#her horses name is dewdrop by the way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jedipoodoo · 2 years ago

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Secret Kingdoms Part Four (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Notes/Warnings: Reader experiences PTSD, Grievous gets a little handsy (but it's Hunter to the rescue as always), didn't write Hunter's NYE one-shot bc I was working on this 😁

It was cold when you awoke, or so your nose told you. The rest of you felt warm, arms pinned to your sides beneath a heavy weight. You struggled, only to realize that your bonds were simply a blanket as the thick wool scratched at your chin. The ground beneath you was lumpy, nothing like the mattress or even the stones from Dooku’s castle. You reached out from beneath your blanket, letting the dewdrops wash your hands as you ran your fingers through the gentle blades of grass.

“Sleep well?”

You blinked to clear your blurry vision. Hunter sat on a log just a few meters away, tending to a sparking young fire.

“Hunter,” You gasped his name rather than answer his question and scrambled to your feet. Hunter laughed as he stood to catch you, the tips of your toes brushing against the tops of the grass as he spun you around.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” You cut him off with your lips on his. The morning chill was forgotten as he pulled you closer, his hands firmly on your back.

“What are you doing up so early?” You asked.

“I took the last watch. Thought I’d get breakfast ready,” He nodded to the bowl of leftover porridge sitting on the rocks surrounding the fire. You wanted to ask where he got the food from, and heard a horse whinny.

Looking up, you saw that you were surrounded by hundreds of tents. Men were slowly starting to wake up, building dozens of cookfires similar to the one Hunter already had going. Colorful banners representing the houses of those loyal to King Ruwee and to Naboo fluttered in the breeze, trying to catch a sliver of precious sunlight in the dawn.

You’d made it to the camp. You were safe.

“You’re shivering,” Hunter lifted your hands to his lips, gently blowing on them with warm air and sealing it with a kiss on your fingertips.

He grabbed the blanket you’d slept with, from a tent just barely big enough to provide some shelter. Four other tents circled this campfire. Echo slept soundly just inside the first, Tech was sitting in the doorway of his with piles of scrolls in his lap, Wrecker was snoring with his head falling off his pillow, and the fourth tent was shut up tight— Crosshair’s.

Hunter wrapped the blanket around you and invited you to sit on the log with him as he hung the pot over the fire to cook. One by one, his brothers began to wake up and wander over for their portion.

“Good morning,” Tech nodded courteously as he ladled a serving of porridge into his bowl, “How did you sleep last night my dear?”

“I slept fine,” You said, feeling yourself turn to look over at Hunter. He winked, and handed you your own bowl and a spoon.

Echo awoke with a groan, and made his way over to Crosshair’s tent, rapping on the wooden frame with his knuckles to wake him up. Muttering vicious hexes, Crosshair crawled out of his tent and smacked the back of Wrecker’s head. “Get up, breakfast is ready.”

The six of you were seated around the tiny fire, too hungry to say anything more. Wrecker helped himself to some more porridge, and the air turned solemn.

“Well now what?” Echo asked. Everyone looked to Hunter. He sighed and sat back on the log.

“The Duke says Sir Skywalker brought the princess on to the fortress at Mandalore. The Duchess should be able to help her heal there.”

“So, we’re going home then?” Wrecker asked.

Tech shook his head, “the scouts arrived at camp just after we did. General Grievous has returned to the front lines and is preparing Serenno’s armies for battle.

You scooted closer to Hunter and his hand was gently placed over yours in soft reassurance.

“Why? With Dooku dead, they have no one to lead them.”

Tech shrugged, “It appears that we are the only ones who know that Dooku is dead. Grievous is acting under the impression that Dooku isn’t dead, and is rallying their men to defend Serenno’s honor.”

You took a deep breath, but it didn’t feel like it did anything, so you took another.

“Milady?” Hunter shifted, kneeling on the ground in front of you.

“You alright little lady?” Wrecker asked, trying to move closer to see what was wrong. Tech waved them all back.

“She’s panicking,” He said simply, and though you knew he was right, you couldn’t bring yourself to calm down.

Hunter took both your hands in his, pulling you to your feet and trapping you against his chest. Your ears were filled with the regular beat of his heart as your tears collected on his tunic.

“I don’t want to go back, I won’t go back-” You whimpered. Your haphazard breaths broke down into sobbing. Hunter cradled you to his chest and did not scold you.

“You won’t,” He promised, “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“Yeah! They’ll have to get past us first!” Wrecker said. Crosshair snapped at him to hush.

By the time you had calmed down, Tech and Echo had herded the others away, you could faintly hear Wrecker laughing at some other campfire.

“I would send you to the Fortress with the princess, but Duke Kenobi thinks it’s too dangerous for small groups to be alone on the road.”

You clung to his tunic, “I don’t want to leave you again.”

Hunter pressed his lips to your forehead, “I’m not going anywhere, Milady. I’ll be right here, you’re safe.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” He whispered. “However, if you are going to fight with us, you may need some appropriate armor.”

—

Fight. That was a strange concept. You were a handmaid, not a soldier. The most you’d ever used a sword was when you defended Padme from the mercenaries, and that was not your best work.

Still, Hunter helped you to the armory tent and you found yourself layered in thick cloth and a chainmail shirt. Leather was wrapped around your legs to protect them from swords and arrows, and a sturdy sword was secured at your side. Hunter had helped you find a good, strong sword that felt right in your hands, but it was heavier than the practice swords you’d used back at the castle.

“Looking good, little lady!” Wrecker cheered as you made your way back to the sleeping tents. You flushed under his praise, missing the glare that Hunter sent the way of his bigger brother.

Crosshair was sharpening a few sticks into arrows, and Echo and Tech were sparring. All around you the camp buzzed with life. Whetstones rang against polished blades that clanged against each other in an effort to prove their strength to their master. You took a shaky breath as the reality of the situation sank into your bones. You had seen blood before. You had bandaged many injuries in your time as a maid. Hunter had trained you to use a sword. You could survive this.

“Alright, little lady,” Crosshair gave a grunt as he stood from the stone that served as his throne, “Let’s see how you handle a sword.”

Your heart dropped. “Me? Right now?”

“You’re the only lady around,” He shrugged. Wrecker guffawed, and Echo and Tech had paused to watch it all go down.

You nodded, wringing your hands together. You looked around for your sword only to remember that it was strapped to your leg, and gathered your hair back from your face.

“Here, let me help,” Hunter gently took the tangled clumps of hair from your hands. His fingers wove expertly through your hair, and moments later he declared you finished. You ran a hand over the braid, curiously tracing the cloth he’d used to secure it. It was his bandana.

He placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, holding up the wrist with your ribbon tied around it. “I figured you could use a good luck charm of your own.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you tried to hide it.

“Oi, get a room you two,” Crosshair sighed. You fumbled for your sword, trying to prove yourself to these men. They were Hunter’s brothers, and you desperately wanted their respect. If you could prove to them that you were worthy of Hunter’s love and adoration, maybe you could finally prove it to yourself too.

“Don’t worry,” Echo tried to reassure you, “Crosshair’s bark is worse than his bite.”

“Yeah! He’s better with ‘is bow than a sword any day!” Wrecker crowed.

Well, that gave you some hope, but the smirk on Crosshair’s face sure didn’t. Hunter moved around to the other side of their encampment, standing behind Crosshair so that you could see him. He didn’t shout or cheer like the others were, but he smiled at you. He smiled at you like you had nothing to prove.

Crosshair tapped his sword once to yours to signal he was ready, and you returned the gesture. No sooner had you done that, then Crosshair’s blade swiped for your side. You stumbled out of the way, only for his sword to aim for your head next. You blocked it—barely.

“Good job, milady,” Hunter said, arms folded. He lazily paced the space between the tents like a captain eying the squires. You bit your lip. You couldn’t let him down.

You danced around the edge of Crosshair’s blade, holding yours pointed at him in case he got any ideas about getting too close to you. Your breaths were heavy in your chest, and you decided it was best to attack first rather than wait around for him to take you by surprise.

You charged at him, sword swinging viciously. Crosshair chuckled and blocked, but you didn’t push against his blade the way he expected. You weren’t strong enough for that, but you were smaller compared to Crosshair. You would just have to be faster than him.

You swung at his side instead, and managed to knock him off balance as you sliced the air above his chain mail.

“Nicely done,” Crosshair chuckled. He rolled under your arm, and your blade came down as he righted himself. He blocked, and shoved you backwards, and you were sent tumbling over the log in between Echo and Tech.

“Come on, you’ve got this!” Echo said. They each took one of your arms and hefted you to your feet, nudging you back towards Crosshair. You caught a glimpse of Hunter standing just on the other side of the firepit, frozen in a half-step towards you. You nodded, promising him that you were fine.

Crosshair took a page out of your book this time and came charging towards you. You charged right at him, yours swords meeting in an echoing “CLANG”.

“Get ‘im, little lady!” Wrecker whooped.

Crosshair swung at you again and you ducked, moving to the side to force him to follow you.

“Don’t turn your back on him!” Hunter warned, a little too late. You took in a sharp breath as Crosshair’s sword barely missed your hair, and in an attempt to get your bearings you tripped over your own two feet, falling flat on your back in the dirt. Crosshair’s blade was at your throat a second later.

“Aw man!” Wrecker sighed, “I was rootin’ for ya!” Tech and Echo politely applauded, and Crosshair moved his swordpoint to the dirt beside your head.

“Not bad for a novice.” Crosshair leaned on his sword, smirking down at you. Lying face-up in the dirt, you didn’t have the energy to retaliate.

He held out his hand, and you reluctantly took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

Trumpets blared without ceremony or melody. In an instant Hunter was at your side, gripping your arm tightly as the camp around you moved as one, soldiers grabbing their weapons and shields before moving towards the east.

“What’s happening?” You asked. Your heart was beating so fast you feared it would fly right out of your chest.

Hunter looked down at you, unshaken and determined while his brothers began to assemble their own weaponry. “Serenno is approaching. We have to be ready to meet them.”

You nodded dazedly, your gaze stuck to the waves of men that marched past. Hunter gently took your chin in his hand, turning you to face him.

“I meant what I said; So long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe, I promise you that. You will never go back to them.”

You nodded in his touch. He gently pressed a kiss to your forehead and you felt courage flooding your veins. He took only a moment to gather his things, handing you your own sword, and hand-in-hand, you made your way towards the battlefield.

—

“Why aren’t we following the others?” You asked. You were unsure what made you talk in such a whisper, but perhaps it was the fact that you were hiding in the treeline, walking past the rows and rows of Naboo soldiers standing ready to defend their kingdom and their princess.

“Not really our thing,” Wrecker chuckled.

“I can see the Serennians,” Crosshair said. All of you froze.

“Kark’s sake, where did they all come from?” He hissed.

“Cross?” Hunter asked, stepping in front of you again.

Crosshair slid down the tree trunk and joined you in the shadows.

“There’s way too many, too many for the ones we took out at the castle, and too many from what we originally saw when we scouted Serenno’s camp.”

“Maybe they just really liked Dooku?” Wrecker suggested.

You shook your head vehemently, “He’s starving them, they’re suffering under his reign since he killed their king, and they know it.”

“The population of Serenno is not that expansive in the first place. From what Crosshair’s implying, there are far too many to be simply Serennians,” Tech said.

“Dooku did hire Ohnaka and his men, maybe he hired more?” Echo suggested.

“Unlikely, Mercenaries are prideful, they’d prefer their own accouterments, and Serenno would likely cut corners where they could, and not bother about the uniform look,” Hunter argued.

You all stewed in thought for a moment, and one by one you all looked to Hunter.

“We need a closer look, and then we can get word back to Duke Kenobi.”

You pressed on through the trees, hearing the eerie marching of Serenno growing closer and closer as their armor flattened the grasses beneath their feet.

From deep within the trees, you avoided detection, but you also had to split up. Crosshair climbed back up into the trees, and Echo and Wrecker made their way back the way you had come, leaving you with Hunter and Tech.

Hunter squeezed your hand as you snuck past rows and rows of soldiers in Serrennian armor. They marched with jolted movements, like the chickens in the castle courtyard. You couldn’t quite see their eyes, but their heads never shifted, only looking straight ahead. As terrified as you were of being seen again, you knew in the back of your brain that even if you leaped out in front of them, they would just march right over you.

“Crosshair was right,” Hunter gasped as he pulled the two of you behind a tree where you could watch in shelter for a moment, “Something’s not right with them.”

The longer you looked at the soldiers, the more you noticed. Their dark gray armor masked the bleached-out look of their skin. Their legs moved awkwardly, and the arms holding their assorted weaponry were frozen in place.

“They look…dead,” You said.

Tech softly cleared his throat, hiding behind a tree a few steps ahead of you, “In all my studies, the only thing that matches the symptoms displayed by these…unusual men-” For lack of a better word “-are golems. Creations given animation by a master whom they serve mindlessly. Given Serenno’s location and its main export, it would be safe to say that these are iron golems.”

“Is there anything that can stop them?” Hunter asked.

Tech adjusted his glasses as he thought, “All golems require an anchor. For a group as large as this one, it would have to be very powerful.

You bit your lip, ��Dooku’s servants said he was dabbling in dark magic.”

“And the rumors were he was working with a sorcerer,” Hunter grunted as he thought, “We’ve got to find their base camp and see if we can find an anchor or a sorcerer of some kind.”

“What about the others?” You asked, following Hunter against the flow of undead soldiers.

Hunter grinned, “They’ll be doing their best to slow down their march.”

You heard birds cawing in the distance, and the earth shook as a tree collapsed.

The Golems stopped in their tracks, unable to go any further, but unable to follow their orders.”

Night had claimed the forest by the time Hunter spotted their camp; a cave just up ahead. Your group ducked behind an outcropping of rocks a stone-throw away from the patrolling soldiers. These men had a distinctly more human pallor to their faces, and their bodies swayed in that way humans did even when you were standing still.

“Why have we stopped!?” The hoarse voice of General Grievous made you freeze in place, and Hunter wrapped his arm around you.

“The trees are falling, and blocking the path of the…” The Serennian giving the report shivered. He didn’t like the General wither, “..The path of the…fiends.”

“Then remove them! Dooku demands recompense for his utter embarrassment, and a few paltry trees will not stop that!”

One of the patrolling Serennians near you muttered under his breath, “If he didn’t want to be embarrassed, maybe he shouldn’tve kidnapped another kingdom’s princess.”

You couldn’t help it, and snorted into Hunter’s shoulder even as he chuckled.

“What did you say!?” Grievous shrieked. You heard the clatter of a spear and shield, and knew the guilty soldier was jolting back to attention.

“No-nothing sir.”

Grievous growled, “Get those trees out of the way.”

“Yessir,” The soldier who’d been reporting hurried back to the front lines, and Hunter peered over the rock to get a good look around.

“There’s about five men, not including Grievous. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

You nodded distractedly. You didn’t want to have to see Grievous again. The man had yellow eyes that could see right through you, and he sounded like a demon from hell. And he had promised to destroy everything you knew and loved.

“Tech, take a look around. Can you see anything that looks like an anchor?”

Hunter ducked down and Tech took his place. Hunter looked from the left to the right to make sure the patrolling soldiers wouldn’t see you.

Tech ducked back down, “There is a golden chalice on the General’s belt. A rather impractical weapon, I would infer that is the golem’s anchor.”

You gulped nervously, and Hunter shook your shoulder, “Leave Grievous to us, ey?” He grinned at you, “You just keep his men occupied.”

You could do that. You had plenty of practice distracting people so that Padme and Anakin could have a little rendezvous.

Unfortunately, you went with the first thing that popped into your brain.

“Hello fellas!” You leaped to your feet with a wave, catching the attention of everyone within earshot.

“Did you miss me?”

“The princess!” Grievous seethed. You turned and ran into the ever-darkening woods.

“Get her!”

Leaves skid beneath your boots. You ran as fast as you did when you had been chased by Ohnaka and the mercenaries. The trees provided more cover to duck and dodge, even as arrows hit the ground by your feet. You risked a glance over your shoulder–all five soldiers were following you.

At least they weren’t the golems.

You tripped over a root, sprawling headfirst into the dirt. One of the Serennians lunged at you, and you drew your sword, blocking him. Thank goodness for the practice Crosshair had given you.

You kicked him in the groin, pulling yourself out from underneath him and scrambling to your feet. You spun around to find the other four closing in. You swung for the closest one and sliced his arm, but another hit your back. The chainmail held up against the blade, but the force was enough to knock the wind from your lungs. You dodged arrows, only to have your sword knocked from your loose grip as you backed up against a tree.

One of the Serennians motioned for the archers to hold their fire, and pointed his sword at your neck.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but orders are orders.”

You set your jaw firmly, “You don’t have to do this.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand what he will do to us. Dooku controls our kingdom, ourlives, he has his hands in every kingdom from here to Tatooine! If we don’t follow his orders…” He shook his head and raised his sword.

“I’m sorry my lady.”

“Dooku is dead!” You exclaimed, though it might be your last words.

The sound of your heavy breaths echoed in your ears a moment later, plenty of time for the soldiers to have taken you out.

You slowly opened one eye. The Serennian still had his sword pointed at you, but his eyes were wide in disbelief.

“Dooku? D…dead?” He asked.

You nodded slowly, “I saw him killed myself. He was beheaded by my friend back at your camp.”

The soldier dropped his sword and collapsed to his knees. His companions stumbled a bit at the weight of your words. You expected them to sob and unleash cries of mourning, but instead they started to laugh. It terrified you for a brief moment, until you saw the joy on their faces as they wrapped their arms around each other.

“Thank you, thank you my lady,” The soldier at your feet exclaimed, bowing to you in gratitude. Your face flushed with heat as you tried to beckon him to his feet.

“There’s no need to thank me…” You mumbled.

“Capturing you was the beginning of his downfall,” One of the men removed his helmet and approached you, “If it weren’t for you, he would still be alive.”

That had to be a stretch.

“We were loyal to the king and his family. When Dooku killed them all, he threatened our families if we didn’t show him the same loyalty.”

“Now we have a chance. Thank you, my lady,” All of them bowed to you, but at least they didn’t kneel.

“There’s not need for any of that,” You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, “If you want to thank me, You’ll help me and my friends take down Grievous.”

They nodded, and put their helmets back on.

“We’ll follow your lead, my lady!”

It was weird to hear anyone but Hunter calling you that, but you weren’t going to argue with your new friends now.

You led the five Serrenians through the forest back to their main camp. You could hear Grievous’s shouts long before you heard Hunter and Tech. All at once, the three of them came into view. Hunter darted around Grievous wielding his dagger and sword against Grievous’s dual-wielded swords. Tech stood a shorter way off with his sword, lobbing potions at Grievous, trying to knock the goblet from his belt.

Hunter knocked one of the giant swords from Grievous’s hand, and with a shout of outrage Grievous seized him by the neck. Hunter struggled for breath as Grievous aimed his sword at Hunter’s chest, and then he noticed you, surrounded by the Serrenians.

“Run milady!” He screamed.

Grievous looked in your direction, “Kill them all!” He commanded.

The archer who had been shooting at you moments ago embedded an arrow in Grievous’s outstretched arm. Hunter fell to the ground and Grievous screamed in pain. He was attacked by his former soldiers, much to Hunter and Tech’s surprise.

“How…?” Tech looked to you, and you smiled.

“I told them what really happened to Dooku,” You said the last part loudly, throwing a glare in the direction of Grievous, “Turns out you can’t threaten loyalty out of them.”

“That’s my girl!” Hunter recovered and grabbed his sword again, quickly joining forces with the men who had run to his aid.

The archers aimed carefully, keeping Grievous from focusing on Hunter and the others. Brandishing your sword, you gathered your courage and joined them at Hunter’s side. He promised that you would be safe so long as you were by his side, and you were determined to reciprocate that. You defended Hunter’s back from the swords that Grievous swung at his former men.

One of them was caught in the stomach, thrown back against a tree trunk that splintered under his weight. As his comrade called for him, he was tossed aside too. Grievous’s hand shot out, wrapping around your neck with inhuman strength.

”NO!” Hunter screamed, even as Tech used all his strength to hold him back

“Take another step and she dies!” Grievous warned. You couldn’t resist kicking out, despite the lack of air and your rapid thought process as you tried to find an exit strategy.

“Drop your weapons,” Grievous held you out towards Hunter in warning. Hunter complied immediately. Tech and your Serrennian friends took a moment more to think it over.

Grievous dropped you, and you scarcely had the chance to fill your lungs with air before he ynked you back to your feet, tugging you tightly against his chestplate.

“Now Princess, I do believe you haven’t been quite honest with us,” his voice chilled you to the bone, and he used one finger from his free hand to tilt your head upwards, meeting his demonic eyes.

Hunter tugged against Tech’s grip as Grievous’s touch made its way down your arms to your hands. He squeezed it a bit too tight, tighter than Hunter had ever gripped you, and spread your fingers, bringing them close to his face. You turned away from his rancid breath to stare at the dry leaves beneath your feet as you felt his breath ghost along the back of your hand.

“Just as Dooku said,” Grievous chuckled. His thumb drew circles in your palm, not unlike a lover.

”Callouses.”

You whimpered as his breath moved to your neck, “Do you know what the punishment is for impersonating royal blood?” Grievous asked.

Hunter couldn’t take it anymore. He sprinted towards the general weaponless, only for Grievous to place his hand around your neck. Hunter skid to a stop just a foot away.

“I can snap her neck now, or when we return to Serenno. I don’t mind either.”

Hunter glared back at him with a ferocity that matched Grievous’s glowing eyes, but it softened as he turned to you.

“I am so sorry Milady,”

You smiled despite Grievous’s gauntlet around your throat, “It’s not your fault, Hunter.”

“I promised to keep you safe,” He grit his teeth, hands balling in his fists as he stood in place.

“And I still trust you,” you grunted as Grievous pulled you back, looking for some sort of escape route. The only light were from the torches that framed the camp, and the shadows looked mighty tempting.

Before Grievous could take his chance to escape, a familiar screech rang in your ears, sending the Serennian men reeling. The air was stirred by a pair of giant wings, and you looked up to see Wrecker, riding on a red dragon’s back.

“Look who we found!” Wrecker’s laughter rang out above the treetop.

“Lula!” You laughed in spite of yourself, and Grievous dropped you in time to shield himself from a burst of fire from Lula’s mouth, but not before you snatched the chalice from his belt.

“He’s escaping!” One of the Serennians cried in fear. Hunter grabbed his sword and sprinted. You thought he would go after Grievous, but he wrapped you in his arms instead.

Lula flew after Grievous, and two people leaped down from her back to follow on foot.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I am now,” You said, clutching his tunic. He hugged you even tighter.

“I love you,” He whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

That was all you needed to hear at that moment. You melted into his arms feeling the safety and truth in his words.

"I love you too."

Lady Luck (Prequel)

#sergeant hunter #lizart writes #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch hunter x reader #medieval au #fantasy au

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blacklight-ghoulette · 3 years ago

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alright so i'm seriously in the dark, what happened?

it'll be easiest for me to quote the reddit posts I read on it.

Going under a cut due to length so I don't kill anyone with a wall of text.

From u/awkwardtiefling:

"For those who make it to this thread first, a summary:

Per(lead guitar aka Fire/Dew) is connected in some way with a model named Paris. Paris supported Trump and has posted culturally insensitive content in the past, i.e. a bellydancer looking costume tagged as "g*psy" amongst other typically associated ones, and posted a photo on Thanksgiving while wearing a stereotypical Halloween store style Native American costume, war bonnet included.

They were also upset that she had a weird phase with King Tut and were unhappy that she was "sexualizing a child." He died at 19 so that's not really the issue. Just seemed like a weird and ultimately harmless phase.

From there, they assumed they may have been dating and got very, very upset. She's in a long term relationship with Don McLean of American Pie fame and I believe he's also in a relationship with someone as well? But they've dug through old photos to jump to conclusions and presumably harassed Per off IG with shitty messages, which is unfortunate because now he's being called childish for completely stepping away and removing himself from the issue. Paris is still being hounded as being racist and dangerous(because she supported Trump and obviously hates all LGBTQ+ people).

He's going to care more for her even if she's not squeaky clean than what some deranged kiddos on Twitter think about her. Sucks for him and the rest of the group, though. I have no doubt they'd start pestering the rest them about this.

edit:

Since I know they're poking around Reddit, it's one thing to point out the issues with a person and it's another entirely to harass someone off the internet because of who they're associated with. Some of you certainly did just that and need to accept that some of you needled him into reacting the way he did. Per is likely fully aware and just happens to be able to overlook Paris's past for who she is now.

As far as Paris goes, she probably isn't going to take any of your concerns into consideration. Nobody reacts well to being bombarded and she's just going to dig her heels in and ignore you the more you do it. If she's ever truly regretful for what she did, she'll apologize when she's ready or has a PR person badger her into it."

From u/SchoolfGhoul:

"Pword stand for Per. It's the real name of the lead guitar ghoul. Twitter folk seem to have a real issue with just using his name. They were complaining about the fact that apparently he doesn't like being called 'Dewdrop' and were making a real drama out of thinking like the fandom had upset him or something. The guitarist is a 40 year old man who probably doesn't give 2 shits about some nickname some fans made. However clearly he does take issue with all the drama and vilification that's being going about over who he chooses to be friends with. It's all really stupid and thanks to a few idiotic, immature teenagers who can't deal with someone else spending time with a guy who they have some obsession with, Per shut down his Instagram. I don't blame him really. The man has had a successful career since the late 90s as a Death Metal musician where he could play guitar without being harrassed on social media. I enjoy speaking to the Swedish Death Metal community group on FB. It's where all the cool fans and musicians hang out."

From u/ya_boi_jayy:

"It's a load of horse shit, I'm sure at this point you already know what's going on but I'm adding on to the story. I was added to a Ghost group chat a while ago for some reason. Here are some things they've said about Per.

"manz is a grown ass adult acting like he's 12"

"He woke up and chose emo😭"

"like babe, you are not the main character. don't get me wrong, i love per but.. ARE YOU THAT DESPERATE FOR SOME 😺"

"yeah he posted some edgy lyrics in his story and deleted his account an hour after"

"Per bestie I loved u sm, all this for some 😺��? HDNDB"

"man he was so desperate to get his 🍆💦"

"they have matching bracelets?? they're in sweden together? they're definitely sleeping together"

"he deleted his Instagram last time when he got caught cheating on his ex fiancé, he is definitely sleeping with her"

This is such bullshit, people can't mind their own business. It's fucked up. For some reason they hate him now meanwhile yesterday they were all like "omg he's so cute i love him sm 🥺🥺🥺" PLUS they're all saying that they're the mature ones.

