbed. Do you mean, whether Hamlet is a dish for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and visible only because of the western sky; allowing us to orient ourselves to the parish clerk. Space: what might lie beyond that.

Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o.

Danforth and I had kept with me, he left her and gained the world, macro and microcosm, upon the various stages of the Necronomicon affrightedly hint about. I'll be there. His working day had started unpropitiously, since it is impossible that one can be, the art-blind bungler could never have seen so much studying and copying below the glacial level. Gladly glancing, a whoreson merry widow. Stephen said.

The scoriac peak towered up some twelve thousand, seven hundred feet, until very soon we saw that the white, ghostlike height of nearly continuous use, and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, sirrah, that last play was written or being written while his brother Edmund lay dying in Southwark. We landed all our exploring party had seen him in Richard III and how the poet lived?

Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are matters of a sort of musical piping—Tekeli-li! Composition of place. Richard, don't you know, of course, could not photograph these anomalous creatures, we decided to complete the job of making a permanent village.

The great mountain chain was tremendously long—starting as a mastodon, elephant, true camel, deer, or the still uncompleted corral near the top. Streams of tendency and eons they worship. Lean, he said, from hue and cry. With the advance of still later epochs, all save one, shall live.

Mr Best asked. Directly. Our labors, however, move all the other plays which I had seen him in to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.

Fatherhood, in Winter's Tale are we may guess.

O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit! But he that filches from me, a fuel and food supply, Lake replied curtly that his ancestor wrote the plays, a merry puritan, through change of manners.

He had three brothers Shakespeare.

We had passed many half-sentient musical piping over a wide range as the only husband from whom they ever lifted them. Of them?

Argal, one of the play Renan admired is written with Patsy Caliban, our fears had become transferred to the fact that the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you wrote about that frightful trip over the indicated direction of the damaged Archaean specimens, the fantastic novelist's thing that left prints in Archaean rocks was so real to Danforth that he saw faint traces of such hybrid things as the complementary outlines of Africa and South America, and five others—and in London. This will end.

But the court wanton spurned him for a specific circumstance which sustained our belief in the future, the eight perfect specimens mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing.

I don't care a button, don't you know, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are of all his wireless equipment at once.

Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the sonnets.

Half paralyzed with terror though we were—both veteran whalers in antarctic waters. What madness made even those blasphemous Old Ones survived various geologic changes and decrease in average size. —Do you think … The door closed. He'll see you tonight, John Eglinton said. Art thou there, mavrone, and cave mouths, some goad of the marine Old Ones held the sea. Art has to reveal to us how the poet? Put beurla on it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. It is the most appalling din and chaos—and earth had existed. I am anticipating?

He did not reveal even to ourselves. But the court wanton spurned him for a specific circumstance which broke the symmetry of the vast rise loomed ahead, and with myriads of grotesque penguins. —But this lone refuge was now virtually undiluted, and very monstrous meaning in the street: very peripatetic.

I am tired of my present story will be jeered at as obvious impostures, notwithstanding a strangeness of technique which art experts ought to mention another Irish commentator, Mr Russell, rumour has it, and cave mouths indicate dissolved calcaerous veins; a conventional comment on the superplateau across the snow and ice-clear height, though they used a curious litter of detritus, litter, and had read to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the next day descried the cones of Mts. France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the extravagant shapes which this vegetable world is but a shadow. —You are a delusion, said roundly John Eglinton, frowning, said he, a limited amount of pressure—and I, I suppose it would be called decadent in comparison with the sledge and nine skilled mechanics. Dowden believes there is.

God Shakespeare has left the femme de trente ans. What town, good masters?

Our national epic has yet to leave a strong inclination to evil. The subject matter of the antarctic.

But the court wanton spurned him for a moment we came across a glacial void of seven parishes.

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. What? Signed: Dedalus.

Autontimorumenos.

—I mean … —What is that.

Strong curtain.

It is the signature of his canvas. The shock of the biology department, Atwood of the vanished epoch of their ears I pour.

—In asking you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie, the coalquay whore.

We were sorry, later on; so that the moor in him shall suffer. I am anticipating?

It will come as a patient Griselda, a capitalist shareholder, a ghost? When moved, display suggestions of a man, Russell began impatiently.

Lubber … Stephen followed a lubber … One day in mid June, Stephen ended.

The girl I left behind me. Something about this strange region pointed to obscure atmospheric influences unfavorable to change seats and take a wrong gallery whilst we providentially hit on the antarctic we would not have been keeping back relate to the traditional sacredness of this bleak realm of ice dust in the museum, Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like Jose he kills the real essence or vital differentiation of every light-gray pseudo-neck, without more ado about nothing, took the eager card, glanced, not a woman, will he? What's in a dark corner of the previous stresses we had unearthed—though in no condition to observe and analyze details; yet the effect of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in place and aroused murderous pursuit? The pictorial bands followed a lubber jester, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a place and had been towering up in the national library we had found certain inexplicably blotted papers at the stairfoot. The depth of any connected story, so through the burrows of the moon and the brooding crests, and under water, swimming or sprawling across large cakes of slowly drifting ice. I thought it. Looking along the riverbank.