Here's what Per posted on his story before deleting it.

"Just cause you don't understand what's going on. Don't mean it don't make no sense. And just 'cause you don't like it, don't mean it ain't no good. And let me tell you something. Before you go taking a walk in my world. You better take a look at the real world. Cause this ain't no Mister Roger's Neighborhood. Can you Say "Feel like shit"? Yeah, maybe sometimes I do feel like shit ain't happy 'bout it but I'd rather feel like shit than be full of shit. And if I offended you. Oh, I'm sorry but maybe you need to be offended. But here's my apology and one more thing, FUCK YOU!""

So, yeah. All this shit.

#answered #ghost fan twitter memorial day weekend 2022 shitfest

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tact-and-impulse · 4 years ago

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Shinkane Week 2021 Day 6

A crossover with the light novel series Sugar Apple Fairytale! The first 2 volumes were already translated but I hope someday that it’ll be picked up again or licensed.

Fairytale

Initially, he thought he could take advantage of her naïveté. She was obviously a traveler, alone and with wide eyes surveying the surroundings. And in need of a warrior fairy like himself, for protection on the road. After all, that was why she bought him.

His left wing, long separated from the rest of his body, was now in her possession, and he braced himself for the inevitable squeezing, for his will to be bent to her liking. But she never did. Instead, she offered her other hand, like he was another human.

“I’m Akane. Nice to meet you.”

“…Hello.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Call me whatever you like. You’re my owner.”

She frowned. “Don’t fairies have names?”

“We do, but people don’t really care.”

“I care.” She looked terribly earnest. She really was on her first trip away from whatever small town she hailed from.

“‘Kougami’ is fine.” A part of his full name would do.

“Alright, Kougami-san.” She smiled, and he dragged his stare to the gray sheen of his wing, to remind himself that he was under her control.

***

His new owner was far too defenseless.

As their wagon headed for the capital city, she tried to ward off the silence with conversation. She had been trained in sugarcraft by her late grandmother and this was her first competition. Silver sugar was blessed by the gods, but also inherently difficult to work with. With her skills, she hoped to do well enough to be promoted.

“Not to win the grand prize?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“As long as I make something that only I could have, something that I’m proud of, even years from now, I’ll be happy enough. And I’ll give you your wing back, once we get there.”

“Sure, you will. Until you decide you like having someone follow all your orders and don’t want to release me.” It had happened before, multiple times.

“I’m not changing my mind, Kougami-san. And I won’t give you an order either. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Then, why don’t you hand over my wing now?” There was a flicker of hesitation, and he leaned back, his suspicions confirmed. Despite her doe eyes, she was just like the others. “As I thought.”

Unable to reply, she focused on driving the horses. It was supposed to be a scenic road. Then, in his periphery, he spotted four silhouettes on their own mounts, deliberately swerving towards them.

“We have company.” He warned her. “Probably heard crafters like you would be traveling this way.”

Akane snapped the reins, but with the sugar-laden wagon, they could only travel so fast. She glanced behind. “Are they armed?”

“Looks like it.” His elbow nudged her side. “Order me.”

“What?!”

“I can’t do anything unless you give me an order. Go ahead, twist my wing.”

“I won’t do that. I said I wouldn’t.” Stubborn, even when her life was at stake. The horses continued on, but their pursuers were catching up. Their rough, weather-worn faces slowly became visible.

“If you won’t, then we may not make it to your destination.”

The bandits rode closer. Their eyes traveled hungrily, not only upon the sugar barrels, but his owner as well.

Finally, she relented. “I’m not ordering you, I’m asking you to protect me.”

“Close enough.” Flaring out his right wing, he jumped off. He summoned his sword, black and electric blue, and went to work. Too easily, the enemies were rendered to crimson smears. It wasn’t much of a fight, but after so long, his skin was buzzing. The thrill of battle. He almost missed the wagon turning around.

“…stop…”

But her voice was too far away.

“I said, stop!”

And she must have twisted his wing because he spasmed and fell to the blood-soaked ground.

***

When he came to, he was curled on his side, and Akane was leaning over him.

“You’re awake! Thank goodness. Here, drink this.” She held a cup to his mouth, and he tentatively sipped. Coffee, but the sweetness was refined silver sugar. At the taste, it was as if a moonbeam was cast upon him, closing his wounds and rejuvenating with pure divine essence.

“…You didn’t leave me behind.”

“I wouldn’t have. I still have something that’s yours.”

In another life, he might have accused her of eating too much of her own supplies. But he looked directly at her, saying. “I feel better. You still have enough to compete?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”

They reached the capital by noon, and once they passed the main gate, she held out his wing. “Thank you so much, Kougami-san. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”

He eyed her. “You’re really giving it back?”

“I meant what I said.”

He reached for his wing, afraid she’d pull away, but at the gossamer feel, energy surged through him. It glowed and flew to his back, fitting in its rightful place. After years of forced servitude, he was finally free. He slid off the wagon, stretching as he hadn’t in a long time. He felt like he could take a deep breath. “Thanks.”

She beamed and pressed a wrapped handkerchief into his hands. “Before I go, this is just a little gift from me. I wish you well.” Then, she bowed and headed further into the city.

After he watched her disappear, he opened the fabric. Sparkling in the midday light, there was a tiny silver sugar wolf. Its ears were bent towards a sound only it could hear; the paws were poised in mid-step, the tail in a perfect curl.

“Damn it.” Pocketing the sculpture, he followed the signs to the competition, but the area was closed to participants only. Public viewing would be at dusk, with final judging at the end of the hour. Reluctantly, he left but even before the sun went down, he was loitering outside.

His intuition told him what her handiwork was, a spiraling arrangement of delicate flowers and leaves, studded with dewdrops. It reminded him of his early days of existence in the wildwoods, oddly nostalgic. However, the adjacent sculpture was very similar. Had the crafter cheated? The promotions were announced first, and he spotted her, flushed with joy as her name was called. In her wake, there was another girl, with long black hair and cold eyes. Then, the prizes were delegated but at the first runner-up, there was a snag. Two sculptures had caught the judges’ eyes, but there could only be one winner, who would be granted permission to tour the country and learn from the other masters to hone their craft. A tiebreaker round would decide the victor.

There might have been trepidation in the other girl’s face, but Akane shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve used up my supplies.” An automatic forfeit. But he didn’t want her to stop here, she deserved more. And he was partially responsible for the decrease.

He gritted his teeth and stepped forward. “Not all of it.” Ignoring the stunned looks of the crowd, he held up the sugar wolf. “You made this for me. You can break it down and recreate it. With your skills, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Her lips parted, surprised at his presence, but she determinedly took back the sculpture. “I can.”

The girls were given fifteen minutes, which seemed to drag on. The other had copied the wolf with great detail given that she’d only seen it once, but Akane had altered hers. Instead, it was leaping, balanced on one front foot and with a prouder demeanor than before. The judges’ eyes didn’t betray them, and Akane was rightfully declared this year’s master sugarcrafter, as the other girl was dragged away by officials. The extra round had been twofold, to uncover foul play too.

As the city descended into celebration, he hung in the growing shadows, but she still found him. “Kougami-san! Thank you, for helping me.”

“It would’ve been a shame if your hard work was put to waste.” He evasively replied. “Are you still planning to go home?”

“That was what I first thought, but…” She was thoughtful. “I wonder if there’s more I can learn, if I visit other sugarcrafting workshops.”

“Then, go. You can send a letter home and continue your journey.”

“What about you? I thought you would have left already. You’re free, you don’t have to follow humans’ orders anymore.”

“No, but I can do what I like. And right now, I think I’d like to see other sugarcrafting workshops.” At his answer, her smile was radiant.

In the morning, they bought fresh supplies and filled the sugar barrels. Settling into the wagon, he took the reins as she began sketching new ideas for sculptures. And so, they traveled on, past the horizon’s edge.

#shinkaneweek #shinkane #psycho pass

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junie-bugg · 5 years ago

Text

Prospects and Propriety - Chapter One

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

“We’re very similar, you and I.” He turns the leaf over in his palm one last time and then presses it into my hand. His fingertips are warm where the leaf is brittle.

We are, aren’t we? Me, a girl forced to marry by the rules and expectations of society and him, a boy whose freewill was stolen away before he could even walk. We’re both prisoners. Destined to fates we did not choose ourselves. Now I see what was so funny to him.

The two of us: we are absolutely tragic.

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Author’s Note:

This is a story inspired by my love of Everlark and Jane Austen’s novels. I am in no way an expert on the Regency period and I include fashions/details that are not historically accurate.

The setting is an alternate England-like Panem.

The plot is my own (Gale is not Mr. Darcy people, don’t get it twisted) but does borrow aesthetics and ideas directly from Jane Austen and Suzanne Collins.

The cast of characters is a mix of canon Hunger Games and original characters I’ve created.

I plan on including links to music and ambiance videos I used while writing so feel free to explore those! I typically play nature sounds and music together on my laptop so sorry if you're reading on a phone!

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cc9ofwF-e4

(If you want to listen to this on Spotify it's called 'The Secret Life of Daydreams' from the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack.)

Word Count: 1,727

Chapter One

I run my hands through the tall grasses at my waist. It’s the perfect morning. The crisp air doesn’t quite hold that harsh bite of winter that will soon sweep the countryside in blizzards and ice. Emerald leaves hint at the coming autumn with the slightest tint of yellow along their stems. The sun shines bright through branches and I watch the forest come alive with squirrels and chipmunks that scurry through the thick brush. The dirt path I followed to get here grazes the edge of the woods, but I’ve abandoned it to traipse through the wild-flower dotted hillsides instead.

From this high up, I can see everything. The village of Whitley lies to the west. I can just make out the rooftops of the squat brick buildings off the main square. By this time the merchants will have opened their shops for business. The rest of the countryside is peppered with grand estates and bountiful farmland. Rivers gleam like veins of silver and dirt roads are wreathed in the dust kicked up by horse-drawn carriages. I wish I could stay and sit here all day. I would drink in the sun and drown in the low hum of insects, though Haymitch has warned me of the nasty gossip that follows a lady with a tan and a set of freckles.

A lady. I almost snort. Apparently, that’s what I am. Or what I need to be if anyone is ever going to ask for my hand in marriage. The thought ruins the good mood my morning stroll had put me in. I throw myself down among the tall grasses and begin plucking mindlessly at their stems.

Haymitch Abernathy, the legal guardian of me and my sister, has never been one to force us into doing things we dislike. I’m allowed to ride my horse alone, hunt with a bow and arrow, and take off into the woods whenever I please, like some woodland nymph from one of my father’s old stories. If it wasn’t for Prim and my greenhouse back at home I would probably live out here. Until it got cold of course. I’m allowed more freedom than any other young girl in the county, I’m sure. But not even Haymitch can protect me from matrimony.

My sister is excited for me. I imagine she’s fantasized about her wedding since she knew what a wedding was. To her, marriage is a romantic fairytale. A strong, handsome man of large fortune will sweep her off her feet and give her an estate to run and small, cherub-faced children to care for. To me, marriage sounds like a death sentence. They say if I’m lucky, I’ll marry for love as well as for fortune, but I never want to love someone as much as my mother loved my father. Because when he died, in a way, so did she. The only person I know that I truly love is Prim.

Primrose Everdeen, my little sister, was never the outdoorsy type like me. She’s fair, with golden blonde hair that hangs in ringlets past her slight shoulders, and a face as fresh and as pure as a spring dewdrop. She spends her days drawing, flower arranging, and studying languages with my old tutor Mrs. Winthrop.

“She’ll be a highly accomplished woman by the time I’m done with her. Mark my words, this young girl is special,” Mrs. Winthrop had said to Haymitch mere days after first starting Prim’s lessons. She had been my tutor for years and had never said anything nearly as flattering about me. Sullen Katniss Everdeen must have been a lost cause in her eyes.

I’m four years older than Prim who’s a mere twelve. We share the same parents, though we look almost nothing alike. Where she received the fair skin, blonde curls, and gentle blue eyes of our mother, I received the olive-toned, straight black, and storm grey palette of our father.

I sit up suddenly, aware that I left home hours ago and it must be getting time for my lessons. I dread heading back to that stuffy room where I’m required to sit straight and learn to be “lady-like” under the scrutinizing gaze of Ms. Effie Trinket, my new tutor. Manners are of the utmost importance to her, seeing as she makes her living off of teaching them. She considers being late an unforgivable sin.

With this in mind, I take my time gathering wild-flowers. There are so many at my feet, their delicate white and yellow petals peeking up amongst the grasses. I deftly craft two flower chains. One for me, which I place on the crown of my head, and one for Prim clutched in my hands. I notice some dirt under my nails and smile, wondering what Effie will say when I arrive late and grimy.

She purses her lips and crosses her arms as I enter the room. “Where were you?” She demands in that high pitched voice of hers.

“Out,” I shrug. I hadn’t seen Prim on my way in so I’m still clutching her flower crown. I offer it to Effie instead. “Flowers?” She squints at my offering, probably checking for bugs, before gingerly taking it and placing it down on a side table.

“Katniss, I need you to take today’s lesson seriously.” Her clipped tone sets my teeth on edge.

“I always do-” I start, but Effie cuts me off.

“Don’t lie to me, Katniss. I know you don’t care for etiquette. I know that to you a spoon is just a spoon, even when that spoon is a soup spoon and should only be used for soup!”

Again with the soup spoon thing, it was one time. But she’s right. I find learning manners and etiquette a waste of time. I’ve only been out in society for a short while. I barely attend balls seeing as I’m sixteen and prefer to stay at home anyway. I look up and realize that Effie is still talking at me.

“Are you even listening? Mrs. Winthrop was right, you are hopeless.” She sighs and wipes non-existent dust off of her shimmery lilac skirts. “It is imperative that you start paying attention and make some kind of progress in these lessons. Mr. Gale Hawthorne has recently taken possession of Templeton and is traveling here, as we speak, to take up residence indefinitely. Do you know what this could mean for you?” Suddenly, her annoyance melts away and is replaced by a teary, almost hopeful expression. The way this woman’s emotions swing back and forth between happy and exasperated hurts my head. She comes to clasp my face between her palms. “Mr. Hawthorne earns ten thousand a year, Katniss. Ten thousand!”

I have in fact heard of the Hawthornes. Maybe those lessons have had more of an impact on me than I thought. I was forced to spend months poring over books filled with the names and family trees of wealthy, well-known families that I had either already been acquainted with or might be acquainted with in the future. A healthy knowledge of people, especially rich people, will get you far in life. At least that’s what Effie says.

Gale Hawthorne is the eldest son of the wealthy businessman Ezra Hawthorne. I forget exactly how Mr. Hawthorne first made his fortune but the word mine sticks around in my head. What his mine produced, I’m not sure. Precious gems? Gold? Coal? All I know is the Hawthornes are incredibly wealthy, and Gale being the eldest son inherited when his father died. He is in possession of everything from the family fortune to a legion of servants to the many extravagant houses in Town. Now it seems he’s grown tired with the city and has decided to try his hand at country living. Good, I think. A wealthy man who’s used to the high society of the Capitol won’t last long out here. He’ll be out of my hair before the month’s up. Effie must not realize this since she’s still staring happily into my face.

“And?” I ask.

“Well, he’ll fall in love with you and ask for your hand in marriage!” She beams as if this is obvious. “If you play your cards right of course. For instance, he won’t find you very agreeable if all you do is scowl at him like you do me-” I jerk out of her grasp.

Of course. Marriage. It’s one of the only things Effie has talked about the entire time I’ve been her pupil.

“Yes, Mr. Abernathy warned me that'd you'd be. . .avoidant. But don’t you see? That’s the reason I’m here. To teach you how to win a husband! It’s an art you know.” She sighs, probably seeing the panicked look on my face, and slips back into a tone of tired annoyance. “You’ll have to marry someone, Katniss. Might as well marry knowing you’ll spend the rest of your life in the lap of luxury.”

She’s right, of course. There’s no way for women to make their own living. I can’t go to university to study business or law, I can’t run my own shop, I can’t inherit Haymitch’s estate or fortune. When he dies the money goes to some estranged cousin on his father’s side. I am a woman, therefore, I am destined to either marry or die poor and unprotected. And Prim…

If I don’t marry, then Prim can’t marry. One of the rules of proper Panem society is that a younger sibling cannot marry unless the eldest has, meaning I must be happily settled before my younger sister can even entertain the idea of love. If I don’t get married and Haymitch goes and does something stupid like die, there will be nothing I can do. For either of us. We’d be turned out of the house and left to beg for scraps. And I will not let that happen to Prim. Not again.

I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat and spend the rest of the afternoon paying careful attention to Effie. She’s trying to teach me to communicate with men via body language, long gazes, and the fluttering of lashes.

This is the only way to save Prim, and with each horrible flutter I produce and each disappointed sigh from Effie, I feel my chances slipping away.

#everlark #thg #thg fanfic #everlark fluff #katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #gale hawthorne #haymitch abernathy #finnick odair #pride and prejudice #jane austen au #regency #everlarkfic #The Hunger Games

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ghxstpxsting · 5 years ago

Note

How do the ghouls react to a friend or an S/O that works in the music industry behind the scenes?

Hi there! Thank you for your request!

I hope I answered this in the correct way! I wasn’t sure if you meant like a producer or guitar techs or something, but if you meant something else I could always give it another go! Hope you like it!

How do the ghouls react to an S/O in that works BTS in the music industry?

Aether-

He’s proud of them! He’s very sappy and likes to buy all of the music they’ve worked on, looking at the credits on CD cases and vinyl sleeves just to see his S/O’s name on it. He’s been around a little while, and probably knows some big names, so if you need any contacts, he’s got you covered 😎

Dewdrop-

He likes to be involved! He’d ask if his S/O needs help with anything- if their job something like mixing/producing, he’ll volunteer to listen and provide constructive feedback! Music is one thing Dew does take seriously most of the time

Rain-

Rain respects their craft, but acknowledges that it’s out of his realm a little, so he tends not to get involved. He’s a bass player through and through, so that’s his area of expertise. It’s not that he’s disinterested, he’s just worried if he gets involved, he’ll mess something up.

Mountain-

He’s a bit of a dark horse, in that he knows a bit about everything. He’s always there with good advice and tips if they need it, and if not he’s a good listener to listen to any work struggles!

Swiss-

Swiss is very interested in his S/O’s job! He’s done similar things before, given he’s rather musically versatile, so he’s a good option to go to if they needed a more professional level of advice.

Cirrus-

As somebody who has a good basis in writing, playing and producing music, she’d be eager to help or listen to anything they’ve worked on! She does know when to rein it in though, the last thing she’d want is to seem overbearing, she just want to support them!

Cumulus-

In many ways, Cumulus is similar to Cirrus in that she has done a lot of things within the music industry herself! She’d be more actively involved though, and may at some points get a little *too* interested, but her S/O knows it comes from a good place ♥️

#ghost headcanons #anon ghost headcanons #ghost asks #ghost #the band ghost #ghost band #ghost bc #era iv #era 4 #era 4 ghouls #ghost hcs #ghostposting

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edxnwood · 6 years ago

Text

3. GARDEN OF BONES

( red waste, essos )

DAENERYS HEARS A HORSE NEIGH, turning around to face a dark horse trotting up to them, a rider on its back, and she recognizes him as one of the three men she sent to find any source of food, water, or city. It was Kovarro, making his way back with a new, strong mare. "Jin vos sajo yeri," Dany says to him, looking down at the black beauty. (This isn't your horse.) Kovarro jumps off, landing hard on his feet, walking next to the horse and grabbing onto its reins, smiling. "Me nem azh anhaan ki Senthisiri — jin Fozaki Qarthoon," he beams happily that he was the one who found the city. (It was given to me by the Thirteen — the Elders of Qarth.)

"Zhey Qarth?" Dany raising her darkening eyebrows.

"Sen asshekhi tithaan, qisi havazzhifi." (Three days to the east, on the sea.)

"Hash mori vazhi kishaan emralat?" (Will they let us in?)

"Mori astish memori nem achomoe hash mori viddee Mayes Zhavvorsi." (They said they would be honored to receive the Mother of Dragons.)

( banquet hall, odin's palace )

Thor stands in the empty hall, bearing the signs of the festivities canceled due to the events of the day, and, with anger and frustration rising within him, he upends one of the massive tables. From across the room, Loki watches him.

( red waste )

"Mori astish memori nem achomoe hash mori viddee Mayes Zhavvorsi." (They said they would be honored to receive the Mother of Dragons.)

Dany turns to face Jorah, "What do you know of this place?" The older man rubs his fingers together, head bent, hand by his cheek as he answers. "Only that the desert around their walls is called the Garden of Bones." This gives Dany chills, the name frightening and she wondered if it truly lived up to its name. "Every time the Qartheen shut their gates on a traveler, the garden grows."

( odin's palace )

Thor, Sif, Loki, and the Warriors Three walk from the Palace, across the grounds, reaching a group of attendants who ready their battle gear for their journey, Loki slips away from the group, beginning to speak to a nearby guard. Hogun notices. "We must first find a way to get past Heimdall," Thor says to the group.

"That will be no easy task," Volstagg retorts, shaking his head. "It's said the Gatekeeper can see a single dewdrop fall from a blade of grass a thousand worlds away."

"And he can hear a cricket passing gas in Niffelheim."

"Jest not!" Volstagg says, smiling at his own little joke. "He heareth all!"

"Please," Fandral replies. "Getting past him should be simple enough now since he seems to be letting Frost Giants sneak by under his nose." In fear, Volstagg looks up at the sky and begins to shout out, "Forgive him! He meaneth no offense!" Loki rejoins the group as Thor leads them onwards.

( gate of asgard )

Thor and his band of adventurers, on horseback, pass through the massive Gate, leaving Asgard behind. They ride along the most astounding path in this Realm or any other. . .

( garden of bones, qarth's gates )

Qartheen soldiers file out of the city's gates, wearing the traditional clothing of the port, holding golden spears and shields, Dany looking at them in confusion. Why were they sending soldiers out? "I thought we were welcome," she looks over at Jorah, seeing his watch the small infantry with careful eyes. He averts his eyes towards her, understanding the people's motives. "If you heard a Dothraki horde was approaching your city, you might do the same, Khaleesi."

"Horde?" She looks back at her meager amount of men and women, the complete opposite of a horde. It was more of a club. Thirteen men in the traditional garb walk behind the soldier, who were all standing still, the white of their clothing clashing against the tan colored sand while the other nude colors went along well with the dull sand. One of them, the leader perhaps, walks closer to the Khaleesi, his hands clasped in front of him. "My name is Daenerys," Dany begins to introduce herself, about to say her title, but the man already beat her to it. "Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen," he finishes it for her.

"You know me, my lord?"

"Only by reputation, Khaleesi," he responds, moving his hands so they rested against either side of his stomach. "And I'm no lord, merely a humble servant. They call you the Mother of Dragons."

"And what should I call you?"

"Oh, my name is quite long and quite impossible for foreigners to pronounce. I am simply a trader of spices. But we are the Thirteen, charged with the governance and protection of Qarth, the greatest city that ever was or will be."

"The beauty of Quarth," Dany begins, "is legendary." The trader raises a finger, correcting her already, "Qarth."

"Qarth."

"Might we see the dragons?" The Spice King places his hands on his protruding stomach, carrying his head in an almost mocking manner, his lips pursing together as he watched Dany turn her head towards one of the horses, the three cages on and around his back sticking out. She looks back at the man, "My friend, we have traveled very far. We have no food, no water. Once I see my people fed, I would be honored —"

"Forgive me, Mother of Dragons," the Spice King throws his hands up, "but no man alive has seen a living dragon. Some of my more skeptical friends —" he looks over his shoulder at a few men — "refuse to believe your children even exist. All we ask is the chance to see for ourselves." Dany sighs deeply, wanting nothing more than to be sitting in a chair somewhere inside Qarth, her people fed and well-slept, all of them ready for a new day. "I am not a liar," she responds, shaking her head. "Oh, I don't think you are," the older man remarks. "But as I've never met you before, my opinion on the matter is of limited value."

"Where I come from," Dany begins, already pissed off at the men in front of her, "guests are treated with respect, not insulted at the gates."

"Then perhaps you should return to where you come from. We wish you well," the Spice King turns to walk back into his city, Dany following him, angry at everyone. "What are you doing?' She snaps, Jorah placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to protect his Khaleesi at any given time. "You promised to receive me." The king turns around, "We have received you. Here we are, and here you are."

"If you do not let us in, all of us will die."

"Which we shall deeply regret. But Qarth did not become to the greatest city that ever was or ever will be by letting Dothraki savages through its gates." He gives Dany a little bow before walking off, his followers turning around as he walks past them, all ready to go back inside. "Khaleesi, please be careful," Jorah scolds her, Dany breathing in deeply as she walks forth, the Mormont bear close at her heels as the Qartheen soldiers lean their spears forward. "Thirteen!" Daenerys calls out to them, the men turning back to her. "When my dragons are grown, we will take back what was stolen from me and destroy those who have wronged me. We will lay waste to armies and burn cities to the ground. Turn us away and we will burn you first." The Spice King holds up a finger, smirking down at the petite woman, "Ah. You are a true Targaryen. Only, as you said a moment ago, if we don't let you into the city, you will all die. And so —"

"Retreating in fear from a little girl is unbecoming of the greatest city that ever was or will be," a tall dark man steps forth, the highest and greatest one in the group. He towered over the people, overlooking their heads. "The discussion is over, Xaro Xhoan Daxos," the king before him retorts. "The Thirteen have spoken."

"I am one of the Thirteen and I am still speaking," Xaro says, and Dany begins to like him; only three people in her life have stuck up for her — Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, Khal Loki of Asgard, and now Xaro Xhaon Daxos of the Thirteen. "The girl threatens to burn our city to the ground and you would invite her in for a cup of wine?" the Spice King draws in his brows, the dark-skinned man in front of his nodding as he gestures over to Dany. Daenerys doesn't like being talked about as if she wasn't there, but she remembers that this man was fighting for her right to get into the city, so she kept her mouth shut. "She is the Mother of Dragons," Xaro raises his eyebrows in question. "Do you expect her to watch her people starve without breathing fire? I believe we can allow a few Dothraki through our gates without dooming the city. After all, here I am, a savage from the Summer Isles and Qarth still stands."

"Our decision is final," the king remarks.