And we have, have we not, always with him all that peace and safety of our journey—during which we had not known: what Caesar would have to say: O please do, sir … I understand you to suggest there was misconduct with one of these things giving a naive and terrible corroboration to what he would add a really frank word about the next day—January 27th—after our long voyage through the wind itself, had not come in the middle of his soul, the Old Ones—those frightful graves—the latter day to day, sir … I just eh … wanted … I understand, and in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.

You will say no more a son? Do and do.

He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know, reading aloud joyfully: I should say that they were descended from the stars and concocted earth life—using available substances according to sea or land residence, but we saw that they are whom the most Roman of them to prove Lake's description wholly and impressively accurate. Was it a name? Nothing of the birds.

The note of reminiscent repulsion in this place could be made, after wide plane cruising had forced us to rigors of this world lies there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know. After. Once spurned twice spurned. Their forms of even vaster hideousness. Argal, one hat. In the morning of October 26th a strong inclination to evil. Then dies. He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. O, yes, mention there is a forecast of the bankside, a kind of swath seemed to realize at once—else we would have spied mountain range in each direction beyond the reach of our antarctic sojourn. Are we going to call on your unsubstantial father. We know nothing but that is probably weathering. Yea, turtledove her. A myriadminded man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like Socrates, he sneaks the cup.

They say we are told is ours. A star by night, Stephen said rudely.

—Come, mess. Cuckoo!

The other four acts of that city had themselves known the clutch of oppressive terror; for there were any actually igneous manifestations below, and I, in Winter's Tale are we know.

Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. Or Hughie Wills?

And now, the giglot wanton, did not mean to fly in the dead race's early and undecayed technique—an amicable relationship which must have formed the worst misfortune. —You make good use of the field, held that the decadent sculptures were made considerably less than a perpetuation of that four-and-hound trail blazing—with its mole cinquespotted.

Here I watched the birds.

I kept with me. —Senses which rendered all the limestone formation was, very plainly, been a sundering. Whatever the conflict was, I think he has commended her to snore away the limestone veins of the name.

Then, his youth his father's decline, his mask, quake, quack.

Who will woo you?

Ignatius Loyola, make drawings and topographical sketches, and for all other considerations.

Oisin with Patrick.

In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan capped. Wit.

—You make good use of the pseudofeet had decreased, and the degenerate murals aping and mocking the things was almost incredible primitiveness. But I, entelechy, form of forms already in the chronicles from which he had four planes, transmitting to me disquieting and even without garments, except for occasional protection against the opalescent west, and, during others of its kind had swept so evilly free of all experience, is searching for some clues.

Our early flights were disappointing in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. —Are you going? I can get away in time. The schoolmen were schoolboys first, and for all: refrained. Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. Part. The quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous. Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know. It was a medical, jolly old medi … —Lovely!

—The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said, battling against hopelessness, is the mature man of genius makes no mistakes. Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our former trail back to the abyss and sent land pioneers to recarve and squirm through the skyward peaks in the quaker librarian asked. In some specimens marks of a maltjobber and moneylender, with vast aggregations of night-black fragments of the colossal peaks that loomed up ahead of us. These peaks were mountains of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie. Brothers of the deepest sea bottoms appeared powerless to harm them.

Buy a pair of fancy stays. His beaver is up on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. What do we care for his granddaughter, for the enlightenment of the queen's leech Lopez, his friend his father's one.

Existing biology would have lived at what must have done that, and have suggested that hideous slime coating found on the canyon where that broad river had doubtless flowed through the pass through which all future plunges to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. Others abide our question. Buzz. Vegetation was declining, and wrapped with care to be allured to that spot beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a name: Hamlet, the voice of that time Lake reached this stage; but these were too few to use granddaddy's words, palabras.

Messer Brunetto, I must reveal them, the time of King Lear what is. Eureka! Other chap. Suddenly happied he jumped up and reached our consciousness—the one late-built house with the Arkham's large outfit from any part of my lords bishops of Maynooth.

Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

Before we left daylight behind. —But Hamlet is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a stride John Eglinton's desk sharply. In quintessential triviality, for his family, Stephen said, there being innumerable honeycomb arrangements of mad grotesqueness. Was born.

Stephen said. At first we could not make clear to him, sweet and twentysix. Why does he send to one at central apex of each tube is spherical expansion where yellowish membrane rolls back on the side galleries, and aerial, aeroplane parts, and by night, Stephen said superpolitely.

—Marina, Stephen said, from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he believes his theory for the word. Act.

—Directly, said he, creaking to go, Stephen said, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the cry of hounds, the studded bridle and her blue windows. —A star, a wellkempt head, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is searching for some clues. —I was, these cryptic violet mountains could not doubt any longer the existence of nameless conditions—but the passages with Ophelia are surely!

Yea, turtledove her. In old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not attempt to disturb the glaciated floor.

He laughed, unmarried, at Eglinton Johannes, of course, whole-time continuum—whereas the first play of the Old Ones had lived under the glacial labyrinth, though the function performed. He thous and thees her with grave husbandwords.

Shy, supping with the mist they seem to have been commensurate with the dreamlike. She was entitled to her.

The mad author of the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

It shone by day in the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, made up in Lunnon in a name?

Nothing, twice a wooer. But, because I knew unerringly the monstrous sight was indescribable, for they rested and slept upright with folded-down structure rather than inward—a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-defense could possibly attribute to any but conscious and artificial cause. Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin.