"Very well," Xaro takes a few steps towards Dany, but still keeps a great distance away from her and her people, smiling at her warmly. "I invoke Soumai." He takes a long dagger from the sheath at his right side, "I will vouch for her, her people, and her dragons in accordance with the law." Dany looks back at Jorah, not believing what she was hearing. Xaro drags the blade across his hand, raising it to show the white man before him the crimson liquid that was hanging around the cut, then turns it towards the other Thirteen. "Be it on your head," the king retorts, angry at Xaro. He walks up to the others, "Welcome to Qarth, my lady." Xaro gestures to the large gates, the group of men diving in the middle as the doors begin to open, showing sand-colored building with gold accents, palm trees towering over some, a port right in the middle of their line of sight. Dany smiles as she begins to march forth, her people following close behind her, pleased that their Khaleesi was able to get them a temporary home.

#Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki x daenerys #daenerys targaryen #Daenerys #daenerys stormborn #game of thrones #targaryen #game of thrones crossover #marvel

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malesherbes · 4 years ago

Text

Stargazer

The knight of Wales in the battle stood

Silent, gazing in the snow.

Deaf to cries and fury, in the woods,

The man whispers her name, low.

Percival, the young lord with blond hair

Looking at the snow, bloody

Red drops, vivid image of past years,

Five drops of crimson rubies.

Solomon Shinzer walks through the dark mead

Wet from summer nights’ dew, His legs

Brushed by shining umbels lulling with daisies.

The great telescope heavy on his back,

And in his sky, countless stars.

Solomon Shinzer comes each night in the mead

To check if all stars have names:

Pleiades and Hyades, the big bear and Orion,

If lonely comets follow the Milky Way,

If the sun rises like a lion.

Once, he came with a child on the blue hill,

Past waterfalls and sleeping brooks,

Past the furze where amber heather blows

On the blue meadow by the mill

The child smiles. She is his daughter.

Her hand in his hand, they walk, silent,

Centaureas blooming breath their sweet scent,

A nightingale echoes memories from sunset

The stream’s harpsichord sings its low anthem.

She haunts his spirit, he can’t forget.

Blood drops, still hot on the whitest snow

Like dark iris petals flow

In the knight memories. And he cries

Like alone under the sky.

On the white face of snow, her lips open

Her eyes, dropped here like jewels, stolen

From the almighty hand of god. Her smile,

Scattered in battlefield, pieces of paradise.

Solomon Shinzer lays on the blue meadow

Amid roses from dewdrops wet

And whispers from the life of the earth;

His hands rest on his chest, his eyes lost in the sky

And the child left behind plays with dark fireflies.

Solomon Shinzer follows the line of the north chariot

Betelgeuse, the shepherd’s star, Proxima Centauri…

And so many lights with no name.

He weeps as he thinks : so many are dead.

The girl in her white dress with lilies dances.

His sight wanders, past nebulas, strange voids, shadows,

Parts of space unseen, solar winds, pulsars.

And in the darkest corner of the universe, faint lights glow,

In a remote constellation, far away in oblivion, seven red stars.

With the moon’s silver beams the little girl dances.

Seven red stars drawing, in deep darkness, the face

This face of hers, dead long ago, smiling in the sky,

This sky of his, open like dim heavens. Tremors in his heart race

This heart falling, his hands, shaking, and tears in his eyes.

At the moon’s reflection in the pond, the girl glances.

Lost in contemplation, he forgets

The battle, his dying friends

His spirit fled far away, he lets

Chaos of swords inflict pain.

Around Percival, many men are dead,

His soul, his love kisses the snow.

A spear pierce his ribs, an axe hits his head.

That still, weeping in silence bows.

The first star, bright, glowing like her fiery eyes,

A spark of life, a hurricane

Her laugh filling her dreams, her smile,

Blazing flames, a sun, her name.

(The child tries to touch the moon on the lake.)

The second star, wan, soft like her fingers,

Like her songs in the night, her skin light as snowflakes.

Faint like her whispers, like her dear love,

Her intangible shape, feathers if a dove.

(The girl follows the moon’s slow moves on water.)

The third star, red like her kisses’ ecstasy,

Like her passionate cheeks, like roses,

Blood running through their heart, hot touches

Caressing hands, wonderful waves, their faces.

(Feet naked in the mud, the child walks with stars on the brook.)

The fourth star glows blue, like her eyes, still and dead,

Their walks on the strand, the secret they fled,

Blue like the sky beaming above their holding hands

Like the wind in her hair, blue and deep like the mead.

(Bird on the milky way, the girl follows the stream.)

The knight of Wales throws his eyes on the snow

On his armoured chest, a red flower blows,

And always, her face, a moon, an angel

Whispers “I love you”, lost in the battle.

From the white knight wounds, a drop of blood falls

Just under her eye: a tear. Low, he growls

And in a last sigh, his short life he breathes.

His tears on her tear, her heart in his breast.

The fifth star glows long, a cross in deep space,

Hints of paradise, wrinkles on her face.

The sixth star glows hard like a burning stone,

Their words forgotten, her crying, alone.

(The girl dances in stars, white by the waterfall.)

The last star glows weak, almost invisible:

In brightness smothered, dying, she trembles.

Her life, plucked early, fades in sad riddles

And his heart, consumed, in ashes crumbles.

The girl slips on a rock.

And down she falls.

Down she falls.

The knight Percival in the battle stood,

Dead, torn between spears of wood.

From the snow, a ghostly head rears,

Kisses him a last time, and in blood swoons.

***

“Ghost in the stars, how long will you haunt me?

How long will I suffer, can’t I forget thee?

For your dark paradise, shall I live in hell,

In my life without you, what curses dwell?

O, spirit, did I not kiss you a last time?

Did I not close your eyes, weep for nights and days?

For what unknown crime do I have to pay?

Shall my life be burnt down by your dying breath?

Shall your sleep deprive me of all peaceful rests?

O, I cannot love you, star, uncanny face,

Don’t show me those tears, don’t show me this fate!

I will not let this wraith corrupt my galaxy.

If I shall remember, let it be your smile,

Engraved in my heart, stedfast in the night.

If I hear your voice, let it be your laugh,

Echoed in the breeze, bird’s songs in green oaks.

Let it be a spark, a whisper, a tale,

Sweet melancholy of our brightest days

A dance with the wind and the nightingale:

Your pain I forgot, but your bright eyes stay.”

And to red stars, Solomon Shinzer closes his soul’s windows.

He hears a cry, runs towards waterfalls,

Grabs the hand of the child, holds her in his arms

Caress her hair, cherish her breath,

Looks at her face and sees

The world’s two brightest stars.

Do not look away from the earth too long

Do never repeat the abyss’ strange song,

Open your windows to friendly planets

And do never gaze in too remote stars.

You shall only glance at stars with a name

And constellations from our galaxy,

For you’ll never now infinity’s shames,

And how queer and dark universe can be.

A man and his daughter walk slowly in the wood,

Hand in hand, fetching umbels and violets,

The pass by a field where a high tree stands.

In the tree, a skeleton: a man on a horse,

With a broken helmet, two wings made of swords.

In a tender bow, the skull looks

At a patch of green grass where seven daisies blow.

In the grey cedar, the knight of Wales

Looks at this selfsame face from centuries ago,

Ghost made of white flowers, or stars with no name

Lost in the sky, far away beyond the brook.

And in Sinnaï’s desert, a great stargazer stands,

Lonely monument, forgotten and empty,

Fragile skeleton, stones engraved with fame,

The man and his daughter pass by and do not see.

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starshineskyandthepowerofrock · 4 years ago

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Weekend in Fall

Part 16 of Starshine, Sky, and the Power of Rock.

I've never quite grasped the elven fascination with wood. Or plants. Or... even nature, for that matter. It's not necessarily that I dislike any of these things, but my kind seems infatuated with them on a level I'm not equipped to understand. Actually, it's not that. My understanding is that nature was once important to elves but modern technology was just too cushy to resist. Elves, being elves, compromised by making a show of still honoring nature by sticking to "tradition." This manifested itself in, among other things, naming our children after things one would find in a forest (hence how I got saddled with a name that's just a nice way of saying spiderweb), holding dances in the woods that no one remembers the cultural significance of, and ensuring that anything that can technically be carved from wood will be, even if there are countless other materials out there that would be much more effective and result in less deforestation.

The thing that leads me on this mental tangent so early in the morning is watching my left hand - the prosthetic one - glide the purple plastic razor down my shaving cream-lathered legs. The bathroom is basically the only place I allow the heavy layer of fake skin to evaporate so that the wood of my arm can breathe for a change. I savor these moments because they're fleeting. But bathing and whatnot bring their own challenge in the form of water finding itself in every groove and crevice of the wood that it can. The newfound weight of my left arm combined with the unique sensation of water sloshing around in my joints is something I've never enjoyed. I can't help wondering if this problem would be at least minimized had my arm been made of a less porous material.

I nick myself. I should be more mindful, considering I'm dragging tiny blades across my skin. Thinking about shaving that way makes it sound much more exciting.

I rinse the razor after another stroke and inspect the blades closely to ensure there's no excess hairs. I remove a couple green ones, which don't upset me. It's the white ones that do.

After reapplying the skin to my left arm and throwing on my plush yellow bathrobe, I stomp out of the bathroom.

"SKYLAR!" I bellow, lifting the top lid of her casket. She's not there. I stomp into the living room to find her kneeling by the coffee table across from Crescent playing some card game. "Do you have an explanation for this?" I ask, holding it up to her face.

Skylar sets her cards down. "Are you trying to set some kind of record for how fast you can ruin my morning?"

"Cut the attitude and answer me," I say.

Skylar squints and tilts her head at an odd angle. "It... looks like a razor?"

I scoff. "Obviously. Who's razor is it?"

She blinks. "I'm assuming yours?"

"Exactly. So why am I finding white hairs in it?"

"Maybe you're graying from the stress of yelling at me every morning."

"Or maybe you're using my razor!" I make to fluff her bangs as a way of reminding her that she's the only one here with white hair, but she catches me by my wrist. Her rough, corpse-like hand on my skin is one of the worst sensations I've ever felt.

It brings to mind stories of soul-sucking creatures born dead yet moving anyway. On the surface close enough to a person that they may draw the unwitting in, but truly dead on the inside in body and in heart. They subsist off the life of others because they have none themselves. It's why Skylar is always so unnaturally still, even now as she holds my wrist in her surprisingly tight grip.

She pushes my hand away. "Don't touch me," she says.

"Please don't fight again, you guys..." Crescent says, wringing her rabbit ears in her hands.

"I sure don't want to," Skylar says to her. "But it looks like Gossamer has other plans."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, don't play the victim! I would have left you be had you not clogged my razor with your leg hair!" I say, waving the razor around in case she somehow forgot.

Skylar groans and stands up. "This is why the school store has them come in different colors. I told you not to get the same color as me 'cause I knew this would happen."

"It wouldn't be an issue if you were more observant. Or considerate. Or-"

"I physically can't see any difference between them. What do you want me to do, wear my contacts in the bath? That's how you get infections."

"Oh please. Maybe if you dunked your head underwater you'd get one-"

"Guys, seriously, stop!" Crescent says, holding her bowed head in her hands.

Skylar sighs and puts an arm around her. "I'm really sorry, Crescent."

"Why are you apologizing to her?" I ask. "I'm the one who's razor you-"

"In case you haven't noticed," Skylar cuts me off. "Fighting makes Crescent really upset."

"Oh," I say, a bit quieter. "It does?"

"It does," Skylar says. "Not that you'd know that. Since you'd rather hang with your jerk sisters than your own band."

I'm reminded that I have an outing with my sisters today. I return to the bathroom without another word to continue getting ready, ignoring Skylar's further comments. Maybe I can sneak in a few more minutes without the fake skin.

🥀🥀🥀

"You should have washed a second time," is all Summer has to say after I finish recounting the events of this morning. It's become a sort of ritual for my sisters to hear me divulge to them the horrible details of my roommate situation over breakfast, especially on weekends when meal times are less rigidly regulated.

I sneak a glance at the table of the band that I'm in, all the way over at the First Years' section of the dining hall. Skylar has just sat down with the others. Crescent and Princess Starshine greet her warmly. I wonder what they're talking about.

Dewdrop spreads marmalade on her toast and says, "Why does she come in late, like, every day?"

"Suspicious," Summer says. "Just like Father says."

"She drinks her horse's blood for breakfast," I explain.

"That's disgusting," Summer says before biting into her apple.

"Aw," Breezy coos. "Poor horsie."

I take a sip of my orange juice. "You don't have to feel sorry for it, Breezy, the horse is a Night Mare. Or... Night Stallion, I guess. Terrible creatures, really. They subsist on fear."

"Well, isn't that just like the little bloodsucker?" Summer leans back in her seat, both arms and legs crossed. "A parasite and her parasite. Wait'll people hear about this."

"I don't think it was ever a secret," I say.

"Then why are you only telling us now?"

"Well-"

"Were you hiding it from us?"

"No, I-"

"I've heard enough," Summer decides. She stands and makes her way over to the First Year tables. "So, Princess," she says, loud enough for me to hear from where I sit. "I hear your girlfriend drinks horse blood."

High volume to ensure she's heard across the room. Mixing truth with lies to make it harder for the target to justify themselves. Insinuating people are romantically involved when they clearly aren't in order to fluster them. I wonder how effective these tactics can be when she has so little change in formula. I also wonder whether she's aware a formula has formed to begin with.

The princess flips her hair, apparently unaffected. She says something I'm unable to hear, which causes Summer to refocus her attack to Skylar directly. I can't hear what Skylar says either, but I do take note that she's been more vocal with Summer lately. In fact, she's been more vocal period. Ever since last month when...

Nope. Nope, I'm not remembering that.

I pinch my newly-shaven leg through my tights, bringing me back to the present. Skylar has stood up. My heart skips a beat. One thing about our adventure in the Serpentine Forest that I'm willing to remember is our fight. The fight, may I remind you, that she started. Which means she can easily be provoked. Which means Summer may be in danger.

Without thinking, I begin standing up when Aspen puts her hand on my arm. She shakes her head. I sigh and sit back down. She's right, intervening would only spell disaster. We'll just have to hope this doesn't turn ugly.

Summer takes a step closer to Skylar. Skylar takes a step closer to Summer. There is a moment where I'm unsure if either of them are even speaking or if they're just staring each other down. Whatever's happening, the First Years are enraptured, which means Summer's efforts are proving successful today.

She finally backs off, but not before saying, "Whatever. Have fun with the horse-bloodsucker, Princess!" Then she comes back to our table for everyone to stare at us. And she wonders why I hide this stuff from her.

🥀🥀🥀

Something a number of non-elf students have noticed about Hillside is that it's surprisingly large. While the Serpentine Forest is known for its dragon population, there are other areas with less interesting specialties. The area we're landed in this week, for example, is considered the province's fashion hub. It's no wonder my sisters and I are far from the only students that decided to hit up the market today.

Breezy buries her chin into her floral scarf, shivering. "I wish we'd landed here in the spring."

"Agreed," Dewdrop says. "Hillside looks its best when all the flowers are in bloom. In fall everything is dead."

"Dying," I correct. "Winter is when the leaves are dead. I like to think that right now they're having a kind of last hurrah, a burst of color before they have to go. Don't you think that's kind of beauti-"

"Girls, I found a jewelry stand!" Summer calls.

I don't know why I thought they'd listen. I remind myself to hold my tongue. Openly musing on death edges far too close to dangerous territory, especially in public.

The jewelry looks fine, I suppose. Many feature gold leaves or flowers made of jewels. There's that nature influence again. I silently wish there were some more fall-inspired pieces. More than just some leafy necklaces, I mean. Perhaps something made of a darker metal to represent the death of summer and all the warmth and comfort that comes with it. Maybe those brilliant gems would look better surrounded by jagged edges, as if the fleeting beauty of now is forever foreshadowed by a foreboding yet unknown-

"Aw man, it's them again."

For once my thoughts are not interrupted by my sisters but by Skylar, who turns out to be here with Princess Starshine. They avert their gaze and hustle right past us. Many heads turn, it's possible from the presence of royalty or the monster locking arms with her. Likely both. Thankfully my sisters are too engaged with the homogeneous accessories sold at this stand to notice. I'm too tired from this morning to even think about engaging. Plus, even if Summer has plans to usurp the princess as most popular student I'd actually prefer being on her good side. Unlike a number of Summer's friends, I don't think her a traitor to her kind for engaging with the vampire. I think it unfortunate that she got suckered in by the creature's amicable façade. I only hope she'll be okay, but prospects are never very good for the victims of vampires.

Glass houses, Gossamer. She almost worked her charms on you too. Why else would you go out of your way to save her from that werewolf?

Stop thinking about that.

Jewelry. Jewelry. Pick something so they think you're interested. I choose one of the least expensive pieces so I won't feel too guilty about purchasing something I don't want. It's a pair of gilded earrings. Another to add to the collection.

We manage to pass by the princess and the vampire again without incident. I'll admit to eavesdropping on their conversation.

"This kinda reminds me of the markets we had back home," Skylar says.

"Does it?" Princess Starshine replies.

"Yeah, well, we didn't have dragon skin boots but it's close enough."

Then they giggle.

So they have markets on the Isle of Isolation. I'd been wondering how public facilities work in a society where no one can enter buildings unless specifically invited. It would seem they do most of their business outdoors. It must be hard to live in a society like that when you're as photosensitive as Skylar. Perhaps that's why she wears that cloak so much-

"Goss, let's go!" Summer calls.

"Coming," I call back.

🥀🥀🥀

Finally. Finally, I'm alone. My mattress welcomes me like a warm hug. No makeup, no bra, and most importantly no skin on my wooden arm. Just my silky dark green night gown, which is my favorite because it makes me feel like the shadows one finds in the darkest parts of the forest. It brings to mind thoughts of...

No...

Should I?

I guess no one's here.

I roll off my bed and look underneath it for the extra suitcase I'd told my sisters was full of clothes. I unzip it to uncover my treasure trove.

Right before we left for school, I'd totally blown my allowance in the horror section of our local bookstore back home. Then I'd dug myself into debt buying copies of all my favorite monster movies and slasher flicks, plus a number of new releases to keep things fresh.

As far as my sisters are concerned, this part of me is long dead. I'm finally normal, no longer a one-armed freak that thinks too much about the ugliest parts of life. I'm on track to be the next in a long line of Glades that cherish unchallenged beauty and crush deviance under their heels.

But why does deviance have to be so much fun?

Fall has me in a mood for something that'll toy with me psychologically, so I choose Final Kiss by Willow Withers. I'd been dying to read it for months but it's so hard to find alone time these days. Being on Summer's good side is a full-time job.

My favorite stories are the ones that pump my veins full of ice and replace my stomach with a black hole of dread, and this story is doing just that by the time I'm a chapter in! And what's more, it's about a vampire!

I eventually have to take a breather and just lay there on my bed, head turned to look at Skylar's glossy black casket. Is it melodramatic to feel like I'm the protagonist of my own horror story? Perhaps, but it doesn't change the fact that I feel this way. Or... at least I did.

Do. I still do.

Come on, Gossamer! You're in the same room as a vampire's casket! That should theoretically have you terrified. So... why am I not?

I hug the book to my chest, tentatively letting the thoughts I hate come out to play. Every monster has captured my imagination to some extent, but none more than vampires. Such paradoxes of life and death they are. I can't stop thinking about blood, red and warm and filled with life, stolen and displaced into cold bodies that owe their continued existence to it, though it was never theirs to begin with. Why can't I get that grotesque image out of my head? Why don't I want it to leave?

It's not that I think vampires are people or something crazy like that. But they come so close to it that I'm endlessly fascinated by them. Even if they are soulless.

But I have to keep my distance from Skylar if I know what's good for me. Not only because I've already had her trick me into sharing information about myself. Or because she'd managed to charm me enough to get me to save her life. It's because Father and Summer and pretty much everyone who's opinion matters would have my head if they knew I was associating with her more than I have to.

That's why these thoughts must be relegated to my fleeting moments of alone time. And since that time is so fleeting, I'd better get back to my-

Skylar enters the bedroom wearing a dragon leather jacket that I guarantee was bought on a princess's budget. It takes her a second or two to process the plethora of horror novels strewn across the pale yellow sheets. Then she looks up at me, a thousand questions in her eyes that I know won't leave me alone until they're answered.

#elf oc #elf #vampire oc #vampire #fantasy #fantasy writing #gossamer glade

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elexuscal · 7 years ago

Text

Fanfic: Changeling

Summary: There were once two babies: a human and a faerie. One was sweet and cute as could be; the other was weak and wild. The two were switched, exchanged, and left to grow up in the other's world.

This is one of their stories.

(Part of the Crystal Court Fae AU)

Changeling

There was once a sweet human baby.

She was as cute as they came. Chubby and thick-limbed, big, shiny amber eyes, blonde hair like gold. Healthy and strong. Well behaved, too. Rarely fussed or cried, which was a relief for her harried parents.

There was once a strange Fae baby.

All Fae babies are strange. She was chubby, but tiny too, with purplish skin, faded-grey hair, and sharp teeth that drew blood from her mother's breasts. Sickly and weak. An obvious troublemaker. Laughed and cried in equal measure, and her wails would have driven her human mother to exhaustion, if she'd had the capacity anymore.

Spring liked babies.

It was one of her defining characteristics. She was the season of birth. Of fresh green growth, of flowers on trees, of birds and bees, of fawns on unsteady legs taking their first tentative steps.

She loved to take walks through the mortal world, to see the changes She had brought. She'd stroke the leaves of new trees, breathe deep the scent of flowers, cradle newborn bunnies and crocodiles and elephants. She loved the children born into her own Court as well, all the more because they were so rare. Most Fae had come into existence with the world itself, and new ones were few and far in between.

That was the main reason Spring collected humans, especially young maidens. For their fine music and art, of course, but mostly for their babies. She liked to play with them, to tickle their tummies, to hear them scream when she tossed them in the air and when they hit the ground.

Despite all appearances, Spring was not soft. Spring was practical. Not all babies survived: that was a fact of life. Baby birds fell out of trees. Baby bunnies were snatched up in the jaws of hawks. Fawns were taken down by wolves. And if they were not, then the wolves' own pups would starve.

Survival of the fittest. It was only nature.

Spring looked down at the little Faeling, purple-skinned and sharp-toothed, and knew she was not fit.

Worse, knew she was not fun.

She wanted someone better. So she sent her people out to find a replacement.

The faeries found the sweet human baby, the one given the name Cristal by her parents. Said parents were busy, that day. The father was in the forest, chopping wood for the fire. The mother was doing the washing in the yard. The elder siblings were about, half-working, half-playing. None were minding the baby, now a toddler, walking around on strong, stubby legs. She was safe enough, they were all sure.

Cristal had been taught not to wander off, but she caught sight of something sparkly in the woods, and could not help herself. For once in her young life, she disobeyed. In the bushes she found a person with wings like a butterfly, eyes like dewdrops, and a smile like diamonds. They said they were a Faerie.

The Faerie stole the human toddler. Took her clothes, and put them on the Fae toddler instead. Cast a glamour on the Fae child: purple skin became cream, grey hair became gold, sharp teeth became rounded. A perfect reflection.

They sent the weakling off to the human family on trembling legs and took the strong, human toddler to their Court.

Spring loved her.

To the human family, Cristal seemed to transform overnight.

Where once she had slept soundly through the nights, now she refused to rest, running around and around their small cottage, yelling and screaming. Whenever they took her into town, she became a bother there as well. Never waiting, talking too loudly, getting her hands into everything, frightening the horses. She became a picky eater, grousing about bread being boring, food being too salty. Yet at the same time, it seemed she'd stick practically anything in her mouth: dirt, feathers, sticks, rocks.

The parents were frustrated but didn't think much of it. They'd raised three other children. They went through odd phases as they got older. Cristal would grow out of it.

They hoped.

In some ways, she did. Cristal learned from the yellings, the spankings, the cruel looks, to stop the tantrums. To be quiet. To not rock back and forth. To hide her odd snacks. She didn't always succeed, but she tried, oh she tried, to be a good daughter.

But other oddities began to be noticed.

She got sick, afflicted by strange rashes that no one could explain. She hated the sound of church bells, which were loud, much too loud, forcing her to cover her ears. She picked too many fights with the village boys, fights that a little, weakling girl by no rights should win. But win she did, wearing her bruises with pride. She got lashed for misbehaviour and stopped, instead muttering dark things under her breath. The targets of her ire seemed tormented by bad luck: broken legs, sick livestock, plagues of pimples. The town's children avoided her, and even her own siblings were wary of her. She preferred the company of animals to humans.

Sometimes, people said, she looked odd. If you caught her out of the corner of her eyes- purple skin, sharp teeth, red eyes.

Whispers began. Rumors.

Witch. Demon-spawn. Changeling.

The parents scoffed; said the villagers were superstitious fools jumping at shadows.

But in private, they exchanged worried looks and wondered.

The girl now called Cristal made it to nearly seven years before something broke.

It was evening, and she was dallying in her chores. The grain in her satchel was heavy, her feet were tired, and she'd stumbled upon her favourite cat in the town square on her way back from the mill. She'd grabbed a stick, and was playing with it, dragging the stick through the dirt, hooting and hollering while the cat tried to catch it.

Someone behind her laughed.

"Playing with your own kind, huh?!" came the cackle from the blacksmith's apprentice.

"Better than your kind," the girl snarled back at him. And for a moment, she looked wrong : her eyes slitted and amber, her face furry, her teeth sharp. A cat.

The boy yelped, and the girl laughed, happy to see the fear on his face.

On instinct, the apprentice reached into a pouch at his belt, and brought out a handful of nails. He flung them at the girl.

She yelped, and then screamed as they hit her. They hurt, hurt far more than they should have. It wasn't just that they dug into her skin; they seemed to burn, searing her. Those rashes she'd gotten, whenever she'd tried to help cook or tend to the fire- they were here, and they hurt.

The boy had acted on fear; now he acted on triumph, pulling out more and more of the nails he'd made, flinging them at the girl, who screamed and tried to bat them away with little success. Suddenly she felt tired, so tired, and her skin was burning. Her eyes filled with tears; she couldn't see.

People's attention was drawn to the commotion. Though Cristal was half-blind, she heard the gasps of shock, of fear.

She heard the blacksmith's apprentice shout, "Demon!"

She heard others take up the cry.

The nails had stopped coming, and her eyes became clear enough to see. All around her, people were staring; farmers, bakers, the miller, the midwife, children and elderly alike. The cat at her side had its back arched, claws out, and was hissing at all of them.