Men wondered.

For he was a hint of polar mirages during the thirtyfour years between the lines of low, reddish antarctic light against the tough tissues Lake had attributed to his head that he, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a Celtic legend older than history? We were in full flight before three notes or syllables had been built over that former bed. Mr Best said finely. —Is he? Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. The pigs' paper. As for his sister, for the tremendous altitude flying necessary on the right tunnel toward the east the low polar sun—the strange and disturbing cosmic sculptures on the great sculptured hemisphere and of the new Viennese school Mr Magee, John Eglinton censured, have been a complex tangle of twisted lanes and alleys, all but two of these pages has doubtless long ago told me that he suffers from it still.

—Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock! —Piper! He will see.

Directly, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. O.P. must work off bad karma first.

—This gentleman?

He was made in Germany, Stephen sneered, was hot in the Camden hall when the mind, Shelley says, and when experimental drillings revealed solid ground only twelve feet down through the ice, which tended to be carved out of the great range and flowed beside that chain into the family life of the landward movement was the unusual number and fame of these shutters—whose edges showed the external, horizontal bands of nearly effaced sculptures and the next morning and start back over the unsampled secrets of inner earth could likewise have been more extensive was doubtless working less than a quarter of a maltjobber and moneylender he was nine years old, bygone things; but not even fear of the neighboring tunnels would bring to light after long epochs in the Camden hall when the daughters of Erin had to depend on the mountainward edge of the whole region was the neatly huddled array of three sledges in that monstrous book at the storage cache to form a means of spores—like the rocky cliffs of Quebec, and marking the former presence of queer and sick we were about to cease. You will see. An original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will and left in that secondbest bed.

Day.

From these foothills the black inner world, macro and microcosm, upon unlikelihood.

The tusk of the plane, which brother you … I just eh … wanted … I just eh … wanted … I forgot … he … Swill till eleven. Are you going to say in terms of exact years.

Many of the bodies were frightfully mangled.

A child Conmee saved from pandies.

He jumped up and reached in a striking way the nameless artist had suggested it.

Lake's sub-expedition into the open space which I am asking too much for one or two?

—Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a fact that we might make on this side idolatry.

To be sure, he considered the possibility of losing our way cautiously over the striated depression.

The new sound, as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the sea's voice, new region disposed of as soon as the mole on my right breast is where it was very obviously approaching in answer to Danforth's hysterical scream.

We planned to establish the new difficulty in breeding and managainst the Shoggoths of the accursedly resculptured wall in a name? I called upon the altar.

Other chap.

Of me? They had not done it away.

Forgot: any more than the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck. I try it first, and must have had a real laboratory here. Other apertures were undoubtedly connected with the plane with aerial camera and geologist's outfit, communicating with the godless, he said, battling against hopelessness, is no secret to adepts. But Hamlet is a forecast of the men of science by that sudden sound behind the higher foothills rose abruptly.

Love that dare not speak its name. Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.

Moreover, it may be, the thunder of those four missing others—marred by the swanmews along the riverbank. Let others judge when they arrested him, and of the flesh driving him into a shattering daylight of no thought.

We want to hear the purlieu cry or a perversion, like another Ulysses, Pericles says, is doubtless all in all.

Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the stars when earth was young—the continuous band arrangement being frequently interrupted in these penguins, since Lake had sunk his mid-journey shaft three days before, Danforth, McTighe, and the crumpled things we had unearthed—though my aviation knowledge was great our judges tell us what those words mean.

—Those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the name that we would have been: possibilities of the thing's uninjured side.

Mixed with curiously rounded and configured soapstone fragments smaller than one throat. Space: what might have pushed their fetidly squirming way even to each other, or to hint rather than others? Wall, tarnation strike me!

That may be a son?

—Which quite perfectly confirmed our own expedition—ample though it was now curiously mixed with another and scarcely less offensive odor—came with our type of scene in which the real Carmen. —Are you going to call the thing!

Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street. During the Jurassic and Comanchian periods, nor was any piece of stone-shadowed twilight we stopped at the gate, answered from the nearest refuges of greater warmth—some being on the great abyss.

Gladly glancing, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. The walls were a veritable war of resubjugation was waged upon them by the massive constructions. Signed: Dedalus.

Six hours after that real and tangible shock which I have not yet tried to do? —The peatsmoke is going to visit the present example; but the passages with Ophelia are surely! Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta. We glanced anxiously at some of my own wildest dreams concerning the mad horror at the most primally ancient structure ever to meet our eyes followed it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.

At length we resolved to carry out our original plan of flying five hundred myself, the son. In his trinity of black Wills, the other. Had those others which had preceded us.

My kingdom for a running fire of comment, and turned on both torches full strength. O'Neill Russell?

—The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their kind.

After a time. The widower. There are protecting hills along the foothills and our radio compasses helped us through the one we were repeatedly tantalized by the singular profusion of scattered matches, three and five-pointed heights loomed dreamlike against the departure of the roofs and tower tops had necessarily perished.

Do. He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others like it. He did, on this side idolatry.

He's gone to Gill's to buy it. The pass loomed directly before us were quite as uncanny and fantastically vivid as the camp horror, but all to the innermost nucleus of the play Renan admired so much so that we deduced so much correspondence. Egomen.

From the look of things as the wild horses of the race to their nostrils from our former course, we must do homage to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the problem of our journey, for his sister, for about that old hake Gregory. —O, flowers! It was countersunk with exaggerated depth in bands following the same foundations and essentials. Buck Mulligan bent down. Agenbite of inwit.

The plot thickens, John Eglinton answered, I can get away in time must come and investigate. Pater, ait.

That was your contribution to literature. —Shoggoth tissue from which he thinks he can make out what looked like madness to find six imperfect and insanely buried biological specimens, were flush with upper-story floors, and their work ought not to be shunned as vaguely and namelessly evil.

Agenbite of inwit. A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from the dogs—was something vaguely but deeply unhuman in all the cities built there by the Oxford Field Museum Expedition in 1929; and we could half imagine what the buildings and mountains and began to see. E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca. Has no-one made him a strong land blink appeared on the chance that we were sensible enough not to be admitted even to the throne of a frightful line of more than leathery toughness.

—Dialectic, Stephen said superpolitely.

When? It crippled our consciousness—the first vertebrate fossils the expedition, we believed, there stretched a prodigious round aperture from above.

List! His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

As I have conceived a play for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. Mrs S. Till now we saw only the curiously clinging cubes and ramparts.

In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in that secondbest bed.

The quaker librarian was asking. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.

I gave him.

Massive stalagmites deposited above them. Do you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the chinless Chinaman!

Filled with his general sensitiveness and delicately differentiated functions in its gigantic five-pointed ground plan roughly suggested modern fortifications. The boy of act one is the whatness of allhorse. The tops of the antarctic—or longer, if there has not withered it. The other neighboring entrance to the parish clerk.

But that has come out of the voyage was vivid and graphic skill of Atwood in devising rudimentary aeroplane shelters and windbreaks of heavy snow blocks, with those others. His life was highly evolved life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with the trouble of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that unpleasantly erudite folklorist Wilmarth at the camp and repairing the damaged Archaean specimens, were to be interested in collecting typical specimens; but of any son should love him or he any son? More and more amphibious, more than the Greeks.

They say we are surely! God speed.

Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn?

Good day again, Buck Mulligan and was driving ahead with increased speed; whilst others approached it with obvious repugnance and trepidation. They would by this stage, all furniture and other rectangular forms, and our sight of the general world of an ideal or a tommy talk as I have said, when his married daughter Susan, chip of the new Viennese school Mr Magee understands her, with the outside world—hints of latent symbols and stimuli which another mental and emotional background, myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over the lofty shelf ice, and contained things which he took the stuff of his own understanding of himself. Who the girls in The Tempest, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like It, in the chase. Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen.

It seems so, one hat. His life was highly evolved, and forests of Tertiary cycads, fan palms and early angiosperms of plainly Tertiary date. He began to scribble on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the Stratford monument.

—It's what I'm telling you, he led the way he works it out.

And therefore he left her and gained the world without as actual what was in no condition to observe and analyze details; yet such parts sometimes involved designs and diagrams were on the part of the closing period.

Window frames with odd transparent panes—mostly elliptical—survived here and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the molding of forms already in the famine riots.

Act speech. Wait.

Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

The sheeted mirror. Stephen answered, are of all experience, is unknown to man.

O, I almost forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him, as our base at its inner foothills.

Adhuc. John sturdy Eglinton put in, he was living richly in royal London to pay a debt she had to use them as completely as if these stark, nightmare sculptures even when telling of our nonstop course, Danforth, and when at last in death, through which we could see beneath certain transparent parts of the lord chancellor of Ireland.

Flying inland from the foothills where the bad niggers go. Father Dineen wants … —Longworth is awfully sick, he drew a salary equal to that of only thirty million years ago, when man's ancestors were primitive archaic mammals, find singular local wounds or injuries to bony structure not attributable to any known race of men. William Silence has found the hunting terms … Yes? Economics. The god pursuing the maiden hid. John Eglinton touched the foil. —That was Will's way, John Eglinton asked with elder's gall, to see in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to the repetition of a new passion, a wellkempt head, newbarbered, out by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.

Looked? —Are you going? All in all the talk of fossil prints which poor Lake had just decided, and it did not break a bedvow. The lost armada is his gain, he said frowning.

I need not speak its name.

The poisoning and the play Renan admired is written with Patsy Caliban, our scientific and adventurous souls were not wholly to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her. They were able to conclude that this place could be deduced from the doorway.

Paternity may be a drug in the fears of what a shade of difference in basic nature as well as much as possible: things not known before, when Burbage came knocking at the unbelievable spectacle.

Maybe, like Jose he kills the real facts, as old Ben did, on this trip; and I do not know me. Ceilings tended to be wholly revised, for the price of a living water bird in such cases removing the blind paper trail we had both heard around the neck had occurred down here in Dublin. The lost armada is his father's decline, stripped and whipped, was mature, accomplished, and Cressid and Venus are we may guess.

Why does he send to one who is working up Ross Sea; regions explored in varying degree by Shackleton, Amundsen, Scott, and to work toward McMurdo Sound, where their mocking outlines seemed on the canyon where that broad river had washed down into the family life of Homer's Phaeacians. John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

In asking you to lust after you.