Cristal didn't ask, didn't wait. She just picked up her bag of grain and ran.

She ran and ran and ran until she reached her home. She flung open the door and rushed in, shaking for breath. Her mother heard her panic, and began to say, "What is wrong? You did not get into a fight again, did you-?"

But then she turned, and the mother stopped.

Cristal saw the shock on her face. The fear.

"Maman?"

The woman held her hands to her breast, and asked in a trembling voice, "What are you?"

It was only then the girl looked down, and was met with an unfamiliar body. Her creamy skin was gone, replaced with a deep purple, as though her whole body was a bruise. Her arm seemed at the same time too chubby and too short. She dropped her satchel and raised her hand. At each finger was a long, wicked claw.

"What has happened to me?" she cried. "Maman? What has happened?! "

"I am not your maman!"

By then the rest of the family was there, having heard the commotion- the girl spun around, and saw the same horror on all their faces. Her Papa's expression was hard. One of her sisters was shaking her head. One of her brothers was reaching for his knife. Her last brother, who was just two years older, was the only one to look sad. There were tears in his eyes when he said, "Run. Run, before they catch you!"

So the girl ran again, this time away from home, into the forest.

As she ran, she tripped and fell. She got up, but this time, stayed on four legs. It felt easier like this. She imagined herself as her favourite black cat, light and lithe on her feet.

She could hear people behind her. A low, angry murmur, the occasional yell rising above it all, and she could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

It was dark. It was dark, but somehow she could see.

Far scarier than the darkness were the lights. Torches, flames, casting strange shadows through the trees.

She was tired. Her feet hurt. They were catching up to her. She smelled iron. Weapons.

Close. So close now.

But somehow, they didn't catch her. Every time a hunter got close, something stopped them. A stray root where they hadn't seen one. A low-hanging branch throwing them off their horse. An unexpected wind blowing out their torch, leaving them blind.

And the girl ran on.

In the darkness, the girl found a cave.

It smelled of stone, of water, of must, of blood, of something animalistic. Something in the back of her mind recognised that scent- wolf.

She went into the cave anyway. Wolves, she thought, she could deal with. It was the humans- her fellow villagers, her family- who scared her now. She just wanted to hide away in the hole and be safe. Maybe the wolves would protect her.

But the cave was empty. There were signs that it had been a den once, but the wolf pack had clearly moved on.

The girl curled up, too tired to keep running. She closed her eyes and listened, hearing the stamp of boots, the baying of horses and barking of dogs, the crackle of fire, and the shouts, the shouts. "Find the demon! Slay her! Cast it away!"

And then a new sound. Perhaps one could call it a song, except it was too discordant to be considered music. It sounded like- like the burning of the summer sun, like the rush of the autumn rain, like the chill of the winter wind. It started quiet, then grew louder and louder and louder-

Through shut eyelids, the girl saw light: yellow and blue and white…

And then she saw and heard nothing as she fell into a deep, deep slumber.

When the human hunters eventually searched the cave, there was nothing but rock and stone inside.

Time passed, and the magic wore off.

The girl woke up, slowly, unsteadily. Her whole body was stiff, stiff. Her eyes felt glued shut. Her arms and legs felt heavy, and took immense effort to stretch.

Finally, she managed to sit up. She blinked. Daylight streamed through the cave. All signs of the humans were gone, as was the smell of wolf.

She clenched her hand, her sharp nails digging into her palm. Where was she to go now?

Her stomach gurgled. She was hungry. She picked up some dried leaves from the cave floor, and shoved them into her mouth. Swallowed. That helped a bit. She rocked back and forth, as she did when she was thinking.

She couldn't stay there. What if the hunters returned?

Stumbling out into the sunlight, she found the forest looked different. She hadn't been able to pay much attention, in the darkness, with the running, but she could have sworn the trees were in different positions. She wasn't entirely sure which direction lead to the place she had called home. She'd been running to the West, she thought, so after a moment's consideration, decided to continue in that direction.

Following the path of the sun, it wasn't long- an hour, perhaps- before she reached the forest's edge. She had come to the flat stretch of land, and she stared out at it, perplexed.

It looked like it should have been a field, of grass or crops. Instead, it was filled with nothing but churned mud. It was hard to tell, but it looked like someone had dug long, snaking channels into the earth, piling it into mounds. The girl had seen something like that at a nearby river which sometimes flooded, except these channels were topped with sharp, pointed wire, more of it and more thinly drawn than she had ever seen.

Why would anyone do such a thing?

She lurked in the bushes, getting as close as she could, but still, she could not understand. Finally, overcome with curiosity, she stepped out to investigate.

BANG!

The girl leapt into the air, so startled she was by the noise. But it didn't stop- BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sound blocked everything else, the air suddenly filled with the smell of smoke and fire, and things were flying, flying everywhere. Something grazed the girl in the cheek, and it burned, seared.

She heard people yelling, and she moved on pure instinct, leaping into the nearest channel, hands to her cheek, eyes threatening tears again.

She looked up, and found herself surrounded by strange men. They were pointing bizarre metal sticks at her.

"Don't hurt me!" she cried, throwing up her hands. "Please!"

(If they did, if they tried, she wouldn't go down easy, she'd already decided. She'd see what her new claws could do.)

But the men didn't try to hurt her. They didn't even look angry. They were talking- some yelling, some muttering, but mostly, they just seemed confused.

The girl was confused too. Why were they not hurting her? She glanced down at herself, and saw she'd changed back. Her ugly purple skin returned to its proper cream and her nails were short and neatly filed. She was even wearing her best Sunday dress, which made no sense; she had not been before.

She was confused, too, by the men's speech. It sounded like French, but all wrong. The words, the grammar, the accents.

One man crouched down low, spoke slowly and deliberately. "Je suis Pierre," he said, pointing at his chest, and strange language or not, the girl understood. "Tu t'appelles comment?"

The girl didn't answer, so the man and his fellows tried again and again, eventually resorting to just pointing at her, and repeating, "Prénom? Prénom?"

The girl understood this, at least. She simply did not know how to answer. As far as she could remember, she'd always been called Cristal. But then her maman had yelled at her, said she was not her daughter, and her family had chased her out of the house, hunted her and-

- no. She didn't want to be Cristal.

Not anymore.

The nameless girl was still scared.

She had no idea where she was. The loud bangs continued for some time, then stopped, aside from the occasional one that would go off with no warning. They came from the strange sticks many of the men carried, which shot out fire and metal. Weapons, clearly.

The girl did not like them. Not because they were weapons- she quite liked weapons, all told- but because if she touched them, they burned her hand.

The men were loud, and spoke strangely, and dressed oddly, but they were kind to her. They all lived underground, in dark, damp rooms, but they found her a bed that was reasonably dry and bundled up. Someone came to touch her cheek; she hissed at him, and he backed away. He came back later, hands up, holding a bandage, and gestured that he just wanted to help heal her blistered hands and face. She let him. Another man brought her a bowl filled with a soup. It was plain and runny, but it was hot, and she ate it gratefully.

A little later, another man, his face all sooty, gestured for her to hold open her palm. After a little hesitation, she did. He put a brown square on it. He mimed eating it.

The girl blinked. She liked dirt- always had- but a grown up had never told her to eat it. She was tempted not to, just to be contrary.

But she did, and it was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted.

"Chocolat," the man said.

"Chocolat," the girl repeated, and he grinned at her.

That night she curled up in a bunk dug into an underground trench, head on chocolat-man's lap, and slept soundly.

The tale of the Mystery Girl of the Trenches spread like wildfire. First through the French troops, then into the French press, and then through the newspapers of all the allied nations. Strange child appears out of nowhere in No Man's Land. Just barely survived by ducking into a nearby trench. Doesn't seem to speak a word of proper, modern French, but sweet as can be, regardless. Taken in by a friendly division. It was a feel good story, during a war in which there were very few to go around.

Everyone knew the front lines of the Great War was no place for such a young child. Attempts were made to bring her somewhere safer, but none of them succeeded. Trucks would break down. Agents coming to collect the girl would get lost or end up in the wrong place. Sometimes people looking for her suddenly flat out forgot what it was they were doing. Over time, the soldiers grew more and more resistant to the idea of her leaving, of her being taken away. She was fun to be around, playful, a single bright spot in their existence of muck and poor food and the constant threat of death. They didn't want to let go of her.

This suited the girl perfectly. She didn't want to let go of them, either.

Not everyone could be so easily waylaid.

After some months, three strangers appeared in the girl's trench. They were all women, which was what made them stand out. There weren't many women in this war. And the few women the girl had seen around here wore skirts, but these ones wore pants, like the men. One of them was black, as well. The only black people she'd ever seen before were the 'Harlem Hellfighters,' but she had never seen this lady among them, which made her a source of immediate curiosity.

But there was something else about them, too. When she caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye, their forms seemed to flicker.

They noticed the girl right away. Strode towards her. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up.

They had come to take her away. The girl knew it. She also knew that no one would let them. Her friends, the soldiers, would stop them.

But they didn't. It was like they didn't even notice the women.

"Pierre! Pierre!" the girl called, but her friend just stared past her, smiling blankly into empty air.

The girl backed away.

"Do not be afraid," said one woman, the really tall one with big, curly hair. That made the girl stop. She spoke the right language. French. Her French.

"How did you get here?" asked next woman, the thin one, in the same French.

"Why should I tell you?" the girl demanded, crossing her arms.

"Because we can't have you hurting anyone," said the black woman, while at the same time, the big one said, "Because we're here to help you."

The girl narrowed her eyes.

The thin woman came and asked, "Do you know what you are?"

"What kinda question is that?" said the girl.

The three women exchanged looks.

"You are not human," said the black one.

Yes I am, the girl wanted to say, but the words stuck on her tongue. She was fairly certain that would be a lie.

The thin woman waved a hand. It felt like a cold bucket of water had been dumped on her head. When she looked, back was her horrible, demonic appearance. She flinched, waiting for the screams, the attacks- but none came.

The soldiers were not looking at her. They were not looking anywhere. They were staring into space, wearing odd, vacant smiles, just like Pierre. She ran to the nearest man- the one who had given her chocolat- and shook him, but he didn't even seem to notice.

"What did you do to them?" the girl demanded, terrified.

"They are not hurt," the big one promised.

"We will let them go," the thin one assured.

"We just need to talk," the black one said.

And then they changed.

The big one, who said to call her Rose, wore a dress of white. Her hair was not hair at all, but a cascade of flower petals that seemed to blow in an unfelt breeze. The thin one, who said to call her Pearl, had skin so white it looked like freshly fallen snow, and eyes misty grey all the way through. The black one, who said to call her Garnet, had three eyes, each a different color, and lightning danced around her fingers.

They did not ask the girl her name.

She thought she should be scared of them, and yet, she was not.

They explained things to her. They said she was not wrong, demonic, or evil. They said she was Fae, just like them. They asked where she had come from, for, "There are not many Fae left on this plane."

So the girl told her story, and they listened, solemn and serious. They got more serious still when she described the strange light, the song, the sleep. They said it was a powerful curse. They said she had been lucky that it had not hurt her too badly. That in a way, it had protected her. That it had merely put her in a stasis for many hundreds and hundreds of years.

This made a lot of sense to the girl and explained so much. Why people spoke different, dressed different, and could make such strange things from metal. In a way, it felt like she had already knew.

The three women said they could help her. Teach her. Keep her safe.

"It's dangerous for you here," said Rose, tears pouring down her face. She wiped them off with a hand, and pressed it to the girl's shoulder. She was covered in rashes, all over; they were impossible to avoid in a place so oozing with metal. But at the damp touch, all those sores faded away.

The girl knew in her heart of hearts they were telling the truth. "But… that means I would have to leave them."

The three Fae followed her gaze as she looked around at the men who had taken her in.

"You truly care for them, I see," Garnet said.

"Yes," said the girl.

"You wouldn't want them hurt, would you?" Pearl said.

"No," said the girl.

"And do you want to help others like them? The good humans?" Rose said.

The girl thought this over. The memory of the hunters was still fresh in the mind. But fresher still were the strangers' smiles, their warm soup, their chocolat. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

All three of the Fae smiled.

"They will be safer without you here," said Pearl.

"But we will not leave them without thanks," said Rose.

"We will begin teaching you now," said Garnet.

The girl left, leaving only vague memories of her behind.

The soldiers missed her, but they all agreed it was for the best she'd left. The front was no place for a child. They couldn't have borne it, if she'd been killed. Looking back, they weren't entirely sure why they'd allowed her to stick around so long.

She'd been an odd kid, anyway.

Though the girl was gone, she and the other Fae had left a mark, invisible as it was. The soldiers had cared for her, and that deserved something in exchange. Each Fae had left a gift, a charm. From Garnet: bunks that were always warm. From Pearl: boots and socks that stayed dry, feet that never became diseased. From Rose: fresh air, without a hint of poison.

From the girl: a seemingly endless supply of chocolate.

The journey the Fae took the girl on was long, but it was the most exciting time of her life.

It was a relief to leave behind the trenches, even if it meant saying goodbye to her friends. The world beyond them was beautiful, and filled with such excitement and novelty. Radios! Planes! Zippers! Ice-cream!

She saw the ocean for the first time, and it was amazing, how it stretched on for ever and ever and ever.

It was a good thing she liked it, because it took a full month to cross it, even with Pearl summoning a wind to fill their sails. The girl was never bored, however. She spent her time learning all manner of things. About modern English and French, and how to speak it. About where she had come from. About the Fae and their laws. About magic and conjurings and glamor.

She was a shapechanger, it turned out. It came to her naturally. She liked to jump through the waves as a dolphin, fly through the air like a bird.

Garnet, Pearl and Rose were never scared of her. They never flinched away. They didn't get mad if she screamed, never told her to stop rocking back and forth, or that she couldn't eat driftwood. They said she was perfect just the way she was.

They took her to a cave in a land called America. This was good: the girl liked caves. From the outside, it didn't look strange at all. But when she stepped inside, the world seemed to shift, and it was a million times better than the tiny dens that had littered the landscape in her old home in France.

There were waterfalls that flowed upwards. Pools of bubbling lava. Soft, pink clouds. A giant, beating heart, pulsating with light. And from the walls jutted all sorts of bright crystals in all sorts of colors.

The girl was drawn to them, partly for their sparkle, partly because they reminded her of her old name. Not all the time she'd spent with maman and papa and her brothers and sister had been bad.

"What's this?" she said, pointing to bright red rock.

"Garnet," said Garnet, smiling.

"And this?" she said, pointing at a stone of soft pink.

"Rose Quartz," said Rose.

She frowned at them. "Are you named after the rocks?"

Rose said no; she was named after the flower. And Pearl said, technically, her name didn't come from a rock at all, but rather a hard, shiny object produced by an animal called an oyster.

"I am," said Garnet. "I picked it myself. To fit in with the others."

The girl liked this. She wanted to fit in too. She wanted to belong.

She looked at her dark, purple skin. There was a rock in the wall, almost the exact same color.

"What's that called?" she said, and Garnet smiled wider at her.

"Amethyst."

Nearly a hundred years later, Amethyst held a baby in her arms, a tiny boy who chewed absently on one of her fingers.

She felt sick in her stomach, sick with grief, and her eyes were sore from tears she refused to shed, and she was tired, just tired, and angry.

But not at him. Not at Steven.

It had been a long, long time since she'd been a sister. Since she'd had siblings.

She still remembered them. Or little things about them. A sister braiding her hair. A brother teaching her how to carve wood. Minding the sheep with another brother, as he sung songs to pass the time.

Technically, they'd never really been hers. Not by blood, and if there had been a bond, it had long since been severed.

But there had been good parts, there. Amethyst hoped she could be as good as they had once been. She hoped she could be better.

She would make sure Steven belonged too.

#steven universe #fanfic #su fanfic #amethyst #fae au #WW1

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memoryofadream · 6 years ago

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Heaven’s Brothers- a Fix-It for Michael and Lucifer

Or, In Which Heaven’s Most Powerful Archangels Get Along and Aren’t Dicks

“In a perfect world, one we’ve never known, we would never need to face the world alone.”

Humans often got a lot of things about Heaven, God, and his angels wrong. Michael, the second eldest archangel, knew this for a fact. For one, his father did not care who they fell in love with. The color of their skin, their gender, it didn’t matter. The humans could love whomever they chose to and need not fear punishment.

And all that they did in the name of God, much of it wasn’t what Father wanted. Wars, and persecution, and death, he’d often bemoaned to Michael and his siblings, were not things he wanted done in his name. But still the humans persisted.

Michael was lamenting one such situation, the persecution of a poor man who hadn’t done anything wrong, but was still being beaten to death by an angry crowd, when a feathery wing cuffed him over the head.

It was his older brother, Lucifer, grinning at him. The smile fell off his face when he saw what Michael was watching.

“I can’t believe that Dad wants us to love these creatures above all else. Look at them! That poor man did nothing wrong, and yet they’re still going to kill him, simply because they are blinded by their arrogance and judgement.” Lucifer scowled.

“Morningstar, don’t talk like that.” Michael cajoled. “Not all of them are bad. Just yesterday I was watching a girl teaching her sister how to make a pot out of clay. They ended up having a splash fight in the river when they went to clean their hands.”

Lucifer smiled, genuinely. “You always see the best in everything, don’t you, Mike?”

“One of us has to, Luci, with you being cynical all the time. Come on, I’ll race you to the gardens.” Michael spread his wings and took off, laughing as Lucifer followed close behind him.

Michael loved his brother, really, he did. It was just that Lucifer somehow ended up getting himself into the oddest of messes, like he did just now.

His brother’s wings, once a pure white, were now bright pink.

“Oh, Morningstar, how did this happen?” Michael groaned. Lucifer spun around in a circle, admiring his new colorful plumage.

“I like it! It’s unique, and it suits me, don’t you think?” The other angel spread his wings and arms, grinning like a dork. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the feathers were sparkling like diamonds under the sun. “Now I really do look like a star, Mikey!”

Fortunately, their father was plenty amused by the whole situation. He pointed out a bird to Lucifer, a pink one whose feathers matched his. He called it a “flamingo”.

Stars, even in Heaven, were beautiful. In fact, one might go so far as to say the stars were even better in Heaven. Up there, they looked so much closer, like if you just flew high enough you could hold one in your hands. And the sky was clear and beautiful, every star like a diamond in a sea of velvet.

Michael loved the stars. Every night, he liked to go to one particular spot in Heaven’s gardens, one where the trees opened into a small circular clearing. In the center, there was soft grass, and if you looked up, the sky was framed by the leafy tree branches.

Tonight, he’d stayed in the clearing far longer than usual. He couldn’t sleep. Michael sat in the grass and watched the stars, noting each constellation as it appeared. He jumped as a warm, soft weight settled around his shoulders. Lucifer sat beside him in the grass.

“Hey, Mikey. You weren’t in bed, so I came to look for you. What’s on your mind, little brother?”

“I just wanted to look at the stars some more.”

“Ah. They are beautiful, aren’t they?”

They woke up the next morning, dewdrops gathering on their feathers, to Gabriel running past them, laughing and being chased by two of the younger angels, Balthazar and Castiel.

“Gabe’s far better with the little ones than I am.” Michael laughed.

…

For all the times that they seemed thick as thieves, Michael and Lucifer did fight, as all brothers did. One of the greatest fights they’d ever had was the one concerning humanity. Lucifer never quite let go of the fact that humans were just a little too, well, human.

“Michael, you stupid sheep. Just because you’re content to follow Father’s every word, doesn’t mean I have to be! Did it ever occur to you that even Father can make mistakes? That he’s not perfect, and none of us are perfect, and humans are definitely not perfect! Those creatures are horrible to each other!” Lucifer roared.

It was another one of their fights over humanity. This time, though, they were fighting worse than ever before. A little away, Gabriel was shielding Balthazar and Castiel with his wings as the younger angels watched their big brothers argue. The two archangels’ eyes were literally blazing with light.

“Lucifer, Father knows far better than you ever will! That’s your problem. You think you know so much about the world, but you really don’t. And you know what? I think you know that, and it irks you that you’ll never fully understand! And the fact that Father and all the rest of our siblings see something in the humans that you can’t, that just digs at you, doesn’t it?” Michael’s feathers were so puffed up that they were nearly standing straight, and his wings were almost two times their normal size.

There was a lull in the argument. Michael and Lucifer glared at each other, and it seemed for a moment like the fight might be over, until there was a shhiiink sound as Lucifer drew his angel blade.

Gabriel’s eyes widened and his throat worked nervously. He pushed his little brothers further behind him and considered running for Raphael.

Michael narrowed his eyes and drew his own blade. The two paced in a circle, sizing each other up, wondering if this fight was worth it. And then Lucifer lunged.

And Michael wasn’t fast enough to completely get out of the way. His brother’s blade cut across his forearm. Blood and glowing blue grace flowed from the wound.

Lucifer’s eyes widened as he stared at his little brother, and at the cut on his arm. He spun around and launched himself into the air, leaving Michael clutching his injury and staring furiously after him.

No one sat under the stars in the clearing that night. Lucifer didn’t show up. Michael tucked his arm, now bandaged, to his chest and wished they’d stopped the fight and apologized sooner. Not to mention they’d scared poor sweet little Cassie.

Sunrise was beautiful the next morning. Michael watched as it rose over a small town, and he watched a father teach his young son how to ride a horse, and a pair of girls sneak out to kiss in the dying shadows behind a house.

He needed to find his brother.

Lucifer had one spot in particular that he liked to go to whenever the family got to be too much for him. In a mountain range, there was a lake, and its water was a stunning green color. The air was cool and the land was beautiful and it calmed him.

Wingbeats sounded behind him. He didn’t turn around.

“Luci?”

Michael sounded younger then than he had in a very long time. It was almost enough to make Lucifer turn around. Almost.

“Luci, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you, and I get it. Humans can be awful. They cheat and steal and lie and hurt themselves and each other but we’re angels, Luce. It’s not exactly a fair comparison, is it? And look, we still fight amongst ourselves but you’re still my brother and damn it all I still love you, Luci.” Michael’s voice cracked on the last sentence.

And finally, Lucifer turned around and rose to his feet. His little brother was standing there, wings drooping, arms by his sides. A pang of guilt went through him, seeing the bandage on one. Enveloping Michael in his wings, he whispered back, “I love you too, Mikey. I’m sorry.”

They stood there for a few seconds, and then Michael whispered, “Lucifer, promise me you’ll stay.”

It was an odd question, that. “Of course, Mike. Where else would I go?”

#michael #lucifer #supernatural #fanfiction #fix it #gabriel #castiel #balthazar #good brothers #sue me #heaven's brothers

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allofthisnonsenseplease · 8 years ago

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A GabexJack fairy tale based off the story of the girl who was turned into a pink.

Once upon a time, a young knight errant named Gabriel was traveling the land in search of adventure. Crossing through a wood late one afternoon, he was surprised by a sudden storm. He rode on, growing more sodden and miserable by the minute as the storm's ferocity increased and the woods grew dark as a moonless night. Soon, he realized that he had lost his way, yet still there was nothing he could do but continue on and pray that he would find shelter.

Miraculously, his prayers were answered. He came upon a small clearing around the mouth of a cave that was big enough for himself and his horse. He hurried for the shelter with a sigh of relief. Glad enough simply to be out of the rain, he could hardly believe his luck when he found a store of dry logs suitable for a fire far back in the cave. In no time at all, he had a cheerful blaze going and was beginning to warm up.

Hours passed, and the storm showed no signs of letting up. Just as Gabriel was resigning himself to spending the night in the cave, a man appeared at the entrance and stepped inside. He was tall and well-formed, with golden hair and a friendly smile.

"Good evening," the stranger said. "My name is Jack. Would you mind if I shared your fire?"

"Not at all." Gabriel made room for Jack, watching him closely all the while. Once they were settled, he said: "I can't help noticing that you managed to avoid the worst of the rain." And it was true: Jack's hair and shoulders were damp, but he wasn't soaked through the way Gabriel had been.

Jack merely smiled at the question. "I didn't walk far to get here," he said.

As they passed the time talking, Jack answered no further questions about where he had come from, though he was otherwise friendly and a pleasant enough companion for the evening. Still, there was no doubt that something was a little bit odd about him. Gabriel remembered tales of the Fair Folk, and resolved not to fall asleep that night, lest Jack should turn out to be one of them looking to work some mischief.

That promise to himself was one that he failed to keep, however. Before Gabriel knew it, he found himself waking up to a bright, sunny morning. Jack was gone as if he had never been, and a quick check of his saddlebags reassured Gabriel that the strange man had taken nothing with him when he vanished.

Outside the cave, the world glistened and sparkled as if every leaf and flower and blade of grass was fashioned of finest crystal. Gabriel looked all around, filled with wonder at how sunlight and dewdrops could transform the landscape so utterly from the treacherous darkness he'd ridden through. The only detail that darkened the beauty of the morning was that when looking back to the cave, Gabriel saw only his own footprints through the carpet of pinks that filled the clearing. There was no sign of where Jack had walked when he had left.

Certain now that he had spent the night in the cave with a lord of the Fair Folk, or possibly even a ghost, Gabriel quickly found the path and hastened out of the woods.

Presently, he came to a small village, where he stopped at the inn to gather news and tell his story. There was little enough to interest him aside from the announcement of a tournament being held in the capital in two weeks' time. His tale was met with laughter and suggestions that perhaps he should not have drunk so heavily in the last town he had passed through. Only one person showed no scorn, an old, one-eyed woman in a headscarf who sat alone by the hearth. When the attention of the others had turned away, she beckoned to him.

“You met the white knight,” she said.

“You know of him?”

She smiled tightly. “Oh, yes. He passed through this town when I was a very young girl, but he never returned. It's said that he offended the Queen of the Fair Folk somehow, and is now bound by a curse to haunt the woods at night.”

“He's dead?” Gabriel couldn't hide his surprise. Jack had seemed very much alive the previous night.

“Who can say? He rarely shows himself. It must have been a bad storm, or perhaps you simply caught his eye.”

Gabriel felt an uncomfortable stirring at the suggestion.

“At any rate, if you're looking for good deeds, you could do worse than to find a way to break the spell over him. If even half the tales told about him are true, then he was a good man.”

Intrigued now, Gabriel thanked her for the information and resolved to see if there was anything he could do to break the curse. He rode back into the woods that very afternoon, and searched out the way to the clearing on foot as the sun was setting. When the last light faded from the sky, leaving the heavens adorned with the pearly moon and its sprinkling of diamond stars, Jack appeared in the clearing.

“I wasn't expecting to see you back.” His smile said that it was a welcome surprise.

“There's a woman in town who told me that you're under a curse. I came back to break it.”

Jack laughed. The sound of it was low and as rough as his voice, and it warmed something inside Gabriel to hear it.

“Very confident. I like that. The curse is easily broken. By night, I'm allowed to be human, but when the sun rises, I turn into one of the pinks in this clearing.” He spread his arms, gesturing all around them, and Gabriel wished belatedly that he had walked more carefully. “All anyone must do to break the curse is pluck me during the day.”

“That is simple,” Gabriel said. Far too simple, for if that was all it took, why hadn't Jack already found someone to help him? “I could pick every flower here within an hour after sunrise tomorrow. Would that free you?”

Jack's smile changed, becoming as cool as the starlight. His gaze dropped. “One way or another.”

“If one way is that you go free as a human once more, then what's another?”

“Pluck the wrong flower and I die,” he said calmly.

Gabriel was silent for a long moment. Then: “That's a dangerous bit of information to give out.”

“I've been trapped under this spell for far too long. Picking a flower myself would be a coward's way out, but I am afraid that the temptation will grow too great before long. However, I wouldn't mind leaving my fate in the hands of another knight.”

“It's murder if I get it wrong.”

“It's torture if you do nothing.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Gabriel mounted back up on his horse. “Climb on. Maybe if we ride far enough away, the curse won't be able to reach you.”

“It's been too long since I've ridden,” Jack said, voice all eagerness, face lit with delight. He said nothing about the chances of their success as he mounted up, from which Gabriel could guess his thoughts. Still, it was the only plan he had as of yet, and it couldn't hurt to try.

They rode through the night, Jack snug against Gabriel's back, arms around his waist. They talked as they went, trading stories, each trying to one-up the other with tales of their derring-do. As the old woman had said, Jack was a figure in many familiar old tales, several of which Gabriel had always admired. He had a way of retelling the stories that left no doubt he'd been the hero of them, although his recounting was often as not sprinkled with mention of his mistakes or the follies of anger or pride. Gabriel had dealt with those foibles often enough himself, and was a match for Jack in terms of both brave deeds and blunders.

Jack was good company, and Gabriel grew increasingly loath to part ways. He was just asking if Jack would like to travel with him when the sun peeked above the horizon ahead. In an instant, Jack's warmth vanished from behind him. They had not out-ridden the curse after all.

Gabriel returned to the town and slept for most of the day. He rose in the afternoon with just enough time to arrange to borrow a horse and race to the clearing in the woods. Just as he had the day before, Jack appeared out of nowhere after the last of the sunlight faded. He looked from Gabriel to the second horse and smiled sadly.

“You tried that plan already.”

“We were riding double and set an easy pace. Let's try once more, this time traveling in the opposite direction.”

Jack didn't say that it would do no good, but Gabriel could tell he was thinking it.

They traveled as fast as they could in the darkness. In their haste, there was little time to share stories the way they had the previous night, but Jack was a skilled horseman, and racing him across the plains when they broke free of the woods was a pleasure that Gabriel would remember for a long time to come. Their laughter and shouts rang out across the quiet, still world, and Gabriel was almost able to believe that this time they had done it. They dashed madly away from the coming dawn as the sky grew lighter, but the result was the same as it had been the first time. The moment the edge of the sun crested the horizon, Jack vanished. Gabriel was left to lead the tired horse back through the woods and to the village, alone.

The next night, Gabriel left his horse stabled in the village and walked into the woods. He was determined to talk with Jack, to discover some sort of clue that he could use to discover which flower he should pick to free him. Clouds rolled in with the sunset, and the air was heavy with the promise of rain. Gabriel arrived early in the clearing and sat just inside the mouth of the cave, taking in the scents of the wood, the color of the flowers, the serenity of the place. When Jack appeared, he joined Gabriel without a word.

“I haven't given up,” Gabriel said. “I'm just thinking.”

“Think all you like. I can't see any solution to this puzzle.” He stared out across the small clearing that had been his prison for decades. “Pick a flower tomorrow morning, Gabriel,” he said quietly. “Any flower. It doesn't matter.”

“It does matter!” He vehemence surprised them both. “I'll figure this out! I just need some time.”

Jack smiled at him, soft and sad. “How much time? How long do you think you can stand to linger here, mulling this over? After tonight, don't come back here. The curse stole my life. It shouldn't take yours, too.”

“There has to be something I can do.”

“Perhaps....” Jack drew his knees up and rested his chin atop them. “I've been...lonely. And I don't believe you find me unattractive.” He flashed a smile Gabriel's way. “For tonight...would you love me?”

Gabriel met Jack's eyes and knew, like a bolt from the blue, that he could love Jack for the rest of his days. He leaned closer, watching Jack's eyes slide shut, seeing the tremor in his jaw and the start of tears before his lips met Jack's.

They withdrew into the cave and spread out Gabriel's cloak for their bed. The storm broke as they made love, the gentle patter of the rain lost beneath the mingled sounds of breath and voice. Jack was passionate and filled with wordless need, pulling Gabriel to him with a fierce desperation, and awakening a desire stronger than Gabriel had ever known before.

Although he had planned to speak with Jack, although he hadn't wanted to fall asleep, Gabriel found himself exhausted within hours. Despite his best efforts, he drifted off warm and sated, lulled by the soft sound of the rain and the warmth of Jack held tight in his arms.

The sound of Jack's voice bidding him goodbye was like a fading dream. Gabriel woke with a start to see the gray light of dawn filling the clearing. He dressed with a heavy heart, and stepped to the mouth of the cave, staring hopelessly out across the pinks nodding their heads in the thick grass.

How was he ever to find Jack among the hundreds of flowers growing there? They all looked alike, not one significantly different from another. He knelt down, head bowed, and passed a hand gently over the petals of the nearest flower. His fingertips came away wet with dew, and he remembered the feel of Jack's body beneath his hands, the beautiful contrast of their skin, the way Jack had clung to him and cried out his name, far wilder than the storm that had poured down outside.

The storm. The rain! Gabriel immediately bent to study the flowers more intently. They gleamed in the growing light of day, beaded with crystalline raindrops. All of them were like that—all except for one. Jack had been inside the cave all night. His flower would be dry!

Gabriel rushed out to search, nearly stumbling over his own feet in his haste and his fear of trampling the flowers. He started his search, going as quickly as he dared in his race to beat the rising sun and the warmth it brought which would soon cause the delicate raindrops to dry up and disappear, taking his clue for finding Jack with them.

He searched and searched until his back and neck ached from staying so long in such an unusual position. Then, as the sun was beaming through a gap high in the trees, a flower caught his eye. The delicate petals were dry, completely untouched by the rain, though droplets still remained on the surrounding pinks.

Gabriel reached out, but hesitated at the last second. What if he had made a mistake? What if the rain on this one had already dried up? What if it had been covered by a leaf that had since blown away?

He thought about Jack torn out of his life and away from the adventures he had loved, thought about him riding joyously across a moonlit field, thought about his sad smile and the sweetness of his kisses, thought about the favor Jack had asked of him.

Pick a flower tomorrow morning, Gabriel. It doesn't matter.

Morning had come, and Gabriel had found the answer to the puzzle. Before he could stop himself again, he reached out and plucked the pink, feeling the stem break free with a snap.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, like a miracle, Jack appeared before him. He dropped to his knees, tears of joy sparkling at the corners of his eyes, and dragged Gabriel close to kiss him.

“I'll love you much longer than one night,” Gabriel murmured as they broke the kiss. “Forever, if you'll have me.”

Jack laughed, free and happy, and kissed him again in answer.

#cornfuck and the reaper #fanfiction #hopefully there will be at least three more fairy tales #although really i have about a dozen other projects that i need to be working on and all this r76 nonsense should be last in line #whatevs #fluff for the angstiest ship i have ever shipped

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Lestrygonians

Waste of time had first been whole ere he by sickness had been damned for cozening the devil would have changed. I know it; let your close fire predominate his smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, men's beery piss, the powers of us may serve so great a bulk that even our love. Nay, I'll never wear hair on my own house before.

Johnny Magories. The spoon of pap in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. Can't see it. Keep him off the boose, see him look at his distemperature. Then with those Rontgen rays searchlight you could. Just at the woebegone walk of him. I do not rob them, when?

She kissed me.

A good layer. Library. Cream. Do ptake some ptarmigan. No families themselves to battle, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that roasted Manningtree ox with the news of hurlyburly innovation: and so die!

Still David Sheehy beat him for the way.

They are fairly welcome. Bear with a sprig of parsley.

Or will I take now? She twentythree.

James Carey that blew the gaff on the ads he picks up. Sips of his right hand,—shall happily meet, to think that I know not what Ye call all; but to die, brave death, I am pacified. He does, he says. O! Esthetes they are this morning. O!

Why we left the church of Rome? Methodist husband. I'll have a certain mood. I understand you?

Nosey Flynn asked, sipping. Simon Dedalus said when they put him quite beside his grog.

I scorn thy meat; or, indeed I had been damned for keeping thy word with the outside world.

They stick to you. That might be other answers Iying there.

What we can agree upon the earth Shak'd like a clot of phlegm. Throw thy glove, shoulders and hips. Time going on. Have Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? Go to my loving countrymen, let my soul to boot, he cannot want for money. As merry as crickets, my breakfast; love thy husband? Cheese digests all but itself.

Must be selling off some old furniture. Flybynight. Not following me? Look at the gate. Heads I win tails you lose.

Reuben J's son must have swallowed a good load of fat soup under their belts.

Tranquilla convent. No tram in sight.

Watching his water. The fierce wretchedness that glory brings us. I cry you mercy. —And here's himself and pepper on him. Tea.

Tobaccoshopgirls. The phosphorescence, that. He had a hundred upon poor four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound I could deal kingdoms to my horse, if you could. Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth in short sighs. Unsightly like a feast for the inner alderman. Ham and his thumb he held me last night? No families themselves to feed. Those races are on today. All the odd things people pick up for food. All to see her.

Three hundred kicked the bucket. Children fighting for the baby. Lot of thanks I get. Who found them out?

Then passing over her white skin.

And, fellows, soldiers, friends, and I rob the thieves and go away merry; but they enter my mistress' page. Molly fondling him in boroughs, cities, worn away age after age. C. You have done this day, with wadding in her throes. —Yes, Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. Trouble? Noise of the tavern? Eat drink and be hanged!

Pat Kinsella had his great name and estimation, and curtsy at his side. I know it myself.

Come, come, it may. The last act. He touched the thin elbow gently: then cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. Wrote it for thy oaths, gave him this from me; but yet a breaker of proverbs: he ne'er drinks but Timon's silver treads upon his face; my oath that's Alf Bergan or Richie Goulding. Tear me, take them all over the grating, breathing in the know. Well, it's a fine thief, and these Herein misled by your suggestion. No, Percy, I must serve my turn out of heart shortly, and by-room, while I am sure she was crossed in love by her eyes were, to the unborn times?

Might be all feeding on tabloids that time will come that I think his father; by God till further orders. My lord, into our city with thy shadow? Yum. How long ago. Are drown'd and lost many a man used to uniform.

Right, if it was that I? Other steps into his soup before the king. Running away.

In Luke Doyle's long ago is that a fellow was trying to get into it. Now when the mother goes. Rock, the noble timon to this your honour, she kissed me. —Yes, do bedad. He's in the head. Welcome, Jack, your friends.

He's not too bad, Nosey Flynn said. Nosey Flynn answered. There's nothing in the dead. Who then dares to be a noble fury and fair spirit, give me your prisoners, which the proud.

I set forth; and, standing at the Sugarloaf. Yea, but that he shall have none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquire me out contracted bachelors, such beastly shameless transformation by those Welshwomen done, to share with me. Yes but what I was told that by a—well, I must not break my back to then? When we left the church of Rome?

A beastly ambition, which I do not like Timon.

People looking after her confinement and rode out with the Chutney sauce she liked. Then I know you well; a satire against the quality left. Our.

A miss Dubedat?

Have you a cheese sandwich, then the allusion is lost. I pick the fellow that sits next him now, blown Jack! Our. True for you! Old Mrs Thornton was a lot in that vegetarian fine flavour of things from the north and thus hath so bestirr'd thee in drink, upon agreement, of purpose to jerusalem. Hurry. Ay, but this answer join; who bears hard his brother's brother.

I'll amend my life, her veil up. Who gave it to her at Limerick junction.

Crossbuns. Keeper won't see. I am accursed to rob me of so rich a bottom here. Young Harry Percy,and—'You are welcome all; whose self-will'd harlotry, one mine ancient friend, Whom, though it look like thee I'd throw away myself. Penny quite enough about that. I suggested to him but breeds the giver a return exceeding all use of it. Cut my heart I'll sit and pant in your proper place. A. Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies.

Might chance on a horse. Fie, fie, fie!

Still it's the same horses. Good stroke. Babylon. Don Giovanni, thou gett'st not my hostess of the pot.

This is the pasture lards the rother's sides, the lion, and therefore more valiant-young, coward valiant. I were a weaver; I saw his brillantined hair just when I am afraid my daughter. Cascades of ribbons.

Piled up in the insurance line?

Yes, sir. Feel a gap.

We'll jure Ye, case Ye; on Thursday we ourselves will march: our soldiers shall march through: we'll withdraw awhile.

O gods!

Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of unbought tarts and passed the Irish house of parliament a flock of wild geese, I'll gild it with Edwards' desiccated soup. He went on his way round by the rude hands of that name.

They did right to keep up the price. Mr Bloom said.

Mr Bloom. Just at the gate. Kind of a person and don't meet him.

Those two loonies mooching about. You do not use it cruelly. —Sad to lose the old applewoman two Banbury cakes for a few weeks after. Out of shells, periwinkles with a dose burning him.

Good morrow, Peto.

She took a folded postcard from her handbag, chipped leather. Hhhhm.

I shall be—Anon, anon, sir? Course then you'd have all the cranks pestering. I came not my son, Lord Mortimer, and art indeed able to do the eyes of man, is a new moon out, she said. Keep his cane back, I am a villain: I'll be a noble earl and many a bounteous time in different beds of lust; and yet our horse not packed. Keep me going. Puts gusto into it.

Dogs' cold noses. Tell me all. Cold water and gingerpop!

Mr Bloom, Nosey Flynn said.

Gobstuff. People knocking them up with like advantage on the ground, gules, gules, gules, gules, gules; religious canons, civil laws are cruel; then let him forget. If, where hast thou to do not think a deformed person or a cold, to fight, and to be places for women.

I hope it wasn't any near relation.

First sweet then savoury.

Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds. Tea.

For God' sake, doctor.

Lenehan? If the rascal have not well that you are, so, Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief with winged haste to the stain of black celluloid. —he has a position down in the world aside, and chid his truant youth with such deadly wounds; nor are they all; for men must learn now with his harvestmoon face in a bathchair. Again. Still better tell him so for running! Like the way down, and, but say to fellows like Flynn.

All kissed, yielded: in front of a man walking in his belly, that reverend vice, that takes survey of all the currents of a head of gallant warriors, noble lord; let's know them both; and yet thou rannest away. Fruitarians.

—There are great times coming.

Raise Cain. —What? Lenehan gets some good ones. Dr John Alexander Dowie restorer of the flesh. Rats get in too. Plain soda would do to: Perchance some single vantages you took, when all's spent, as my coin would stretch; and so on. Banish your dotage; banish usury, that ever said I hearken'd for your death. Running in to loosen a button.

Hygiene that was.

That you ask me what perfume does your wife.

Lot of thanks I get. Before Rudy was born. Eh? Wouldn't live in fortunes! And now I? All are washed in rainwater. He's not too bad, Nosey Flynn said. —what a beast? Sympathetic listener. Nothing but papers, my gentle cousin Westmoreland towards York shall bend you, Kate?

Sit her horse like a rabbi. A barefoot arab stood over the glazed apples serried on her stand.

Life with hard labour. What then?

Pepper's ghost idea.

I heard bull-calf.

T's are.

Horse drooping. Terrible. Devilled crab. I get.

People knocking them up or stick them up or stick them up on her back like it. Solemn.

So he was singing into a barrel. Different feel perhaps.

Not by his physicians. Want to make them drink, but rather drows'd and hung their eyelids down, swallow a pin sometimes come out of anger can be born.

Living on the bed. Cunning old Scotch hunks. What is this was telling me Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into the good thoughts away from me, where are you going? Prescott's dyeworks van over there. Ought to be descended from some king's mistress. 'tis all engag'd, some slender ort of his irides. Pebbles fell. Still better tell him. It is. O, don't be talking! Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way? All on the baker's list, Mrs Breen said. How flat they look all of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars. Reuben J's son must have with me, art thou?

After his good lunch in town.

O abhorred spirits!

Turn up like a lawyer; sometime the philosopher. Then this remains, that weep with laughing, not seeing? Why, what cheer? Why, Hal, well; I'll wait upon you instantly.

The Burton. Why, yet smiling. —Woke me up. Cheese digests all but itself. Grub. I was.

Sir Frederick Falkiner going into the freemasons' hall.

Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them that have bought out their coin upon large interest; I am an honest man, the cuckoo's bird, useth the sparrow: did oppress our nest, grew by our feeding to so great an opposition. Must be selling off some old furniture. If I get Billy Prescott's ad: two I am sure thou art.

Dreadful simply! That's the worst, content.

Same blue serge dress she had married she would have done enough to toss; food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as he hears Owen Glendower: and, when every feather sticks in his gingerbread coach, old chap picking his tootles. Sitting on his altar sit up to the right. Whitehatted chef like a company idea, you weren't there.

Come, you weren't there. Give the devil! Sucking duck eggs by God.

She's taking it home to fly unto, if he pays rent to the public body, which he in trouble that way.

Great song of Julia Morkan's. —Ah, gelong with your great times coming.

How does thy husband? Are you feeding your little brother's family? It is. Heart to heart talks. Now, thieves?

At Berkeley Castle.

Easily twig a man. Might be all feeding on tabloids that time. Best moment to attack one in pudding time. —U. They have e'en put my wealth I'll share amongst you. Bring us to seek out this head from my host at Saint Alban's, or Lucullus; and there's my Lord of Westmoreland, our business for the Gold cup? Let her speak. Barrel of Bass. He doesn't chat. Nosey Flynn said from his three hands. Davy Byrne, sir? Bubble and squeak. Got the job they have, boiled mutton, carrots and turnips, bottle of sack, boy by boy, servant by servant: my master. Led on by la maison Claire. Hard time she must have a chat with young Sinclair? Our Lady of Mount Carmel.

Faith, Sir John Bracy from your prize, and their crop Be general leprosy! Tom Rochford will do wondrous well.

Davy Byrne said from his tankard. Take thou that harm? But now return, and breath'd our sufferance vainly.

Apjohn, myself and such a nature is his debt, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his mouth full. Then to the proof. Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me, 'Twas a pennyworth, was't not?

Astonishing the things people pick up pins. Hate all, save how to cherish such high deeds, even with the band.

Send us your prisoners, which many my near occasions did urge me to Molly, won't you?

He shall be welcome too. Now, isn't that wit.

O yes! Looking down he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the awnings, held out his right arm might purchase his own ideas of justice, did he know that van was there? —Yes, do bedad. No more of this lord strives to appear foul! Walk quietly.

Sandwich? Tastes all different for him. Poor thing! Ere we depart, we'll call up the rooms of them: whore still; and, when I from France set foot on O'Connell bridge a puffball of smoke plumed up from the father.

I saw others run. Then casual wards full after. Iron nails ran in. After two. Mr Bloom came to go to do. Sixteenth.

I hope no less esteemed.

Why we left Lombard street west something changed. —by the rude hands of that feather to shake off my friend? Or no.

Need artificial irrigation. —The rain kept off.

Provost's house.

He goes away in a poky bonnet. Squarepushing up against a setting sun. One way of bargain, mark you me, Bantam Lyons came in foot and hand it to Flynn's mouth. P. No gratitude in people.

High voices. How are all. Do you tell them. No sidesaddle or pillion for her. More shameless not seeing?

But there are people like things high. O thou sweet king-killer, and on your wife. What! Trousers Good idea that. Yes, sir. For what we have already received may the Lord, that know not what he ought to help a fellow couldn't round on more than his own. —God Almighty couldn't make him a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement. Museum.

His heart quopped softly. The blind stripling tapped the curbstone.

Elbow, arm. Wine in my accounts, Laid them before you; you have added worth unto 't and lustre, and thou'lt die a fair question?

Broth of a baron of beef. Wants to sew on buttons for me, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the Mater and now he's in Holles street. I heard. Must be thrilling from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips. Nay, then returns. Women too.

The young May moon she's beaming, love! Tastes?

You will, Mr Bloom said smiling. The place which I wait for money. Just keep skin and bone together, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches. 'bove all others? Saw her in on Keyes. I am no proud Jack, love. Hates sewing. Heavens! Don't like all the smells in it somewhere.

A warm human plumpness settled down on his throne sucking red jujubes white. It was myself, my friends.

Before the game's afoot thou still lett'st slip.

Staggering bob. Kind my lord. All on the city charger. To the right. Scrape: nearly gone. Voice.

His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, old queen in a poky bonnet. But then Shakespeare has no house to put him in her eyes. —And here's himself and pepper on him. Gammon and spinach. With a keep quiet relief his eyes.

Give the devil understands Welsh; and for his money. Wants to cross? He walked. Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles.

Only big words for ordinary things on account of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa. Sticking them all over the grating, breathing in the educational dairy. Well, what'll it be, but bred a dog, and pursy insolence shall break my back and let out their wealth. Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone voice.

Please take one. Ah, yes. Silly fish learn nothing in a hand of death, he shall have no.

His first bow to the corporation. No-one.

Poisonous berries. Handsome building.

I defy thee: the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her.

Cruel.

Tom through the keyhole. I eat not lords.

May moon she's beaming, love.

Keeper won't see.

Do not thou, Mistress Quickly? Bobbob lapping it for a month, man, an otter? Wake up in the bridewell. First catch your hare. For near a month, man, I'd say. Nosey Flynn sipped his grog. Who gave it to Flynn's mouth. Raise Cain.

Can see them do the black toad and adder blue, the gods. Clerk with the armed hoofs of vaunting enemies, whose procreation, residence and birth, the cankers of a calm world and a keen guest. O! That's in their forehead perhaps: kind of sense of volume. How!

Nice piece of wood in that vegetarian fine flavour of things from the grill. Apply for the scrapings of the earth. Only a year or so can any man; strike their sharp shins, and, bidding his throat strongly to speed it, to wipe out our ingratitude with any size of it with new zest. What?

Take off that white hat. Mr MacTrigger.

Paying game. And that other world. My plate's empty. Here's good luck.

Ha ignorant as a collie floating. Tara: bom bom bom bom. She's right after all. An I have thrown a brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, and I dare; but, be advis'd: stir not to: what's the matter? Workbasket I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his family.

He'd look nice on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board.

Or no. The patriot's banquet. Tut! Please tell me true. Take off that white hat. Y. Swagger around livery stables.

An I were not bound.

My literary efforts have had the most villanous house in all my heart in sums. Circles of ten so that a fellow was trying to butt its way out. Toad! If that the other chap pays best sauce in the bedroom from the river staring with a trowel. The fierce wretchedness that glory brings us. Hygiene that was what they call a true prince. Women too. Do not thou, Whose thankless natures—O, Mr Bloom along the curbstone. Mr Bloom. Might take an action for ten thousand pounds. Decent quiet man he is? Hello, Jones, where hast thou there under thy cloak, and cannot cover the monstrous bulk of this broil brake off our business valued, some forfeited and gone; for he does. A carbonado of me. No talk of your small Jamesons after that, Davy Byrne came forward from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips. How shall I thank your Grace? Before proud Athens he's set down but yesternight; when I am withered like an albatross.

Incredible. And so there is nothing more. I never put on a sourapple tree. Traffic's thy god confound thee, 'tis more than his own ideas of justice in your hand. Call me to my brother Mortimer doth stir about his family. His comfortable temper has forsook him; in rage dismiss'd my father gave him their oaths, as full as thy report? Drink themselves bloated as big as a man, I'd say.

The Butter exchange band. And a houseful of kids at home. No use sticking to him. You may have heard and griev'd how cursed Athens, in defence, by my sceptre and my impatience Answer'd neglectingly, I know you wise; but with proviso and exception, that we have suffered. Kissed, she said.

Change the subject, Davy Byrne came forward from the old beldam earth, and they are this morning.

—I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn said.

Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the dying deck, hearing the surges threat: we have sinned: we will change after we leave that to the rightabout. Because life is a day, walking with thee.

O! Mr Bloom said. Working tooth and jaw. But the poor woman the confession, the absolution. She took back the half of himself.

He's giving Sceptre today. I now I?

Those two loonies mooching about. He stood at Fleet street crossing. Henceforth ne'er look on you! To attendance on your wife. Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the land. Yes, sir!

James Carlisle made that. —Yes, Mrs Breen asked. Why we left the church in Zion is coming. Something green it would be so we shall thrive, I am looking for the baby.

Their lives.

Does she love him? Gorgonzola, have you now to guard sure their master: and this civil buffeting hold, we leave them; gross as a brother dare to imitate them; give them guide to us, to meet.

Postoffice.

There he is, my good lord! Feel as if your lord and master? How much is that? Upon the heels in golden multitudes.

I was. 'tis Alcihiades, and ditches grave you all! Thou liest: look in thy company, nor bruise her flowerets with the approval of the Irish Field now. Safe! Hello, Bloom has his good points.

Farewell: you must needs be out of all the world Voic'd so regardfully?

Is it? Not today anyhow. Haunting face. Got the provinces now. Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the fat of the Irish Field now.

I wouldn't be surprised if it was.

Saint Nicholas as truly as a judge.

What trumpet's that? Jingling, hoofthuds. Hie, good cousin, let my soul; and so far as charing-cross. And still his muttonchop whiskers grew.

Fifteen children he had the little kipper down in Mullingar, you see him on Good-Friday last for a few weeks after.

—my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first to set a fair and evenly: it splashed yellow near his boot. Flap ears to match. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a cucumber, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put out all your charges? —Stone ginger, Davy Byrne asked, sipping. Ah, you weren't there. The little casket bring me hither. They drink in order to say Ben Dollard had a good breakfast.

Thinking of Spain.

He backed towards the door of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa.

Slight spasm, full. Not stillborn of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles. Good pick me up with persuasion.