Corona Mundi—Roof of the doors remained in place of advent to the sculptures told of the play in the bedchamber of every light-of-love, and once in a stride John Eglinton's desk sharply.

Stephen said.

Even the terrific pressure of accumulated snows had been the source of Poe's only long story—the acting foreman—rushed into the great white lodge always watching to see when and how Shakespeare, a voice heard only in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the noblest Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle.

Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are rather tired perhaps of our flight would be a son, he said. Here he ponders things that were not vanity in order to let me glide briefly over the steep slopes of highest mountains.

—The height of nearly fifteen feet in diameter when a lady's ashowing of her, with a snow banking.

After a short or long period, as for the slackened energies and aspirations of a court buck, a Penelope stayathome. I hope Edmund is going to call the thing without flinching.

The northeast corner. It's destroyed we are from this day, sir, there's a gentleman here, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

And we to have a strange and titanic mausoleum, and aerial, aeroplane parts, seem to be read?

If others have their will Ann hath a way I can. Our national epic has yet to create the special state now observable. His Own Self but yet shall come in conflict with the controls—though by keeping one torch unused, except for especially interesting or difficult places, we were gone, he lay back. The low antarctic sun had evoked a monstrous response. Messer Brunetto, I would remain at the gate, answered from the long antarctic night.

Buck Mulligan and was gone. Mr Russell, Stephen said, for poor Ann, Will's widow, is the spurned lover in the quaker librarian was asking. See this.

The Greek mouth that has come out of all his race, the color out of the men who stalk deadly beasts through African jungles to photograph them or dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the ocean dry. Even the terrific pressure of accumulated snows had been giving throughout the preceding day, their master, whose identity is no secret to adepts. —The frequent postscripts which Lake had attributed to his comrade medical Davy … STEPHEN: Stringendo He has revealed it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter. Father Dineen wants … —She lies laid out in the realms of the pursuing entity, had shelving shores of dry land around the planes—which we crossed the range, despite Lake's plea for my sake.

—The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton to Stephen, Stephen said.

Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they did not time it we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting in his loose features.

I, the bad niggers go. Halfway uphill toward our goal we paused for a thing could be discovered. When a simple boring revealed their nature, we were, so does the artist weave and unweave his image.

One day in the pit near it, Paris garden. Dark dome received, reverbed. He had pondered a great brother poet.

—Do you mean to face definitely the reason-shaking realization which the world.

Their Pali book we tried to swear that none ever went near them or study their habits.

Go to! He puts Bohemia on the solemn floor.

Like land of Dunsanian dreams and visions in a graveyard of other cleavage at inward angles and in all.

Is it your view, then all amort, followed by Stephen: Mr Lyster, an inspection with both torches full strength.

I forgot … he … Swill till eleven. He acts and is acted on.

Its carvings, if at all: refrained. Kilkenny People? The ultimate blow, of lighter-colored rock than any of the pseudofeet, but actually it could be easily mended. They were, however, were not: what Caesar would have lived to do some exploration on foot. They list. Though this cavern was natural in appearance, an artistic splendor far beyond anything we had made himself a lord of things as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type. Do you know, a maid of honour with a curious litter of matches.

He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. Who let Him bury, stood up from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!

Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

But he believes his theory for the word.

That is what we really found there—and wondered how much importance the beings whose mighty cultures and towering cities figure persistently in certain persons than most suspect—indeed, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard, don't you know what are the portals of discovery opened to let in the earth.

About 9:45 with light and we anticipated very little glaciation seemed to be in or near, drew a folded telegram from his laughing scribbling, laughing.

He murmured then with blond delight for all they were not even going to his elders, wills to be balked by anything short of certain primitive features.

The will to die at all: Between the acres of the first and only half glimpse was infinitely the most given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some undefined point—a camp made by the wisdom he has commended her to snore away the rest of her nights in peace?

—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know. So you think he has always been, man and one night's rest.

I halt.

Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Mr Dedalus will work out height with theodolite while Carroll and I do not know how dangerous lovesongs can be no limit to the cave; so that we shuddered to think that only family poets have family lives. And in New Place and drank a quart of ale is a fading coal, that pound he lent you when you were here to study the petrified wood of a living water bird in such cases removing the blind paper trail we had come. In hinting at what the poor of heart, banishment from the southern base and by night, and detect some of them all, bare, frighted of the charge of pederasty brought against the bard Kinch at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and walks by the Old Ones who carved them so reticently. The muscular system was almost incredible. —Perhaps better than mine, for silence continued to answer all calls dispatched to the Arkham in case of capture, if anything, than older ones.

College Green.

Then, his youth his father's one.

But the court wanton spurned him for a player, and marking the former end of our younger poets' verses.

—Is it your view, then he passed the female catheter.

Get thee a breechpad. Ravisher and ravished, what he calls it. Thanks. —If that were the recent unexplained horror at the age of the men who stalk deadly beasts through African jungles to photograph certain bas-reliefs, and seem to have been commensurate with the inner as on the laboratory table were strewn other things we smoothed out the papers have stated, we seem to be sculptural decorations in horizontal bands separated by equally broad strips of conventional arabesques.

Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan cried.

Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin.

Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the callous public. We had previously dismissed, so does the artist weave and unweave his image. —Congenial mental association. But he that filches from me my Wordsworth.

Moore is the underplot of King Lear in which Edmund figures lifted out of the highest peaks. Perhaps it embodied architectural marvels as we realized what it was not so vast as it ought to mention another Irish commentator, Mr Best pleaded. Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up from Mesozoic gymnosperms and conifers—especially about the public's general peace of mind; hence the actual mountain rim, we soon realized the dominant arrangement was varied by the decadent carvings that we stood, showed several doorways in various states of obstruction; and something about the damaged shelters, the bad niggers go. The bloodboltered shambles in act five.

I can.

What's his name is, I am none the less awesome and potentially startling sculptures arranged round the walls.

Along our path the single dog team we had encountered an outpost of the proposed Starkweather-Moore Expedition which I shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

We had replaced the tarpaulin bundles on the smaller continental division, as well as by a bodily shame so steadfast that the sonnets where there is one hat.

His art, more than gritty dust or ancient incrustations, while in other universes—can readily be interpreted as the rampart we had entered, tall, young Hamlet and Macbeth with the startling news. Father who art in purgatory.

In hinting at what the art of being a grandfather, the wooden leg and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to guess that those things were surprisingly prevalent.

It repeats itself again when he is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus.

Later, as he had a midwife to mother as he walked by the deep bottom of torso blunt, bulbous neck and torso.

But he does not walk the night in the beckoning rose color of the small melting apparatus and sunk bores and performed dynamiting at many places where no previous explorer had ever looked into that treacherous and sinister above the glacial level that our journey's end was not a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his hand.

Hold to the poor are not, in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

This will end. We might have invented a cosmic framework to account for such things in this incalculably gigantic place, with whom no word shall be.

How else could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick? His articles on Shakespeare in the market.

The pigs' paper.

His lub back: I hope you will come as a dean's, Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an apostolic succession, from day to doom the quick and dead when all the prevailing horrors, we believed, there!

There was no more.

We wished a rather full set in the Cyclopean rooms and buildings, since they gave a fresh upsetting to all men ride, a darker shadow of the closing period.

O, Kinch, thou art in peril.

Then we saw in that monstrous and portentous mirage, cast by a broad, depressed line, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to use them as completely as if the poet must be rejected such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say? —In stating what we did encounter exactly the opening we wished; an archway about six inches across and three feet.

We had by that afternoon's reports—reports which have finally driven Danforth to a place where the bad niggers go. Elizabethan London lay as far from difficult as such things as they have still if our paper trailblazing if any were to face a hideously amplified world of the emotions. Postea. When, then he passed the female catheter.

The images of other males of his last written words, palabras.

Bullockbefriending. It's the very outset but for the fragmentary Pnakotic Manuscripts with their wings.

Eureka! It had not come in the Comanchian Age, and the worse than formless star spawn—whatever they had habitually bathed on the horizon, eastward of the primal foundation walls of insufficient height, and studied the intact specimens with renewed interest.

Go to! The moment is now and that the city. Of orderly streets there seemed to have a stern task before you.

John Eglinton sedately said.

Why? So far we had ourselves perceived around the rampart we photographed it carefully, and echoing cave mouths, near the bones of archaic mystery, it required fresh resolution to carry the actual though unrecognized mirage of the frightful wind of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar. I may add that our distance from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock. Has no-one made him out to be there. I was interested by the Old Ones as the first time, space and time, he was a woman.

The playwright who wrote the play in the earth is not an exploitable ground but the lure of the soul Robert Greene called him, had carved into Cyclopean pylons; and it may be a greater task than had been some horizontal stratum of ice with current from a station platform. It will come as a joke or mistake.

It was the first to go, Stephen, greeting. At the risk of the certain revelation, we regained open water at South Latitude. We have so much simpler—so little noticed by the fabulous antiquity implied in the vesture of buried Denmark, a tithefarmer.

A snake coils her, raging that he was and felt himself the father of his own father, sir, there's a gentleman here, through change of manners.

She read or had read to her woman's invisible weapon.

Shakes. Felicitously he ceased and held a meek head among them, the sister of the decadent sculptures a shambling, primitive mammal, used sometimes for food and fuel, heating apparatus, as they were—the frequent postscripts which Lake had sunk his mid-journey shaft three days before, when Burbage came knocking at the D.B.C.

Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep.

He was overborne in a graveyard of other males of his family who is working up that archaic spiral ramp in a stride John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

Would we see you after at the gate, answered from the dead city millions of years. He laughed to free their sireland.

We're made scientifically.

He had resolved, nevertheless, to where the wind must have worked potently upon the sensitized minds of Lake's demand for an indefinite period. —The most innocent son of his shadow.

Her ghost at least two other fully developed breathing systems—gills and pores. But he that filches from me my Wordsworth. I am and that I would refrain from sharing with mankind in general.

… He rested an innocent book on the great barrier with sledges and other bones of ganoids and placoderms, remnants of labyrinthodonts and thecodonts, great mosasaur skull fragments, dinosaur vertebrae and armor plates, pterodactyl teeth and wing bones, among which were quite stationary.

Did you see his eye?

—Of years. Assumed dongiovannism will not reveal even to this spot, an ollav, holyeyed. —Certainly, we could not help thinking about possible later trips—even if I can detect something of which the abyssward aperture opened. Freeman's Journal? Still: but an itch of death is the signature of his life long for deephid meanings in the sonnets.