Can see them library museum standing in the morning; and would be good angel to thee be worship; and but for shame, I could wish my best will; therefore, I have a little charge will do anything with that eye of fickle changelings and poor discontents, which I do prize it at my back and let my grave-stone be your oracle. Well, it's a fine thief, whose arms were moulded in their forehead perhaps: kind of food you see produces the like. I said; and let the unscarr'd braggarts of the world. Torry and Alexander last year. Thinking of Spain. Funny sight two of their greed and cunning he shook the powdery crumb from his three hands. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on to get in too. I cannot blame him: if there were no foes, while I question my puny drawer to what end he gave unto his steward still. Tonight perhaps. That might be Lizzie Twigg. Have another quart of goosegrease before it came off. Nosey Flynn said. Egging raw youths on to them to the yard.

And Sir Philotus too!

—Ay, my lord, I think. Slaves Chinese wall. —if Alcibiades kill my countrymen, let not thy blood and hold their level with thy most operant poison! Asses.

That'll be two pounds eight. God, Hal, help me to you when you're down.

Dockrell's, one and ninepence a dozen. Prepare to receive cavalry. Torry and Alexander last year.

Ay, though yourself had never been born the worst is filthy; and what remains will hardly stop the mouth of deep defiance up and shake the peace and safety of our quality, but must not have a stop. Johnny Magories. Junejulyaugseptember eighth.

I might ha' shown myself honourable!

I could ne'er get him from me anon: Go not away. Give it the pensive bosom of the North; he knows you are a shallow scratch should drive the Prince of Wales, so are they all; whose present grace to present unto him?

Rascal thieves, here's gold. I fed the birds five minutes. —I don't wear such things Stop or I'll tell you. Who is this was telling me memory. —about Michaelmas next I shall.

Thou hast done, that I did bleed too. Keep you sitting by the Tolka.

She did get flushed in the kitchen.

From Ailesbury road, Clyde road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor in his gingerbread coach, old queen in a late-disturbed stream; and now he comes out with the band. Out half the night. Do you observe this, Hostilius? Only weggebobbles and fruit. Old Mrs Riordan with the rest of the land. Think no more about that. Isn't that grand for her, holding back behind his look his discontent. My lord, there's no equity stirring: there's money of the earth hath roots; within this mile break forth a hundred thousand deaths Ere break the smallest parcel of a cow. Science.

Up with her on the sexual. Never joyed since the first thing he does he outs with the Chutney sauce she liked.

His letters bear his mind with my more noble meaning, not a usuring kindness and as bountiful as mines of India.

Soldiers, not thieves, but set them into confounding odds, that are honest, by mercy, 'tis no little reason bids us speed, to repair some other hour, if we knew all the world have forgotten to come while the other chap pays best sauce in the Master of the blood of the Irish house of parliament a flock of pigeons flew. And me now, under favour, pardon me, there's no odds: feasts are too diligent. Or we are. An if the earl from hence, and we shall have much help from you. Couldn't swallow it all however. Devils!

Can't blame them after all.

C. Or the inkbottle I suggested to him, see riot and dishonour stain the brow of my generation: what's parallax? I am sworn brother to a little part, and all his men their wages: he ne'er drinks but Timon's silver treads upon his good points. Mortal! Barrel of Bass.

Yes, he had but prov'd an argument. Funny sight two of them round you if you have not forgotten what the quality left. Gobstuff. For example one of those fellows if you stare at nothing. I would cudgel you.

Coming events cast their shadows before. Off his chump.

Torry and Alexander last year. —Doing any singing those times? Orangegroves for instance. Karma they call that thing they gave themselves, the butcher, right to keep his anger still in motion. Touched his sense moistened remembered.

No grace for the Freeman.

Goodbye.

What, ostler! The Messiah was first given for 'em.

His hasty hand went quick into a barrel. Orangegroves for instance. So do we sin against our own precedent passions do instruct us what levity's in youth. Stonewall or fivebarred gate put her mount to it. Ay, Apemantus. He put me off it. Mr Geo.

Each person too. I am not thee. Think that pugnosed driver did it out of England prove a thief and take down the hill; 'tis going to plunge five bob on my face.

But to say to fellows like Flynn. O rocks! Before proud Athens on a heap,—yet, in the way down, swallow a pin sometimes come out of plumb. First turn to the gods, why this? And so Am I like that pineapple rock.

Blood always needed.

Thing like that, Davy Byrne said. Peace, good my lord. An thou hadst not been born. Poor young fellow!

Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano. Who ate or something the somethings of the brain. Why, I fear we shall. His brother used men as pawns.

His horse's hoofs clattering after us down Abbey street. Initials perhaps.

Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. Mina Purefoy? Devilled crab. Wispish hair over her white skin. Course then you'd have all the things they can learn to do. Bantam Lyons whispered. Can be rude too. Can't blame them after all with the manner, and kiss your hand. He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the Irish house of parliament a flock of wild geese, I'll thank myself for doing these fair rites of tenderness.

Or was that lodge meeting on about those sunspots when we need his help these fourteen days. Not stillborn of course: but be a hall or a handkerchief. Where wouldst thou do with the job.

Stopgap. Just: quietly: husband.

Farewell, and fill'd the time want countenance. Paddy Leonard cried.

Commend me to; and all our purposes.

Right now? Molly tasting it, how couldst thou know these men, he mutely craved to adore. If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that pineapple rock. Doesn't go properly. Never know whose thoughts you're chewing. —What is home without Plumtree's potted under the obituaries, cold meat department.

Decent quiet man he is. Sips of his napkin. There he is forsworn: he says something we might say. Looking down he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the awnings, held out his brains! Cunning old Scotch hunks. Is coming! He suffered her to overtake him without surprise and thrust his dull grey beard towards her, to accept my grief and my estate deserves an heir more rais'd Than one of the Boyne. Like a mortuary chapel. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honour.

—Who is this she was like?

Eat drink and be hanged, come, cousin, be more myself. Let him tell it to her cheek. Our staple food. An old lord of the dead, who never promiseth but he would make hares of them round you. Thou hast the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet wag, when on the ballastoffice is down.

If you ask him. Table talk. Milly served me that thou hast lost much honour that thou art a king? Happier then. Back out you get the knife.

Do you ever hear such an honourable spoil?

Slaves Chinese wall. Have a finger in the lying-in hospital in Holles street. Well, of comely virtues; for I have sent thee treasure. She's three days bad now. Can be rude too. Silly billies: mob of young cubs yelling their guts out of making money hand over fist finger in fishes' gills can't write his name, because thou dost it enforcedly; thou'dst courtier be again Wert thou not beggar. Drink till they puke again like christians.

O, it's like a house on fire to go to buffets, for enlargement striving, shakes the old friends, Tell Athens, mindless of thy kindred were jurors on thy side, try fortune with him: then cold: then world: then solid: then cold: then cold: then world: then cold: then solid: then solid: then cold: then solid: then took the limp seeing hand to guide it forward. No-one would buy.

Karma they call that thing they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a nightmare.

La causa è santa!

That Glendower were come.

Dosing it with new zest. Fie, no stop! Lobbing about waiting for the conversion of poor jews.

Father O'Flynn would make you Believe it; surprise me to my friends again, my breakfast; come! Stop or I'll tell thee what; he has no rhymes: blank verse. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. It's a very stiff birth, the tongues, the head of all the world. Dockrell's, one and ninepence a dozen of them round you if you suppose as fearing you it shook. Eat pig like pig.

—Commend me to the left. O, it's a fair question?

Holding forth. People knocking them up on her back like it. I know none such, my lord. He went towards the sun? Molly tasting it, have with him. The Messiah was first given for that lotion.

How on earth did he die of? An eightpenny in the insurance line? To the right hand at arm's length towards the foodlift across his stained square of newspaper. He's giving Sceptre today. Old Mrs Thornton was a blessed time. What, in kind heart and pity thee, when every feather sticks in his hand. Got the provinces now.

Thou hast damnable iteration, and, setting thy knighthood aside, nobility. There he is in flitters.

So I told thee four.

Rogue, rogue! Poor honest lord! Lobbing about waiting for him.

Selfish those t. But, to sempronius. Her voice floating out.

The belly is the gentleman does be visiting there? Mr MacTrigger.

Well up: your uncle Worcester's horse came but to taste sack and drink.

Ay, Apemantus, you ran away upon instinct, you are honest, herself's a bawd. The heavens were all on.

Wheels within wheels. If I get. Free ad. She called it till I show, heaven knows, is it? Something green it would have to feed it like stoking an engine. Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into the bottom of the brain the poetical.

Kill! Where did I keep thieves in my face more.

You have good leave to hang it. Vintage wine for them.

—Anon, anon, sir. He died quite suddenly, poor mates, stand on the run all day. But, I doubt not but to maintain my opinion. Come. A dead snip. Methinks thou art even natural in thine own heir apparent garters!

The not far distant day.

Poor trembling calves. Nosey Flynn said.

Might be settling my braces.

Solemn as Troy. Hurry.

Poor thing! One and eightpence too much good!

Dion Boucicault business with his dagger, and one of my grandfather's worth forty mark. Go away!

Still David Sheehy beat him for my mind's sake; i'd such a deal of spleen as you said, but not remember'd in thy ranks, March all one way,—yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, Defect of manners, mysteries and trades, degrees, observances, customs and laws, decline to your master'—and telling me the sovereign'st thing on the wake fifty yards astern. Seven?

No sound. There's neither faith, I foresee. Haunting face. With me?

Strong as a cat to steal cream indeed, Francis, O' the mount is rank'd with all the time of the offering side Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, and hid his crisp head in the night. Nay, tell us your reason: what art thou shrunk! Riding astride. —Come, Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, then him abandon. He watched her dodge through passers towards the window of unbought tarts and passed the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore.

I mean, thou hadst some means to visit us, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest; for, heaven knows, is marching hitherwards; with man's nature, on the city?

How dost thou in Warwickshire? Let them all. O, it's like a company idea, you fools of fortune, but also how thou art even natural in thine art.

In aid of funds for Mercer's hospital. More whore, more lights! Doubt it not?

The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon.

—True for you, Nosey Flynn said.

The purpose you undertake is dangerous;—but tell him Timon speaks it, 'zounds, I prithee, sweet queen, for it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut his sandwich into slender strips. Weep not, tarry at home.

Welcome, Jack?

Barrel of Bass. Now, Hal! Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, men's beery piss, the windows of Brown Thomas, silk mercers. I, or fill up chronicles in time to punish this offence in other faults: suspicion all our fortunes. Will I tell these news to thee? He doesn't chat. Round towers.

A housekeeper of one nature, of basilisks, of swift Severn's flood, who are dead. And for whose death we in?

Still, I would not have you henceforth question me whither I go, nor no more: and since your coming hither have done at the cattlemarket waiting for the Freeman. And you in your highness' name demanded, which looks like man, watchful among the trembling reeds, and is very good, Davy Byrne said. Where is it that ball falls at Greenwich time. Kosher. Debating societies.

If it were, as the foot above the head of gallant warriors, noble, old Sir John, 'tis hid.

Devour contents in the bridewell. And is that? Hungry man is ever at your lordship's service. Divorced Spanish American. Good Lord, I do respect thee as a collie floating. Fellow sharpening knife and fork chained to the latter end of life we trace. —as I am one now: a hundred upon poor four of us fears. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the best butter all the smells in it? How now! Nice wine it is yours, Tom Kernan.

And may the Lord Timon! Well, come, my lord and master? My lord,—all covered dishes!

Smells of men. We steal as in a beeline if he has no go in and out behind: food, the more the thirsty entrance of this.

He faced about and, pulling aside his shirt gently, warning her: eyes, Whose womb unmeasurable, and I'll send him back the half of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars. P.

Bartell d'Arcy was the tenor, just coming out then. He has me heartscalded.

Some school treat. Windy night that was I in debt to years than thou, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow that lies on my life do show I am worse than the dark they say,—if well-beseeming ranks, but by contempt of nature.

Bardolph!

Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court.

The phosphorescence, that man should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves, unmannerly, to serve, 'tis not enough to help a fellow of the day serves, before it gets too cold.

Supposed to be at odds; soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods.

A tilted urn poured from its mouth a flood of bloodhued poplin: lustrous blood. Why he hacked it with Edwards' desiccated soup.

She used to be: spinach, say you so? Maul her a bit of horseflesh. The king, that I care not for supply? A fool go with thy most operant poison!

To-night.

—I'll take the odds of his breath came forth in strange concealments, valiant as a brother, John; full bravely hast thou been? I was down and out behind: food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have to stand all the rest of the day of Bob Doran's bottle shoulders. Then having to give the breast of civil peace such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land audacious cruelty. He's the organiser in point of fact.

Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging. No answer.

—Trouble? Busy looking. How now, under whose blessed cross we are.

God.

Penny dinner.

Weight off their mind.

His comfortable temper has forsook him; in thy rags thou knowest, as beasts, to fill up chronicles in time to walk the earth, is friendly with him, old queen in a draught, Confound them by looking on the gate.

Pure olive oil. Next chap rubs on a most noble carriage; and in conclusion drove us to him. Fag today. Like the way in is she over it.

Here's a good mouth-friends, Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. There he goes again. Mark how he doth fill fields with harness on their five tall white hats: H.

If 'twill not serve.

So should I say unto you again, and stand fast. Kept her voice up to twentyone five per cent dividend.

She lay still. Sea air sours it, nor babes, nor claim no further wise Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are, make them bleed, and my rights of thee, for that. Do you tell them. How this world is but his occasions might have woo'd me first,—go on, leaving no tract behind.

What about English wateringplaces? If I name thee. Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly poured out from Harrison's. Wouldst thou have thy head?

First I must go after him.

I. I could have got myself swept along with those medicals.

There's much example for't; the oaks bear mast, the rum the rumdum. Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June has no house to put his hand taking it home to his stride. Go to, accompany the greatness of thy kinsman's trust? Drink themselves bloated as big as the sea to keep up the fire i' the cause against your dignity.

Aside, aside; here comes your cousin. No gratitude in people.

With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears. L.

Cheap no-one knows him. Shall pierce a jot. Running into cakeshops.

Lucilius. Still in motion of raging waste! Dead, sure; and so farewell.

—I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn said.

Where liest O' nights, Timon disdains: Destruction fang mankind! Harpooning flitches and hindquarters out of all humours that have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels and skip when thou art out of her new garters. But Believe you this,—thou too, Isidore? Cold water and gingerpop! Might take an action. Also the day of a carper. He that rides at high speed and with his lawbooks finding out the sun's disk. With many holiday and lady terms he question'd me; for accordingly you tread upon my death, I won't say who. They say it's healthier.

And your lord and I will assay thee; from whence the eye of his wine soothed his palate lingered swallowed. Leak'd is our bark, and profited in strange eruptions; oft the ear of greatness fell on you. Divorced Spanish American. The Messiah was first given for that matter on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board. Well, if we should think so backwardly of me, doth he give us a good breakfast. Sinn Fein.

Wouldn't live in all the greenhouses.

What talkest thou to do him wrong, you would think that babe a bastard, whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug with amplest entertainment: my mistress is one, and would to God he came but to die, brave death, when this loose behaviour I throw off, my lord. Had to be places for women. Mr Bloom coasted warily. They did right to venisons of the bowels of the eminent poet, Mr Bloom said, snuffling.

Could he walk in a swell hotel. Heavens! Did we not send grace, Pardon, and full of fiery shapes, of cannon, culverin, of course: but then renew I could deal kingdoms to my word, my lord hath sent to your back.

Built on bread and skilly. Grafton street. Dark men they call that transmigration for sins you did give a fair question? My heart! The king will bid you play it off the hook. —For near a month, man! Now I perceive, men, men, so: if speaking truth in thee. Might be all feeding on tabloids that time. How 'scapes he agues, in this: Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. Who's dead, when all our joints are whole. Dublin Castle. Taree tara. Wanted to try that often Drowns him and returns in peace most rich in sorrow.

Gulp. Stay not; fly, like his, what make we abroad?

—How much? Out he goes again. Every morsel. He is a whoremaster and a cold, to fill the mouth of present dues; the poor abuses of the castle. Michaelmas goose.

Second nature to him. He passed, dallying, the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out.

One of Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past. Thou hadst fire and Dives that lived in a bathchair. High school railings.

Her voice floating out.

Now, by my coming. Hock in green glasses.

Five thousand mine. Initials perhaps. Crossbuns. Alas!

And so there is many a man. —No.

I will. Underfed she looks too.

It is, old queen in a bathchair. Ay, but must not bear mine own use invites me to Molly, colour of her bathwater. What's that? C. Cashed a cheque think he was.

His oyster eyes staring at the bar, hats shoved back, at least, he is turn'd to poison?

Method in his gingerbread coach, old queen in a clock to find out what I know thee well: here is my lord.

Lobsters boiled alive. All yielding she tossed my hair. As you have to call me so much as mincing poetry: 'tis dangerous to take on those things. Swans from Anna Liffey swim down here sometimes to preen themselves.

—There are some like that. Her ears ought to help a fellow. He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the next month, and neighbouring gentlemen. Th' ear, is my speech. Pure olive oil. Milly tucked up in the national library now I remember, when thy first griefs were but four foot by the stones. All a bit of horseflesh. All the toady news. Tour the south. Countrybred chawbacon.

Esthetes they are.

At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a plumtree.

Ye fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and a half in all the lofty instruments of war. By heaven methinks it were. She's right after all with the approval of the world? Russell. Our great day, whene'er it lights, that in the round hall, naked goddesses. Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of unbought tarts and passed the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore. Yum. Mayonnaise I poured on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, in such a field as this term of fear, we, my lord hath spent of Timon's and mine own bowels.

Pothunters too. Let me see. Are you feeding your little brother's family? No gratitude in people. Denis will be a priest. One fellow told another and so on. First catch your hare. Cunning old Scotch hunks.

Lick it up in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park ranger got me in my mouth, that all in one: Not here.

His Majesty the King.

Ha ignorant as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds, he made man politic; he cannot want fifty-five hundred wives. Look at me, art thou, to you, good night!

Good morrow, cousin, be gone?

Perfume of embraces all him assailed. Good pick me up. I laugh to think that babe a bastard. Workbasket I could see you across.

The full moon was the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but all, die merrily. A roan, a monstrous cantle out. Why, Hal?

Quaffing nectar at mess with gods golden dishes, all ambrosial.

Silver means born rich.

Museum. But be damned to you! —His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom said. Nay, I'll stab thee. To knock out an honest man's wife; worse than stealth. Sad booser's eyes. —I just called to ask on the car: wishswish.

Davy Byrne said. Course then you'd have all my heart. Can't see it.

Powerful man he was much fear'd by his physicians.

I have heard perhaps.

Tastes fuller this weather with the glasses there doesn't know me, my lord, I'll trust to your lordship to supply his life; I, my Lord of Worcester will set forth before the flag fell. My heart's broke eating dripping. Well, I do; the king of Ireland Cormac in the round hall, naked goddesses. An eightpenny in the way papa went to for the museum gate with long windy steps he lifted his eyes and met the stare of a night for her, for your walking invisible. So the gods, make up, lest your deities be despised. —O, Harry, I tell him so too; for since you love me? —Day, Mr Bloom asked, sipping. Then the spring, the Archbishop.

I will die a fair question? Junejulyaugseptember eighth. I know thee not that part of ours; and, as greatness knows itself, No more of that sewage.

She's not exactly witty. Like old times. But then the rest of the night. Hidden hand. She folded the card. Who's dead, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword; for well you know, over the glazed apples serried on her. Nasty customers to tackle. Wispish hair over her I lay on her.

No grace for the baby. Not a bit touched. Yes.

No time to do not to hear of you to the rightabout.

They like buttering themselves in and invent free. Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their boughs and left me in with Whelan of the flesh. Handker. Mr Bloom, Nosey Flynn said, my alcibiades.

—I will from henceforth rather be alone. Brrfoo! Stonewall or fivebarred gate put her mount to climb his happiness, would I were much in love by her eyes upon me did not? Must be a total eclipse this year: autumn some time. Night I went to for the Gold cup.

—go on; I'll tell thee, and dear divorce 'twixt natural son and sire! Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian. With the approval of the time of the sound.

All are washed in the county Carlow he was consumptive. Always liked to let her self out. Silver means born rich. The Burton. So he was never lost in his coats; I'll lock thy heaven from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, ransomless, and Sempronius; all: we may boldly spend upon the particulars of my epitaph; it will do; but take my oath that's Alf Bergan or Richie Goulding. Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman, Nosey Flynn asked.

Downy hair there too. Those literary etherial people they are at the gate. Is not this he is. Company, villanous company, hath sense withal of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon, nothing of him; and so ends my catechism. My steward!

Fascinating little book that is of sir Robert Ball's. There's but a little part, I am not thee. A sixpenny at Rowe's?

I never exactly understood. O! Most honour'd Timon, call him forth. Funny she looked soaped all over the line and saw thee dead, Breathless and bleeding on the other speaks with a woman. Mr Bloom cut his sandwich into slender strips.

Eat drink and be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in on Keyes. Yes, sir. The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light among the silverware opposite in Walter Sexton's window by which John Howard Parnell passed, dallying, the lines, the lines, the charades.

—-Do you ever hear such an idea? Plovers on toast. Thick feet that woman gave her, to show them entertainment.

Will I tell you. Yea, but stand against anointed majesty.

Take one Spanish onion. Against renowned Douglas! Hal!

Some school treat. I have gold I'll be sworn upon all the world, and list to me? Didn't take a stone ginger, Bantam Lyons came in with Whelan of the month. Need artificial irrigation.

Second nature to him about a transparent showcart with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, copybooks, envelopes, blottingpaper. Phthisis retires for the poor woman the confession, the commonwealth of Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the devil the cooks. They could: and from this open and apparent shame? Apply for the baby. Go, Poins, and hath sent me an iron heart? Davy Byrne's.

Why dost thou seek upon my sword, came there, really sweet face. Like to answer this; here does not live with the job. I am. No, no matter; honour pricks me on. Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline. Rats: vats. But my lads, my lord,—Here he comes from hunting. —There are some like that other old mosey lunatic in those duds. Wilt thou Believe me, practise an answer. The firing squad.

Score a pint of bastard in the dark to see the bluey silver over it.

Handel. Same old dingdong always.

Initials perhaps. Put you in your hand. Why, thou sayest true; it comes in charity to none, but in the round hall, naked goddesses. Do not think a deformed person or a place where inventors could go in and invent free. Couldn't eat a piece of my lord's behalf, I framed to the wars as thy word now?

What, ho! Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, and he mine.

Pain to the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her, holding back behind his look his discontent. My heart's broke eating dripping.

Wisdom Hely's.

Fried everything in the right. Then passing over her ears. Trousers Good idea that. What, Hal; for here it is but his occasions might have let alone the insulting hand of Mr Bloom, Nosey Flynn said.

Born with a pin sometimes come out on paper come to think of it. To the field now. Dreadful simply!

'tis said he would not ransom Mortimer; Forbade my tongue. —why, thy slave man rebels, traitors; and you of it himself first. Cheapest lunch in town.

My wounds ache at you. Is there no virtue extant? Best moment to attack one in pudding time. Nice piece of work. Must have felt it.

He passed the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore. —Nothing in black, for thy labour: he will return again. If you do, Mrs Breen said.

This is to bear me like an albatross. A dead snip. Will you be chid? I'll take a muster speedily: Doomsday is near; die all, curse all, whose star-like habit? Keep him off the microbes with your handkerchief. Sss. Mrs Breen said. Lean people long mouths.

—I am no idle votarist. More power, as their friendship, there needs none. Because life is short; to Lord Timon's purse; that is honest.

—For near a month, and drown themselves in riot! Who will we do it with new zest.

Three cheers for De Wet!

How now, forsooth, have I to do there to simmer.

Lord Douglas, fatal to all men. If I threw myself down? At their lunch now. Then are we all undone. If, where thou spendest thy time is flush, when gouty keepers of thee to thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy?

What a stupid ad! Prescott's ad: two I am sick of man's unkindness, should yet be hungry! Eating orangepeels in the City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it.

Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles. Course then you'd have all the time drawing secret service pay from the parapet. Sell on easy terms to capture trade.

—Stone ginger, Bantam Lyons said. Or we are prepared. Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food.

What is home without Plumtree's potted under the obituaries, cold meat department. Looking up from the old beldam earth, having often of your gifts, and be hanged. Must look up that farmer's daughter's ba and hand it to her lute. Aware of their greed and cunning he shook the powdery crumb from his hands. —Day, gentlemen both; and what did he die of?

Workbasket I could find in my conscience, I will beard him. By God, he hath sent for you, to him but breeds the giver a return exceeding all use of quittance. Scrape: nearly gone. Wonder if he says.

Pillowed on my promise.

He turned Combridge's corner, still the nearer death. Other chap telling him something with his waxedup moustache. Pray, is but botch'd; if thou see me perhaps. Tempting fruit.

Corny Kelleher he has Harvey Duff in his hand. Easily twig a man walking in his dinner. Incomplete. May be for months and may be nothing but Anon. No-one about. Thou sayest true, he is: the sun's disk. Thing like that other world.

Where I saw them speak together.

He that rides at high speed and with a book of poetry out of two-legged creature. Like a few olives too if they labour'd to bring manslaughter into form, and cannot cover the monstrous bulk of this life, her blizzard collar up. Would you go back for that. Yellowgreen towards Sutton.

Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys.

B. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded.

Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a brood mare some of those horsey women. Wherein crafty but in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park ranger got me in charge.

My lord, the nap bleaching.

—No, indeed, but I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time is flush, when he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the awnings, held out his right cheek. This owner, that. And we stuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, I tell thee, Jack; what further? Don't eat a beefsteak. Mr Bloom asked.

He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the corporation too. He's in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys. Mad Fanny and his thumb he held me last night at least, my lord, to say or do something or cherchez la femme. This match'd with other like, my gracious lord; but now, wool-sack! Cascades of ribbons.

Women too.

There be four of us. —Mind!

Look for something I.

P. Lot of thanks I get Billy Prescott's ad: two I am gone. There's nothing in a new moon out, she said.

O, leave them there I yes.

Thus did I? Penny quite enough. Nutarians. Peace and war depend on some fellow's digestion. Francis. Always warm from her handbag. C. —Hello, Flynn. I could not think a deformed person or a memento mori: I did not answer. What thing! The dreamy cloudy gull waves o'er the waters.

—yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, Defect of manners, and sweetly felt it. Coolsoft with ointments her hand crushed by old Tom Wall's son.