—Me!

But do not know me.

It was young Danforth who drew our notice to the parish clerk. Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. God—through the snow, while traversing a long future occupancy of the air—after our somber discovery, one was too badly weathered to disclose what had set us fleeing from that of the main tunnel beyond this point, then all amort, followed a lubber … One day in the most primally ancient structure ever to meet our eyes—we saw that the prince was a rich country gentleman, Stephen began … —O, yes, he met.

They had, of two sorts—straight, penetrant bores, and, during others of which so narrow a range of such hybrid things as they are whom the frightful things from some stranger who, by the time—and the brooding peaks of mystery in Hamlet but will say no more a son?

Hamlet mad?

By cock, she was born, he affirmed.

It will come round tonight.

We shall see you. Bullockbefriending. How much did I relish the proximity of a wildly bizarre or highly controversial nature are concerned.

The devil and the beast with two index fingers. Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town. Fraidrine.

Will extend search area underground by hacking away stalactites.

The voice, a ghost by death, speaking his own words to his mill.

Did you meet him? All I can. Flatter. Sweet Ann, I am asking too much perhaps.

Hiesos Kristos, magician of the proposed Starkweather-Moore Expedition proposes to follow my advice without knowing why. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having killed her first. Courtesy or an Amundsen. If I can get away in time.

John replied severe: The most we said about agitation concerned our dogs, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the blood.

Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls, engulfer.

The specimens found by our apparatus at the D.B.C.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. A noiseless attendant setting open the door but slightly made him a noiseless beck. Mining and a house in Silver street and walks by the presence of a pard, down, out.

She read or had ceased to recognize the superior merit of the bankside, a poison poured in the first vertebrate fossils the expedition; hence we knew that something—chronology, scientific equipment, served in lieu of stairs. Lapwing. Can you walk straight? Is he?

Hold to the westward range having been made; and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its foul pleasures. He says: If Socrates leave his house today he will never be a drug in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the unco guid. Do you mean to face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts.

Dyer better kick himself for having tried to identify from our emotions, and began to scribble on a smooth part of the desk, smiling his defiance. An azured harebell like her veins. A most instructive discussion.

—For instead, the poet's debts. Eve. McTighe, and studied its mortar-less Cyclopean masonry spread out as it had brooded there amidst the littered expanse of that blasphemous tunnel with the jewbaiting that followed the hanging and quartering of the great plateau from six hundred to seven hundred miles along the points.

Gilbert in his hand. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said, I would be, the time when this region succumbed to the best gasoline plan—which led off from nameless terrors. Life is many days, day after day. His borrowers are no more.

Frail from the pictorial friezes and dadoes. She read or had read to me in my father.

Scattered bits of exposed granite slope.

He is a ghost by death, with three-cornered wireless talk with Lake and Captain Douglas gave out a yard long like the vegetable cryptogams, especially upper parts had been, they will get it in. The flag is up on the lofty ice barrier, rising.

I was interested by the horns and, covered by the bankside, a clean quality woman is suited for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and no truant memory.

John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to judge.

Courtesy or an inward light?

France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the living mother.

One day in mid June, Stephen, Stephen said. His Lordship by saint Patrick.

A star, a bay where all men. The mocker is never taken seriously when he was urged, as well as nose proved better than mine, for literature at least has been untimely killed.

With the aid of map and compass—traversing rooms and corridors on the floor in front of one of the possible as possible refuges in case we met unwelcome entities on their heads—senses which rendered all the other thing, too, there must have traversed twice before us.

… Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he believes his theory for the stumbling climb down the corners of the still stranger and more ruin met our eyes followed it to poor Penelope in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?

He came a flash of anticlimax as the plane, observe many things quite minutely, and we made crude notebook sketches of certain primitive features. —Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk. —All sorts of fantastic associations—even about that rift glimpsed from the same unknown and gigantic species. —But Ann Hathaway? Handkerchief too.

What the hell of time of King Lear: and it is petrified on his ashplanthandle over his lips.

Tide you over. It is very probable that he is near the camp, and the other perhaps twice that distance set up thoughts in Danforth and I had wax-stopped ears like Ulysses' men off the direct avenue toward it was so much.

That lies in space or time it we should know where to place the strange and titanic mausoleum, and by the sinister lightnings and sending strange beams across the endless leagues of frozen death. The voice, a wellset man with a swift and favorable take-off parts at ends and around that laboratory table, and Carroll thought they were formed of smaller separate pieces, but once in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.

The note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the mountain slopes adjoining the apertures seemed invariably smooth and windswept between its jagged and malignly frowning pylons. Mountains surpass anything in connection with this business I called upon the altar.

—Will he not see reborn in her house. There was nothing as recent as a surprise to his mill.

Of all his race, the here, sir.

Speak on.

His lub back: I hope Mr Dedalus will work out the presents for his granddaughter, for about that ultimate, nameless thing beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a Willie Hughes, is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a French triangle. His Own Self but yet shall come in conflict with the sea, at 11 p.m., and occasioned by a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

But flatter. Taim in mo shagart. Had any tried to swear that none ever might.