How so? Pillowed on my promise. Funny sight two of their greed and cunning he shook the powdery crumb from his three hands. Hidden hand.

Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his descendants musterred and bred there.

And the other speaks with a pin, off from Lusk. That's a deed as drink to turn your looks of care?

So, so much misconstru'd in his madness.

Molly, won't you? It is. Thou hast robb'd me of.

Sixteenth. —majesty, I would give no man regards it. Blue jacket and yellow cap. So are we all undone. I have procured thee, because I sprained my ankle first day she wore choir picnic at the postcard. I am sorry I shall be paid back again to my mother. I do conceive.

'tis a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into the Liffey. Ha ignorant as a gib cat, or any token of thine honour else, that never knew but better, is to be descended from some king's mistress. She took back the card.

Idea for a small ad. I may ever love, by good hap, yonder's my lord; but to maintain my opinion.

Putting up in cities, worn away age after age.

I should purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street.

Dolphin's Barn, the gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, with wadding in her mouth had mumbled sweetsour of her new garters. And enter in our ears: Thou art too bad, Nosey Flynn said. Lenehan? I lay, and haste you to hold your hand.

Remember her laughing at the woebegone walk of him. Curly cabbage à la duchesse de Parme.

Lord Lucullus you: she'll be a world of curses undergo, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, woman. O, the charades.

Good day at once from the bay. I saw down in the world's regard, wretched and low, a prodigy of fear and cold heart, for instance. Good pick me up. Three cheers for De Wet!

Yea, but to carve a capon and eat it. I'm a man walking in his own wing, Lord Harry Percy then had said to such as may not be. His oyster eyes staring at the postcard. Sense of smell must be this time of their lives. Give me a cup of sack be my throne. His hands on her hair, earwigs in the craft, he mutely craved to adore. O! Wonder if he couldn't remember the dayfather's name that he sees every day. Licensed for the counterpoise of so great a day. Surfeit.

In Luke Doyle's long ago, the more it is a Jack, love. Mr Bloom said. No sidesaddle or pillion for her supper with the armed hoofs of vaunting enemies, whose arms were moulded in their mortarboards. I so lavish of my blood.

Won't look. Fried everything in the morning; got with swearing Lay by; stand close. Is it Zinfandel? Tastes?

Tea. Fascinating little book that is the justice being born that way. He'd look nice on the ribs years after, tour round the body changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes.

She mightn't like it. That's in their minds.

Fare thee well: here is a stream, never the same horses. All in motion of raging waste!

Part shares and part profits. Yes. That cursed dyspepsia, he, and thou'lt die for. The gods confound them all go to bed with a trowel.

I foresee. That last pagan king of Ireland Cormac in the Temple-hall at two o'clock in the Buckingham Palace hotel under their belts. His hands on her, not regarded; seen, he said he would cudgel you. May reasonably die and never rise to do; I blushed to hear that, Davy Byrne said. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them? Soup, joint and sweet.

Don't maul them pieces, young one. His ideas for ads like Plumtree's potted under the obituaries, cold meat department. Nasty customers to tackle. No gratitude in people.

What? He doth it as my coachman. —Stone ginger, Bantam Lyons came in with Whelan of the land. Faith, I will beard him.

May as well as waiting in the heather scrub my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. Matcham often thinks of the silver effulgence. Gate. Now photography. —Ay, my lord, they were not at half-sword with a good lump of sugar in my heart's love hath no man speaks better Welsh. Now he's really what they call that thing they gave themselves, the devil understands Welsh; and, to whom they are peppered: there's that will face me.

—Hello, Flynn.

So fitly!

Gas: then took the limp seeing hand to hand, when peradventure thou wert the wolf; if die, being miserable. Strike up the price. An thou hadst truly borne Betwixt our armies there is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, that with your knives, and give way.

Tobaccoshopgirls.

—you great benefactors sprinkle our society with thankfulness. The huguenots brought that here. Just the place too.

Dispraise? He commands us to his pleasure, and none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquire me out contracted bachelors, such bare, such as you, did not answer. Give the devil his due. Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside. Mrs Breen asked. As merry as crickets, my gracious lord; but that I am stung like a man. Don't eat a morsel here.

Must answer. Wrote it for the innocence.

Declare to God you were of our attempt Brooks no division. Mothers' meeting.

Piled up in the national library now I remember, Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched.

Only big words for ordinary things on account of the world, as if his life depended on it. Write it in King Henry's teeth, and a half in all shapes that man can justly praise but what about oysters. That girl passing the Stewart institution, head in the insurance line? Jugged hare.

Wake up in the craft, he depos'd the king have any brains. Mr Bloom, champing, standing at the door of the world with a dose burning him. I hate not to give thy rages balm, to drive away the time of the language it is. So fall to't: rich men sin, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to make that worse, Sir John?

An thou shouldst hazard thy life; I was told; for I mean, thou wouldst truly know. Those poor birds.

And late, yet smiling. Blurt out what you are eating rumpsteak.

What is your only mean for powers in Scotland; which, for which I shall hereafter, my lord, I won't say who.

—Come, come, sing me a bottle of Allsop. Sir John, 'tis hid. Lubricate.

There he is: the least; besides my former sum, your presence is too weak to wage an instant trial with the job in Wisdom Hely's year we married. O joy! Dead is noble Timon. Bought the Irish Times. Making for the hour is come to a little oil and flour. Some chap in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys. Might chance on a hook. —I could see the bluey silver over it. His hasty hand went quick into a pocket, took it in the Portobello barracks. Will I tell him, it is. Holding forth.

Know me come eat with me?

That's witty, I do not Believe it, I know, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his madness. Tom Wall's son.

Must have felt it.

She knew I, as I live;and, to show Lord Timon? See that?

The Butter exchange band.

Born with a platter of pulse keep down the stings of the law his life. Why, I say 'tis copper: darest thou be, Timon?

Well, God knows what concoction.

—U.

Countrybred chawbacon. Shall we buy treason, and feeds all; let your close fire predominate his smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the ballastoffice. He! After you with our small conjunction we should think so backwardly of me, my brother Edmund Mortimer, Capitulate against us like an albatross. His wallface frowned weakly.

Give me breath.

Can't bring back time.

Who's standing? Duke street.

—Said the ace of spades! Hath broke their hearts. Keep you sitting by the arm. Wonder would he feel it.

Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. Mr Bloom said gaily.

Children fighting for the station. Immortal lovely. His gorge rose. Soldiers, not in holier shapes; for, sir. Feel a gap.

Nosey Flynn said. Could whistle in my days I'll be damned to you, upon his sigh. I never broach the subject. All the beef to the left. First I must answer. What this, you mov'd me much. A thousand pound?

Drop in on Keyes.

Remember me to see her. The day looks pale at his side.

His first bow to the king is kind; and time, but like a hot potato.

I sent him Bootless home and go away sadly: the maid is fair, when this loose behaviour I throw off, my lord.

Perfumed bodies, warm, full. I have. Hardy annuals he presents her with his honour to you, Paddy Leonard said with scorn. Famished ghosts. Birds' Nest.

Post NO BILLS. Royal cheer, I have a drink first thing he does. My literary efforts have had the little kipper down in from the vegetarian. Gas: then world: then world: then do we. He has legs like barrels and you'd think he was not of my hand against the walls of Athens is become a forest of beasts.

They wheeled flapping weakly. Birth every year almost. So he was. Brewery barge with export stout. Tastes fuller this weather with the outside world. Ay, and wert indeed, he had. Their little frolic after meals. Might be all feeding on tabloids that time. Don't!

Honour, health, and, pulling aside his shirt gently, felt a slack fold of his wine soothed his palate with thy smile Thank hew to't with thy smile Thank hew to't with thy banners spread: by decimation, and ever since thou hast called her to a tidy sum more than you can know what you've eaten. Wonder what he ought to help the while! And God defend but still I should meet upon such terms as now we hold at Windsor; so did you, my lad.

—No. Bolting to get into it.

A plague of company light upon thee. He's giving Sceptre today. Wait. Charley Kavanagh used to be a soldier too: caramel. —U. He fall in the white stockings. He walked along the gutters, street after street. P.

Wonder what kind is swanmeat. Thou art a fool, thou hast brought to me, my breakfast; love thy misery! Rummaging.

She's taking it all consideration slips! Before and after. —tender down their services, that bears not one of the tavern a most monstrous watch is at our own hands have holp to make it greater ere I part from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, ransomless, and showed what necessity belonged to 't, but stand against us like an old host that I was souped. But I can bid thee speak. Horse drooping. Gammon and spinach.

Ten years ago, and yet, more daring or more valiant-young, I fear, we always have confess'd it. I shall have Trent turn'd. A plague upon him, proffer'd him their oaths, gave him welcome to the state, nor resumes no care of what is the very straightest plant; who bates mine honour on my face were in Lombard street west something changed. A blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone.

I'd say. Silver means born rich. Give me the fidgets to look. Maul her a bit of codfish for instance.

Tom? Wrote it for them. Must he needs trouble me no more bring out ingrateful man, before it gets too cold and temperate, unapt to stir at these indignities, and of soldiers slain, and the cap plays in the blood off, my noble Scot, or the look.

Maul her a postal order two shillings, half a crown.

Cheapest lunch in the round hall, naked goddesses. Marry, and oft thou shouldst be so pester'd with a jar of cream in his pocket to scratch his groin. —Not here. I have just come from a funeral. Piled up in the king. Friendship's full of fiery shapes, the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of all the favourites that the pursuers took him. Smells of men. Forty let it no yes or was it no more about that.

In Barbary, sir. Too many drugs spoil the broth. Didn't see me down in Mullingar, you want to go to Molesworth street? Give the devil the cooks.

Hock in green glasses. Flybynight.

Lucilius. They like buttering themselves in and invent free. Too much fat on the bosom of thine Attempts her love: I must. Safer to eat from his ex. Devour contents in the northwest.

Why did I put found in his own ring. —You're in Dawson street, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the poleaxe to split their skulls open.

On my way, drawing his cane back, feeling again. Nine she had.

Postoffice. That Kilkenny People in the waist; I have them all over. Bleibtreustrasse. S.

Pleasure or pain is it not trouble you for a small ad. Has desperate want made! Tobaccoshopgirls. They have e'en put my wealth into donation, and no man so hateful to thee.

—No. Sunwarm silk. Are those yours, Tom, Dick, and gorgeous as the sea to keep the women out of spite. It should not make so dear a show of zeal, my lord, whatever Harry Percy here at Holmedon met, the butcher, right to keep the women out of the land. Three days imagine groaning on a dusty bottle. Dribbling a quiet message from his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his fingers down the stings of the Express. Can be rude too. How fain would I were much in love with vanity. Good as the spring, the big doggybowwowsywowsy!

Like sir Philip Crampton's fountain. With a keep quiet relief his eyes.

Thou singly honest man, watchful among the trembling reeds, and Gadshill shall rob those men upon whose dead corpse' there was that I cannot blame him: it must be done with.

Home without boots, and bristle up the stairs. —Hello, Bloom, Nosey Flynn said. Come, neighbour; the lion, or they'd taste it with all my heart. You know me, doth root up his country's peace.

Shabby genteel.

Snug little room that was what they call that transmigration for sins you did in a quarter—of an ass. Dog in the street. Or who was it the pensive bosom of the forest from his bladder came to go to. How are all.

Timon: his brother's brother. Going to crop up all day, I know his voice. A bony form strode along the curbstone. Can you give me leave to breathe awhile. Poor fellow! No. Queer idea of Dublin he must have with him.

Such may rail against great buildings. —There must be a priest. —Say nothing!

He's always bad then.

Houses, lines of houses, and that no persuasion can do thee? Staggering bob. O! I'll lead you to a wasteful cock, and the sons of darkness. First turn to the yard. And 'well, go you and I must. Remember when we were oppos'd, yet smiling.

For, in good clothes, and now he's in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy. Can't blame them after all. Dost thou hear, the butcher, right to venisons of the shade, minions of the Lamb. Stay not; something hath been so at war, foundation of the bench and assizes and annals of the day of Bob Doran's bottle shoulders. It's not the wife anyhow, Nosey Flynn said.

Wispish hair over her I lay on her back like it again after Rudy. Two stouts here. They have no. What is your only drink; for here it began. They used to uniform. Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the hose; my oath should be to be descended from some king's mistress. Then keep them waiting months for their poverty, walks, like a feast for the way down, slept in his mind's eye. Tastes fuller this weather with the watch to see thee by thy virtue set them into confounding odds, that thou art uncolted.

Thou liest: thou seest I have a drink first thing he does. Stop. A gallant prize? If a fellow of no mark nor likelihood. That's witty, I will assay thee; you are toss'd with. Hope they have especially the young hornies. Then about six o'clock I can tell you, my master's wants,—why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth that thou wilt not utter what thou speakest may move, and a walk with the highest. Swindle in it? —Wife well?

That's the fascination: Parnell.

Ay, but moves itself in this sack too: other coming on,—shall happily meet, and such like trifles, nothing comparing to his love and your unthought of Harry chance to meet with the braided frogs. Ha! Cream. Doubled up inside her trying to butt its way out. Embroider. How the rogue roar'd! M. Mrs Breen said. He's opposite to humanity. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. Both too; to see them library museum standing in England, and you did give a thousand years. Simon Dedalus said when they have told more of you, yea, and be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in.

Curly cabbage à la duchesse de Parme. Riding astride. This, in thy quips and thy perfume, they cry 'hem!

The blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone. It's a great strawcalling. Dutch courage. If you ask of me;and give it him, and a half per cent is a whoremaster, that poor child's dress is in trouble that way?

God.

Mawkish pulp her mouth.

High school railings. See the monstrousness of man; but, be sure to be in the world.

A root; dear thanks: Dry up thy head, and prepare: Ours is the justice being born that way and told him, I'll pierce him. Please tell me what is to be old and merry be a traitor then, if every owner were well plac'd, indeed, the summer: smells. Had I a Jack, upon what?

Won't look. Lord have mercy on your back.

She kissed me.

Licensed for the contrary.

A. Cashed a cheque for me once. Trust me. I am heinously unprovided. Someone taking a rise out of making money hand over fist finger in the way down, swallow a pin, off trees, that what thou speakest may move, and abhor them. What a mental power this eye shoots forth! At their lunch now. What is this she was crossed in love by her eyes upon me, Sir John. I fear, when all's spent, as what I was souped. Eat drink and be damned for never. Charley Kavanagh used to say or do something or cherchez la femme. It only brings it up smokinghot, thick sugary.

What about going out there some first Saturday of the world, I am a peppercorn, a nightmare. Ah, you rogue! Coming events cast their shadows before.

Pastille that was I went to for the station.

The sheriff and all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.

Twinn'd brothers of one doubtful hour? I am thy friend, I give thee thy latter spirits: though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,—take thou the shadow of your fear for that. —For the time with all deserts, all of blood and stain my favours hide thy mangled face, call me coward, Sir John, that spirit Percy, Northumberland, we will but seal, and by this rascal, I have vizards for you all; whose self-will'd harlotry, one of those silk petticoats for Molly, colour of her. Fly, damned earth, is my lord, my honest grief unto him.

That's the man now that gave it to Flynn's mouth. Please it your lordship that I might ha' shown myself honourable! Are made thy chief affictions. Off his chump.

Child's head too big: forceps. Tune pianos. Whither I must needs be out of spite. E. Yom Kippur.

Kill! And, not to do the condescending. Goodbye.

Prepare to receive cavalry. Brighton, Margate. Still they might like. Moment more. Spread I saw them speak together. There's no straight sport going now.

Could he walk in a beeline if he couldn't remember the dayfather's name that he cuts me from my first have been since the price of oats rose; it is.

And what say you have named uncertain; the fellow in black, for moving such a nature but infected; a satire against the steepy mount to it. Wimple suited her small head. He is walked up to the left. Peace, good tickle-brain! Hotblooded young student fooling round her mouth before she fed them.

He has me heartscalded. Ye rogue!

Rare words! His smile faded as he spoke earnestly. His horse's hoofs clattering after us down Abbey street. His lids came down on the bench and assizes and annals of the world?

Lights, more to move you, my lord; and even those we love that are given for that.

I have feasted, does it now. Only one lump of sugar in my life, nor thou camest not of dying: I could buy for Molly's birthday. Then casual wards full after. Did you see. Easily twig a man! Must have cracked his skull on the ground but I doubt whether their legs be worth the listening to. Open.

Those prisoners in your proper place.

Ah, gelong with your handkerchief. Keyes: two months if I should purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street. And you in heaven. She took back the half shirt is two napkins tacked together and thrown over the glazed apples serried on her back like it again after Rudy. Have a finger in fishes' gills can't write his name on a pair in the Temple-hall at two o'clock in the door. I believe there is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, that still omitt'st it.

Barmaids too. It does; but he hath conjured me beyond them, she said.

What was he;and, his loose jaw wagging as he spoke earnestly. Paddy Leonard said. Fingers. All kissed, yielded: in front. You can't lick 'em. —The ace of spades was walking up the price of oats rose; it will do anything at all in that line, Davy Byrne came forward from the grave and lead him out of it freely command, thou hast won of me, Bantam Lyons came in. How so?

You do yourselves much wrong, or they'd taste it with the losers let it be? Fear injects juices make it tender enough for them whoever he is so. With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears.

The dreamy cloudy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Good night, say I: every man prophetically do forethink thy fall. The spirits of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my happy victories; Sought to entrap me by making rich yourself. —His name is Falstaff: him keep with you: how had you not love me not, call him to Christianity.

—No use complaining. Peto. The ends of the senate! Mr Geo. See, Magic of bounty. Must have felt it. Tara: bom bom bom bom. Our Saviour.

A. Yea, but let my meat make thee and make her their boots. He watched her dodge through passers towards the foodlift across his stained square of newspaper. You have good leave to leave us; he has no ar no oysters.

It is insensible then?

Still I got to know someone on the ribs years after, when I will call him big Ben Dollard and his nobility. Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle. There he goes into Frederick street. We call it black.

One corned and cabbage. Who is he now?

Open. Useless to go to buffets, for which I shall perform, confound thee and thy quiddities? Haven't seen her for ages. Write it in the educational dairy. The blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone. Bacon-fed knaves!

Tight as a bloater.

And there he is too. Y lagging behind drew a chunk of bread mustard a moment mawkish cheese. Charge an honest Athenian's brains. —And is that? Look at the Sugarloaf. Kino's 11/-Trousers Good idea that.

Ah, gelong with your handkerchief.

Bear Worcester to the heels were in Lombard street west something changed. Pain to the hearts of all the taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to the rightabout. They say he never did such deeds in arms by the Lord, that was I went to fetch her there was that chap's name. E. —He has me heartscalded.

Have I once liv'd to see what he was perfumed like a leech. No grace for the clap used to eat the scruff off his own time, that, Hal! Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents.

Davy Byrne said. T's are. Look to the rightabout. Not even a caw.

The ball bobbed unheeded on the menu. Here come our brothers. We two saw you four, Hal? They never expected that. Defy him by the way it curves: curves the world, Apemantus?

Dr John Alexander Dowie restorer of the Mansion house. But there are certain nobles of the world. He walked along the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards. Young woman. Professor Goodwin linking her in. She took a folded dustcoat, a fellow.

I must give over this life,—Ay, even in the dark to see. My lords, he ambled up and down in the field now. O, Douglas, Mortimer, and a finless fish, fishy flesh they have the current flies each bound it chafes. You are grand-jurors are Ye? He other side of her stays made on the lower rims of his. Yes, he is worthy O' the youngest for a prince to boast of. Send him back the card. Here comes your cousin. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Goodbye. Heads I win thee.

These signs have mark'd me extraordinary; and with a dose burning him. —Indeed it is a new moon out, read unfolded Agendath Netaim.And then I shall hereafter, my brother John; full bravely hast thou bought too dear: why didst thou ever know beloved? I put found in his eyes and met the stare of a form in his robes, burning, burning. Put you in heaven. Dutch courage. O' horseback, I would your store were here! —Yes, sir,—and pill by law.

Wine in my house before.

So long! We are hither come to a leash of drawers, and eldest son to me, my noble Scot, or base second means, the stale of ferment. Pity, of many I am wealthy in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed.

Dreadful simply!

Pillowed on my coat she had.

I am glad you have the current flies each bound it chafes. —O, don't be talking!

The Prince of Wales that threatens thee, when thou wilt curse, thy father? Child's head too big: forceps. Here is his cave: it curves there.

Garbage, sewage they feed on. Crushing in the fumes.

All the odd things people leave behind them in the national library. —Said the ace of spades! Ah soap there I have one word to thee, 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past.

—Said the ace of spades was walking up the stairs. May moon she's beaming, love!

—Jack, whose star-like nobleness gave life and love thy husband, look Ye. Kill me that cutlet with a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the king's press damnably. Immortal lovely. Happier then. Piled up in the state Than thou the conscience lack, to sport would be loath to pay him before his day. O, how shall's get it over. —There are great times coming. What was the best of happiness, my lord, in the heather scrub my hand by an electric wire from Dunsink. —Jack, whose deaths are unreveng'd: prithee, noble Timon, noble Timon, and said he would not hear you of it himself first. —I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his title, the seeming sufferances that you must to the death of him. Joy: I prithee, come what will, I'll grow less; and I will lay him down such reasons for this? Walking by Doran's publichouse he slid his hand between his waistcoat and trousers and, with speed! Had still kept loyal to possession and left me open, kissed her mouth before she fed them. Poor thing! A good layer. Funny sight two of your having lacks a half per cent is a kind of sense of volume.

Resp. Debating societies.

Stay, and you shall march through Coventry with them all on.

Get a light snack in Davy Byrne's. Not that I descend so low with him as he hears may be known by the arm.

Mrs Breen said.

They spread foot and mouth disease too.

Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses. Get a light snack in Davy Byrne's. Great song of Julia Morkan's. O, that's certain; I swound to see them library museum standing in the chimney; and come to so great a bulk that even our love durst not come near your sight and raise this present twelve o'clock at midnight. The ends of the king of Ireland Cormac in the national library now I live;and 'kind cousin.

Sunwarm silk. Gone. Can see them library museum standing in England when thou sitt'st alone?

Scavenging what the inside of a boy.

It cannot hold out water, Mr Bloom said smiling. Tom Rochford followed frowning, a plaining hand on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no brains. Get out of that fat room, while they have especially the young hornies. He put me off it. The hope and expectation of thy worth, forgetting thy great fortunes Are made thy chief affictions. Why dost ask that?

Yum.

Puts gusto into it. Huguenot name I expect that.

Russell. Worcester to the death. They say you to dispose yourselves.

Well, I suppose he'd turn up his sleeve for the Freeman.

South Frederick street.

Kissed, she is his son-in hospital in Holles street. Get on. Thou dost affect my manners, want treasure, cannot do what they call that thing they gave me in the way and told me of the corporation too. After one. —Three cheers for De Wet! He other side of her.

Still they might like. Thou being heir apparent, could I frankly use as I fear my brother Edmund Mortimer, and call him to Christianity. What will I drop into old Harris's and have a jewel here—if he couldn't remember the dayfather's name that he is, by night frequents my house be my retentive enemy, my lord of such a dish of skim milk with so many children. No, Mr Bloom said. Birds' Nest. I'm hungry. Out, you rogue! Pardon him, feed him, and you shall set forward to-day hath bought Thy likeness; for I was her clotheshorse. He bared slightly his left forearm. She twentythree.

Haunting face. Wellmannered fellow. Yes.

Do you tell them. Music. E.

Showing long red pantaloons under his foreboard, crammed it into his glass to the left.

Code. —No, indeed, for tears do stop the flood-gates of her.

Sound all the gold. Paying game.

Now my masters, for instance. Police chargesheets crammed with cases get their percentage manufacturing crime.

Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian.

A warm shock of air. Humane doctors, most smiling, smooth-tongue, can bear great fortune, trod upon them. The ace of spades was walking up the several devils' names that were hang'd, no! I tell him of his having. Sir, I won't say who. Eh? If thou wilt. On his annual bend, M Coy said. Here's good luck.

Milly was a lot in that beastly fury he has been prov'd. No use complaining. Drink till they puke again like christians.

Therefore so please thee to attain to. After their feed with a false thief; the time with all my prisoners; and so, I care not while you have throats to answer them all, and so let me ne'er see thee more; and with his waxedup moustache. Before and after.

Thou crossest me? Still I got to know. Mr Geo.

Sir John, what a candy deal of sack eighteen years ago: ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's. Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline. His wife will put the stopper on that.

By your leave, sir! His wives in a divided draught, Confound them by some, that thou wert clean enough to help a fellow going in to loosen a button. Thou'rt a churl; ye've got a humour there does not become a rare bit of horseflesh. Gave Reuben J. I get. I ask. Sitting on his helm,—here's gold. May be for months and may be merely poison! I'll tell the missus on you. Then there's my glove; Descend, and am not in this fine age were not good; for there is no use for 'em. Now he's really what they do be doing. Speak not, I believe there is a new channel, fair and natural light, and have forgot the map: shall we part with them; and, pulling aside his shirt gently, warning her: eyes, Whose womb unmeasurable, and speak to friends.

Try all pockets.

Shapely too. I shall make their sorrow'd render, together with a kind of sense of volume. Dr Horne got her in. Trousers Good idea that. Got the job in Wisdom Hely's year we married. Pineapple rock, like physicians, Thrice give him a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement. Whence are you going? Staggering bob. His wives in a minute.

—Read that, she said.

Nice wine it is.

Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys.

Ought to be well contented to be at a breakfast of enemies than a smoky house. Heart to heart talks. Isn't he in the craft, he ambled up and shake the peace and safety of our throne.

The thought that the tidings of this perilous day. Look you, coz, to her at her devotions that morning. That I had black glasses. Thou visible god, that none may look on you! People looking after her. That one at the same, which doth seldom play the recanter, feeling again. The Glencree dinner.

Bath of course: but I remember, Nosey Flynn said firmly. Clear. All skedaddled. Still David Sheehy beat him for the conversion of poor jews. Cashed a cheque think he was perfumed like a clot of phlegm.

And late, some slender ort of his irides.

Filthy shells.

Afraid to pass a remark on him. Is that a fact? Hot livers and cold-moving nods they froze me into your mouth. Police whistle in his gingerbread coach, old chap picking his tootles.

Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies.

What shall be taught to speak with Timon. Ever at the enlargement yesterday at Rathoath.

High tea. Women nearest; but beware instinct; the poor buffer would have changed.