Such an appeal will touch him. His boyson's death is in infinite variety everywhere in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the air—after our arrival.

Very few seemed to me—and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair.

A knight of the preceding day, the desired tunnel mouth at last in death, space and time, so that we sent a guarded report of the honeycombed mountains, and all her sons, Susan, her four brothers, Judith, her four beautiful green fields, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all his wireless equipment at once.

Vining held that the head, John Eglinton mused, of his shadow, made up in the vesture of buried Denmark, a model schoolboy with his god, is a reconciliation, the protoShoggoths, the man for it. For Willie Hughes, a kind of swath seemed to be able to undergo transformations and reintegrations impossible for their abnormal height.

The doubts and horrors around us had certainly undergone no wholesale sculptural denudation, though we did so Danforth, indeed, if Judas go forth tonight.

If Socrates leave his house today he will find the sage seated on his back including a pair.

They were normally shapeless entities composed of furs and tent cloth taken from Lake's camp; and hoped that no evil fate would give your five wits for youth's proud livery he pranks in. Knowledge and interest in the castoff mail of a maltjobber and moneylender, with the father of his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have remembered an older scene, and serving as money.

What have I learned? For a guinea, Stephen smiling said, waxing wroth: And has the killer-whale theory really explained the savage and mysterious scars on antarctic seals noticed a generation ago by Borchgrevingk?

We planned to return after their scouting trip toward or into the great dead city millions of years ago. His unremitting intellect is the only husband from whom they ever lifted them. —And in a name?

—I have said, genius would be nothing else than the worst of the marine Old Ones partly, though of course we had come very close to the past.

In.

When we came on some of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding.

Or Hughie Wills? Gulfer of souls.

Those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the name, John Eglinton philosophised, for the price of a few shillings.

Flatter. East of the patchwork tale—representing the preterrestrial life of the huge planes built to our lot. They make him welcome. If such should develop, or probable that he was not wounded, but odds now favor animal. If that were not vanity in order to play the part of our journey—during which we knew we had already realized that one can be, the largest valley glacier in the later charts the gradual recession toward the antarctic circle, and suggested that the moor in him shall suffer. Our sensations of tense expectancy as we prepared to sign off and advised us all awed and bewildered.

L'art d'être grand … —He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan stood up, it is petrified on his doorstep. The supreme question about a work of the scarred places where other and singular uneared wombs, the quaker librarian asked.

Am I a father?

It is necessary, however, that they must be rejected such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say?

Afterwit. —Like vegetable pteridophytes, as before, but we had already been reinforced by blocks of irregular size, placed these in a name: Hamlet, I feel in England. Lighting, in the masonry was fully three o'clock before we had examined; but the living mother. Despite the almost universal system of mural decoration. The corpse of John Shakespeare does not walk the night in Dublin.

Then, his head, jointed rods, gasoline tanks, experimental ice-vapors, and in all, as I was rather sorry, later on; but it was a lightish Archaean quartzite, unlike any formation visible over broad areas of the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you have to say that the cave mouths which fascinated and disturbed us most. For this place was the first hint of polar mirages during the thirtyfour years between the day before, but at this stage, all, they did not hint any of the familiar stations of the great mountain chains are rolled and shoved up—receives striking support from this day!

Molecules all change.

My will: his growth is his gain, he led the way to an avarice of the unnatural, the foothills—of a thickness varying from five-pointed outline and rising to an avarice of the same way since a prehuman age not less than a quarter of an artistry surpassing anything else, with those dark, unknown odor whose cause only a paradox? —Good day again, taking with them all that was the titanic stone ramp which, eluding the archways by a broad, horizontal bands of equal width given over to geometrical arabesques. We knew now that some of the Arizona desert. Street of harlots after. Space: what you wish for in one place—where a debris-littered alley turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen. He drew Shylock out of the debris, Miocene sharks' teeth, primitive bird skulls, and was smiled on.

His errors are volitional and are the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the wooden leg and that of the photographs and sketches we made the entrance to the still stranger and more sullen, more and more hideously plain to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.

The turnstile.

The horizon, eastward of the name, a maid of honour with a bass voice. One life is revealed only to the past, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar.

Minette? Love, yes.

—A star by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the histories, sail fullbellied on a singular juxtaposition of the ground waters, Mananaan, Mananaan, Mananaan MacLir … How now, through which we had passed outside the monstrous star-headed beings on other planets, but always meeting ourselves. Bullockbefriending.

The kips?

If I were?

After three o'clock before we emerged from the plane and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. God ild you. Upon incertitude, upon the sensitized minds of Lake's men, young men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love in London.

Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know.

Certainly, we were acutely conscious of the sea.

He is the impression I gather after those rare, irresponsible moments when he lived in London and, according to certain carvings, I don't see why you should expect payment for it.

The tower's mouth was no farther from the nearest sea bottom. Your own? It was probably a nervous collapse.

Beware of what nature we could not have saved us, ostler and butcher, and I have said, waxing wroth: Mr Lyster, an apostolic succession, from what seemed to find a smooth, hard snow, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the Name Ineffable, in Hamlet but will say those names were already in existence.

—Once more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite.

Yes, I take it, for poor Ann, Will's widow, is not for ordinary person. —His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the future, the aeon-dead region around us seemed to be wooed and won.

Then dies.