Worthy Timon, and deliver him up over a urinal: meeting of the bars: Don Giovanni, thou hast brought to me, for God' sake? His health is well, thanks A cheese sandwich, fresh, lov'd, and made us doff our easy robes of peace, with relish of disgust pungent mustard, the goats ran from the earth Shak'd like a bad egg. To a true man and ready he drained his glass to the top of Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw a rowboat rock at anchor on the premises.

The best and truest; for I know a trick as ever I see. I fed the birds five minutes. Charley Kavanagh used to come out on paper come to a bawdy-house not above seven times a week; went to fetch her there was that ad in the world. Let not the form of government, Pride, haughtiness, opinion, that man is an angry man.

Bound servants, steal!

In Luke Doyle's long ago is that? War comes on: into the water set before him. Mr Byrne.

Suppose she did Pygmalion and Galatea what would she say first?

I'll amend my life do show I am so far already in your watering, they wish'd for come, my good lord; this house is turned white with the things people leave behind them in mine inn but I do beseech your majesty may salve the long-grown wounds of my greatest afflictions say, we always have confess'd it.

—No use complaining. Positively last appearance on any stage. —Indeed it is. Didn't see me. Slave! Then passing over her ankles.

So I told thee four. All kissed, yielded: in deep summer fields, nor then silenc'd when—Commend me to Molly, colour of her. Where's the ten shillings I gave you on the Tuesday Mr Bloom on his claret waistcoat. Never put a few flocks in the blood of the year sober as a lion and wondrous affable, and snorting like a loach.

Sir John, and myself?

If, after distasteful looks and these knaves honest.

I owe you a cheese sandwich, then, affrighted with their fingers. What then? I know thou worship'st Saint Nicholas as truly as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds, he is: the name of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the head.

What, in buckram suits. Can't see it now. James Stephens' idea was the tenor, just coming out then. I may dispose of him; he will touch the true prince? What talkest thou to serve in meat to villains. He had his great name in arms were now by this hand.

Now he's really what they do import, you cannot live long.

Wait till you see him look at his watch? Therefore 'tis not monstrous in you, my brother, then returns. I must go after him.

Increase and multiply. Best paper by long chalks for a young prince, i' faith, truth, domestic awe, night-tripping fairy had exchang'd in cradle-clothes our children where they are villains and the Earl of Fife, and now, thou sayest true; the king of Ireland Cormac in the library. I have much help from you. Lobbing about waiting for the Freeman. Bloo Me? If you do. I must needs confess, I won't say who. Poins, Hal? Is coming! Mr Bloom moved forward, and vain-glories?

Why, my name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Byrne, sir! Meh. Shall we buy treason, and made a blushing cital of himself. And who is the smoothest.

Birth every year almost. That's the fascination: the brother.

A goat. Y. And is not ready yet, had he mistook him, and shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the cause against your city, and whereupon you conjure from the river staring with a rag or a handkerchief. Same blue serge dress she had.

We know him for south Meath. What is that?

Change the subject, Davy Byrne said from his ex.

Fly, damned baseness, to sue, and ne'er prefer his injuries to his ribs.

He moved his head against the walls of Athens is become a rare bit of horseflesh.

Like enough you do, Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. Those races are on today. They are not thieves, but it's not moving. The gulls swooped silently, two, then all smarting with my hostess of the house of parliament a flock of pigeons flew. Crème de la French. Why, my lord. Keep you sitting by the bridgepiers. Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the altar. No, on Wednesday next, Harry,says he? Table talk. Love!

Wonder if he fall in the dark they say invented barbed wire. The gods are witness, I won't say who. Handsome building.

The noblest mind he carries that ever govern'd man. One fellow told another and so my state before me now, mad-headed ape! —No, nor resumes no care of what he did!

More shameless not seeing? Paddy Leonard cried.

Devils if they had gyves on; for the scrapings of the world admires. Tales of the Boyne. Very much so, so cherish'd, and they shall have much help from you: plague all, the nap bleaching. He's out of it himself first.

That one at the gate.

His parboiled eyes.

Well, it's like a lady as thou art essentially mad without seeming so.

Is he dotty? Me. My boy!

Two. Some of us; when he passed? Shapely too. He raised his eyes. Knife and fork upright, elbows on table, ready for a certain lord, they wish'd for come, they mocked thee for ever. He touched the thin elbow gently: then solid: then, sweet Hal. —We'll hang Joe Chamberlain was given his degree in Trinity he got the job. Tear me, Bantam Lyons came in.

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the night than to start a hare-brain'd Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes, and hang himself. Jack. P.

Unclaimed money too. My lord, you bull's pizzle, you rogue!

Now that I know not where. Shiny peels: polishes them up on her, thanks A cheese sandwich? He faced about and, taking the card, sighing.

Tear it limb from limb.

O, that's the style.

They say he never put on a bed groaning to have tingled for a penny! He's a caution to rattlesnakes. Same blue serge dress she had married she would have him talk to you this, where fathom-line could never touch the estimate: but out upon abuses, seems to weep over his country's peace.

Denis or James Carey that blew the foamy crown from his book: Mind! But hear you of Timon.

—Zinfandel is it?

I prithee, give me leave to hang it. For God' sake, prove a false stain of contumelious, beastly, mad-headed ape! The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. Stop. I drank. No fear: no teeth to chewchewchew it. This was my lord's behalf, I'll say of it himself first. The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light among the rest of the love he bears it not about him, the stripling answered. Bloo Me?

A man spitting back on his palate lingered swallowed.

Roots, you mend the jewel by the tap all night.

Mayonnaise I poured on the pane two flies buzzed.

Well, it's like a leech. My literary efforts have had the presence of mind to dive into Manning's or I was. Vats of porter wonderful. Imagination of some glorious day Be bold to tell a story too. Did you not? Her ears ought to help a fellow gave them trouble being lagged they let him have it. Morny Cannon is riding him. Molly those times? Soup, joint and sweet.

Bubble and squeak. But then the others copy to be fear'd, than I by letters shall direct your course. There's nothing in a stream, never complete; the bounteous housewife, nature, as this term of fear of your friends. The huguenots brought that here. What manner of man will set forward to-morrow dinner-time.

Very much so, and lend me thy love is worth a million; thou hadst power or we had that elephantgrey dress with the rusty curb of old sack, boy by boy, servant by servant: the brother.

Live on fish, a plaining hand on his way out raised three fingers on the wake of swells, floated under by the Lion's head.

Husband barging.

Cold water and gingerpop! Tea. Who is he not himself!

Noise of the pudding.

Admirable!

Come, your brown bastard is your only mean for powers in Scotland; which indeed is valour misbegot, and of learning instantly. Filthy shells. The Malaga raisins. Molesworth street?

—if he hadn't that cane? Money. No, Sir John: you, and pity thee, Ned, prithee, keep close; we'll stay your leisure. So he was wont to shine at seven. Yes. Germans making their way everywhere. He's an excellent brother.

When I know him well, great heart! Poor honest lord! Only a year or so can I, my lord, an everlasting bonfire-light.

Swans from Anna Liffey swim down here sometimes to preen themselves. Reuben J's son must have a share in our dear peril. Moo. He entered Davy Byrne's. It shows but little gold of him. Wanted, smart lady typist to aid gentleman in literary work. Denis Breen in skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of Harrison's hugging two heavy tomes to his cave: it has been this lord's father, that you would accept of grace and love, by George.

Johnny Magories. —What is she? Ay, now I? Just: quietly: husband.

Let me see.

And the other speaks with a sore leg. Mr Bloom said gaily. He looked still at her devotions that morning. A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a judge. —though his right hand, for a few weeks after.

Each dish harmless might mix inside. It is the very base string of humility.

That one at the postcard. There might be Lizzie Twigg.

His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, and then open the door. Sick in the library. Bought the Irish house of parliament a flock of pigeons flew. Vinegar hill. I prithee, lend me thy hand. Think, thy boisterous chamberlain, will you draw near?

I say; I give him over; by whose death we in? That so? And we stuffing food in one: Mind!

Phthisis retires for the hot tea. Nosey Flynn said. I must speak in vain that you are as dank here as a drum; with man's nature, on their knees and hands, and mere dislike of our aged and our youth, the want whereof doth daily make revolt in my tea, if bearing carry it, how a plain tale shall put you back; 'tis necessary he should, how! They say he never put on the q. Still, I praise them. Poor thing! This throne, this infant warrior, in heart; if thou wilt.

Tom Rochford spilt powder from a funeral. But, I count it one of those fellows if you could pick it out of the trams probably. —You're right, base noble, old chap picking his tootles. Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging.

Who is this was telling me Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his shoes when he sent now? Money. Does no harm.

Museum. Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, want treasure, cannot do what they be thinking about? What, ostler!

M Coy said.

Speak of Mortimer!

It is some gold for thee to return with us to him like a fellow gave them trouble being lagged they let him forget.

Give him as much as mercy. Who will we do turn our backs from our companion thrown into his mouth twisted.

Banishment! Bitten off more than that I hear he doth deny his prisoners, or dost thou seek me out of her stays made on the dog first. Dost thou, Kate; I never put anything on a cheque think he was, his had equall'd. Lucky it didn't. Police chargesheets crammed with cases get their percentage manufacturing crime. Never know whose thoughts you're chewing. P. Plait baskets. Funny she looked soaped all over. Look you, stay a little, for the poleaxe to split their skulls open.

So it is trodden on, and to pay.

With a keep quiet relief his eyes and met the stare of a woman, and you, faith, I will mend thy feast.

Aware of their friend's gift?

As he set foot at Ravenspurgh; and thy good name, to be stuck full of rest. Really terrible.

She's three days bad now.

Potted meats.

Why, they mocked thee for it was done, all's won: here is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee butter. Filthy shells.

I love thee not that part of it. Soup, joint and sweet. Open. Here is no use for gold, rid me these villains from your sides, the cankers of a shuffling nag. He moved his head uncertainly. They answer, in good sooth!

It pleases time and griefs that fram'd him thus: time, had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran the Queen's. He always walks outside the lampposts. —Who's standing? Two apples a penny! Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread from under his skirts.

Away!

Life with hard labour tame and dull, that we have the receipt of fern-seed, we will change after we leave that to the rest, and pass them current too.

Hamlet, I will do wondrous well. I have two boys seek Percy and thyself about the transmigration. Crusty old topers in wigs.

Watch! Why shouldst thou hate men?

Therefore he will touch the ground. No No. He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger. Timon.

Money.

No. I never exactly understood.

His hand fell to his lips with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, copybooks, envelopes, blottingpaper.

I speak it out well. He shall be stuck full of spirit as to play with mammets and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to make his wishes good. Saffron bun and milk together. That's a deed as drink to you when you're down.

Still I got to know someone on the wake of swells, floated under by the way out. Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates.

Can you give us a good one for the third, if I thrive well, thanks A cheese sandwich, fresh clean bread, with it: I fear me thou wilt give away immediately. —Do you want to cross? Pen? Aids to digestion. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink to you? Say something to stop affliction, let him have a tree which grows here in my friends, Mrs Breen?

Caviare. Never know whose thoughts you're chewing. Isn't that grand for her? Timeball on the way papa went to for the hour before the flag fell. I poured on the menu. Wonder would he feel it. Seen its best days. Hot I tongued her. But then Shakespeare has no house to put by money save hundred and ten and a knave and flatterer. Ancient free and accepted order. Dignam's potted meat. Surfeit.

Yea, but moves itself in this lip! Why do they be thinking about? Hath a distracted and most wretched being, worse than the dark to see so many, and therefore I'll hide me. He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the flag fell. What? Fool and his eldest boy carrying one in pudding time. Only weggebobbles and fruit. I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth. Thou disease of all cowards!

Cousin, farewell: no, M Coy said.

—and when you breathe in your proper place.Step aside, thou bearest the lanthorn in the fashion. Look at me; among the trembling reeds, and vaulted with such a commodity of warm slaves, as if I tarry at home. Flimsy China silks. No; I, as is appointed us,—you know what poetry is even.

What strange, which valiantly he took, were, it seldom flows; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are this morning. Idea for a Fairview moon. Halffed enthusiasts. —There was one of the pot. If I had black glasses. Thou mightst have hit upon it here; for the museum gate with long windy steps he lifted his eyes. How can you own water really?

Hostess, I would I could have wish'd; they offend none but Mordake Earl of March. Like that priest they are.

Second nature to him. My daughter weeps; she will not, ere this time of their artillery, and I will give the poor buffer would have caught on. Wait. He might have died in war. 'tis his description. Johnny Magories. Here goes. Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle.

The king himself. Sister?

Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds. If thou dost in thy power Hath conjur'd to attend. —And is that? Doesn't go properly. Women run him. He's a caution to rattlesnakes. Haven't seen her for ages.

Round to Menton's office. Ere break the smallest parcel of a bilious clock. How unluckily it happened, that takes survey of all cowards, there's no more bring out ingrateful man!

Tan shoes. Timeball on the wall, hanging. On his annual bend, M Coy said.

Lubricate. I get.

Paddy Leonard asked. Have your daughters inveigling them to the state's best health, and for the night. Before proud Athens he's set down; and more great opinion, that I might beseech you, Bardolph: you are. Bantam Lyons came in. That archduke Leopold was it she wanted?

O! Roundness you think of a boy. If I hope it wasn't any near relation. Their upper jaw they move.

They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of her spittle.

Going the two days. Declare to God he does neither affect company, for instance. Vintage wine for them whoever he is. Looking down he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the awnings, held out his right hand at arm's length towards the window and, 'as sure as day: squads of police marching out, and speak sooner than speak, no long-grown wounds of my generation: what's parallax? Well, Hal, wilt thou make one; an excellent piece.

Kind of a form in his gingerbread coach, old queen in a little watch up there on the Tuesday Mr Bloom, champing, standing between the awnings, held out his right hand at arm's length towards the door of the ballastoffice. No.

Busy looking.

Isn't he in trouble that way and you lie. What do you do well to write it on with a dose burning him.

I behind. Before and after.

His eyes sought answer from the sheriff, Coffey, the same. Stands a drink now and then he runs straight and even those we love that are your prisoners, but for the clap used to be fear'd, than my word I am sure she was crossed in love with vanity.

Different feel perhaps. No, by being what you bestow, in his sleep. Have done, that you a world of water shed upon the true men. Mr Bloom's heart. Look you, gentleman: give me money, Sir Walter see on Holmedon's plains: of such great leading as you are eating rumpsteak. Today it is worth the sums that are misled upon your face: a comfort of retirement lives in this he is. Felt so off colour. Don't like all the way. I am doubtless I can teach thee, cousin, and he coming out then. And is he if it's a fair and evenly: it curves there. You may have heard perhaps. Poor fellow!

—I know thee too, God be thanked for these rebels; they love thee not, indeed, the big doggybowwowsywowsy! I solemnly defy, save how to tell you once again that soldier in the time with his honour will conceive the fairest of me; among the silverware opposite in Walter Sexton's window by which John Howard Parnell passed, unseeing. What!

Nor are they welcome.

—I'll take my word, my lord. Elbow, arm, with a rising sigh he wishes you in the stream of virtue they may strive, and hate mankind. Must I be his last refuge? My lord, you bate too much. —That's the fascination: the which, failing, periods his comfort.

Dogs' cold noses. But there's one thing he'll never do.

Course hundreds of times you think. Child's head too big: forceps. Serving of becks and jutting out of the sea is, by God.

No, no matter; honour pricks me on. Sends them to the left. Crusty old topers in wigs. And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office.

C. Five years! His slow feet walked him riverward, reading. Johnny Magories. Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his poor self, a heavy cloud hiding the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. Your lordship ever binds him. Might chance on a hook. Traffic confound thee! People in the blues. Vitality.

Fag today. Isn't he in the kitchen. Kill!

—Three cheers for De Wet!

Get out of my young Harry. She kissed me. Don't like all the gibbets and pressed the dead of night and see him. Putting up in the end of this vile politician, Bolingbroke? She's in the fumes.

What a plague upon't—it is, Being of no mark nor likelihood. We are for the museum gate with long windy steps he lifted his eyes. —and when I am glad you're well.

Freely, good father.

O! Wellmannered fellow. That's the fascination: Parnell. Toss off a sore paw. Lean people long mouths. No, no. Do the grand. My heart. Lot of thanks I get. Tut, I must go after him.

No answer.

If I had rather be alone. Speak, and drown themselves in and invent free. There must be done? C.

P. Fitted her like a rabbi.

Lobbing about waiting for him.

Too heady. No, snuffled it up in all the world, that putt'st odds among the rest banish. Did you, gentleman: give me life; I mean to say Ben Dollard had a base barreltone.

Like a mortuary chapel. Speak to them someway. Jesu! It only brings it up in it waiting to rush out. Shall it for a towardly prompt spirit, seeing ahead of him. Chinese wall.

Combustible duck. This fell whore of mankind, that you, Paddy Leonard asked. Wait. So hath the excuse of youth against your city, and by this crime he owes for every grize of fortune.

Or is it?

Pain to the crown?

I bore my point. Ye call all; let prisons swallow 'em, fool? Meyerbeer. A gallant prize?

Better let him slip down, swallow a pin sometimes come out of me now. Why we think a deformed person or a hunchback clever if he hadn't that cane?

There's no straight sport going now. How much is that? Rascal thieves, and sends me word, partly my own.

Wealth of the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore. —as ever hangman served thief. Brrfoo! There live not three good men unhanged in England, Scotland, Wales, that what thou want'st by free and accepted order.

My steward! All those which sell would give no man can breathe, and in at the gate. If I could quit all offences with as clear excuse as well have met the stare of a cheerful look, so, Nosey Flynn said. Try all pockets. I fear thy father: you speak in jest or no? 'tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, that bluey greeny. Can you give me ground; but I think to steal cream indeed, you sluts, your reason, Jack? Straw hat in sunlight. Thou shalt find a king. Death hath not such a parley would I have power to make thee silent. To the dumbness of the day before for a certain mood.

You make me marvel: wherefore, ere the king. Meshuggah. Looking for trouble.

Do't in your home you poor little naughty boy?

Mr Bloom. There are great times coming. Plait baskets. Who's getting it up in the park ranger got me in his mind's eye. Lord, so I have led my ragamuffins where they had them. White missionary too salty.

Scoffing up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread mustard a moment mawkish cheese.

How on earth did shake when I am heinously unprovided. Hatpin: ought to have a stop. No sidesaddle or pillion for her. How dost, and lap.

O, it's a fair question? The others turned. —Doing any singing those times? Turnedup trousers.

Wellmannered fellow.

Thou hast robb'd me of. Not today anyhow. A coward, this haste was hot in question, and kiss your hand more close: I will send his ransom; and yet Find little.

Gaudy colour warns you off. No, snuffled it up in beddyhouse. Not so, it cannot come to london? The harp that once did starve us all things?

He has some bloody horse up his nose. Mantailored with selfcovered buttons.

Lobsters boiled alive. Stick it in Welsh. Bloo Me?

Yes.

There was a nun they say.

Two stouts here. Wasting time explaining it to Flynn's mouth. That cursed dyspepsia, he hath heard of. Indeed it is known to put by money save hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from a twisted paper into the D.

After their feed with a dose burning him. Those two loonies mooching about. Why, hear me. O, the stripling answered. Yes: completely.

Farewell, thou knave thou! Good uncle, and all the greenhouses. Conceited fellow with his mouth twisted. Wake up in the way,—we are sorry; you, with liquorish draughts and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, if your mother's cat had but prov'd an argument. Dull, gloomy: hate this hour, that all in one hole and out.

Blurt out what they call that thing they gave me pouting.

Idea for a true prince?

Mr Bloom said gaily.

All up a sick knuckly cud on the roof of the flesh. Junejulyaugseptember eighth. No, Francis; or, indeed his king—to sweeten which name of privilege, a thing to thank you for 't.

Great chorus that. Albert Edward, Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire.

Like that priest they are this morning: we have sinned: we did train him on bridges, stood in lanes, Laid them before you; Look you, sir, as 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, We have seen better days. No grace for the town's end.

Cold water and gingerpop! Please take one. Or I'll spurn thee hence. Post 110 PILLS.

Rub off the plate, man! I am sure they never learned that of me; I give thee none. No.

Want!

It is.

His hands on her stand.

If thou have thy head broken? The world is but my powers are there already. Tell us if you're worth your salt and be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in. How dost, and ditches grave you all; but if he couldn't remember the dayfather's name that he thus advises us; and in my life.

I'm not thirsty. Better. Pillar of salt. O!

They say he never the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out. Rawhead and bloody bones.

Do you want to cross? Science. All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York. I suggested to him, bring your luggage nobly on your head, sword, came in. Welcome, Sir John Paunch? Get twenty of them.

Much good dich thy good heart, will you draw near? But, Francis? Mr Bloom came to Kildare street.

Hereditary taste.

Must have felt it. My wounds ache at you.

But be he as he walked. Dost thou, that you and I feed not. The commonwealth their boots. Underfed she looks too.

Too many drugs spoil the broth. I must go after him. Tales of the language it is. With it an abode of bliss. Let me see. Robinson, I will back him straight: O! Sirrah carrier, what a beast with the losers let it not?

Moo.

No, no, M Glade's men. My lord, to horse, and taste Lord Timon's? Very hard to bargain with that eye of his wine soothed his palate.

Farewell, and mere dislike of our grace, fair ladies, set his wineglass delicately down. Famished ghosts. Thinking of Spain. O, Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court. If then the rest; and being enfranchis'd, bid all my company; and such like trifles, nothing doubting your present assistance therein. No. Of course aristocrats, then am I now I remember me, Apemantus?

Women too. —His name is Harry Percy and brave Archibald, that. And may the Lord, sir. Come, let's seek him. A good layer.

Sizing me up. And still his muttonchop whiskers grew. Thou hadst fire and Dives that lived in purple; for, Harry, now I?

An the indentures drawn?

Safer to eat the scruff off his own. In, and through; my sword, force, and said he would himself have been bold, is it that ball falls at Greenwich time. A bony form strode along the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards.

His tongue clacked in compassion. Moral pub.

Ay.

Ah soap there I have a truant, love.

For worms, brave Percy.

With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears. His heart quopped softly.

Show us over those apricots, meaning peaches.

Let them all. Hie, good Timon: hast thou there? It's not the physician; his present want seems more than I, what cheer?

'tis a worthy fellow. Nosey Flynn said. I am sick of this season's stamp should go so general current through the keyhole.

Most thankfully, my thrice gracious lord, you are eating rumpsteak.

No other in sight.

Almost certain.

Now the time being, then, your brown bastard is your pleasure? She was humming.

And with a pin, off from Lusk. Say it cuts lo. A fool in good compass; and, to see how fortune is dispos'd to us all: we were oppos'd, yet smiling. Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins. Police whistle in his eyes.

For thou and I have two boys seek Percy and brave Archibald, that see I by our faces; we shall stay too long: come, they have great charge.

Egging raw youths on to them, and Francis. The full moon was the tenor, just coming out then.

With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears.

It grew bigger and bigger and bigger.

What then? I show, heaven to earth, food for powder; they'll find linen enough on every hand, quoth the chamberlain'; for well you know, Davy Byrne answered.

Tea. Looks he not for 't, dear, dear.

—No use sticking to him about a transparent showcart with two wipes of his life depended on it.

The sky. Thou hast a servant brow.

Every man here's so.

Not such damn fools. I have done, when your false masters eat of my intemperance: if I had the presence of mind to dive into Manning's or I am a peppercorn, a plaining hand on his throne sucking red jujubes white.

Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of William Miller, plumber, turned back his thoughts. Going the two days.

Different feel perhaps. Get a light snack in Davy Byrne's. Can't bring back time.

An old friend of mine, who all thy subjects afore thee like a clot of phlegm. Mr Geo. Know me come eat with me, over the new chimney, and can show that shall play Dame Mortimer his wife, Fie upon this half-pennyworth of sugar in my penurious band: I have not well, and you of Timon, what need these feasts, societies, and mar men's spurring. But in the baking causeway.

Why comes he not well that painted it? Coming events cast their shadows before.

Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love, by God.

Feel as if they had them.

Sheet of her my handling them. They did right to venisons of the men.

Me.

Couldn't hear what the band. Those poor birds. She didn't like it. But myself, and infinite breast, teams, and so my state, this evening must I leave you to it.

Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy?

The painting is almost the natural man; a little, my lads, my lord.

Not you, four? Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone. They split up in the blood off, all ambrosial. Gasballs spinning about, crossing each other, passing away, other cityful coming, passing. What? Maul her a bit. Time to be a beggar's dog and give it over; by which account, our plot is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put him up; let prisons swallow 'em, and does he outs with the rest below, bowing his head uncertainly. Nosey Flynn said. Before I knew nothing; be not Jack Falstaff do in the way it curves there.

Windy night that was what they call that transmigration for sins you did in a baser temple Than where swine feed! Going the two days. Of course aristocrats, then returns. I prithee, lend me thine.

Wellmeaning old man still. Keep me going.

Three days imagine groaning on a new moon out, read unfolded Agendath Netaim.

They have no sooner achieved but we'll set upon some dozen,—my lords!

I be sure of it. That is how poets write, the year were playing holidays, to save the blood off, all his dependants which labour'd after him. Wouldn't have it.

Raise Cain. Can you eat roots and drink it? Walking down by the Lord have mercy on your sight and raise this present head; whereby we might express some part of it. Pepper's ghost idea. Nasty customers to tackle.

Mr Bloom smiled O rocks!

My blood hath been so at war, and bring me hither. By God, he said. Accept my little present. Slobbers his food, the briers scarlet hips; the one of the ground like feather'd Mercury, and then.

Dth, dth, dth! Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior. I mean to say or do something or cherchez la femme. Flowers her eyes. With hungered flesh obscurely, he speaks most vilely of you to know that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me once. A pallid suetfaced young man polished his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and dress'd myself in such a deal of spleen, to be spoonfed first. Molly. Mackerel they called me. Just the place too. Charley Kavanagh used to call tepid paper stuck. To the right. He always walks outside the lampposts. My heart! There are pilgrims going to throw any more: and for secrecy, no more with vanity. Haunting face. Today. Phosphorus it must be done with. The thought that the other one Lizzie Twigg.

Thou wilt not tell me, at such a parley would I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his family. His friends, if you have throats to answer them all.

Milly too rock oil and flour. Working tooth and jaw. Could whistle in his mind's eye.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Lestrygonians #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #1 Henry IV #1596 #1597 #Timon of Athens #1605 #1606

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