#its supposed to look like henrys busting down a door

[small-spark-of-light]

i wanted to finish the alignment chart so heres more

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Their Alright... For A Boomer

Masterlist

Summary: Being a girl with a larger chest always got you attention, maybe having your nipples pierced to try and fell more confident handt been the best idea, but how can you regret it when your latest client; the sexy Mr Cavill  was ogling them but could this end up being more then just that one time you were eyed by a hot celebrity?

Warnings: Suggestive, No Smut, Fluffy? Cute and funny, Swearing

A/N: this was a request from @fanficlover91​ i hope you like this hun, i tried to keep it hot but sweet and respectful? Which was a struggle but i hope i got the vibe you wanted. And as always i hope you all enjoy.

Taglist: In Reblogs.

You blushed as you looked down the lense at your model. He smirked sweeping his eyes over you non to subtly. You could feel the blues penetrating you with a hot stare. The was the distinctive fast clicks on you camera snapping a burst of shots managing to capture his smirking face and eyes sweeping over your form appreciatively.

You stood tall and smiled pulling away double checking the shoots. You bit your lip. Fucking hell this was both the best and worst job you had. Henry Cavill was the most enticing male you'd ever had the pleasure to photograph. He didn't even have a good side, every side was good! There wasn't an unflattering angle on the man!

"And that's a wrap? I think we have everything we need Mr Cavill" you said professionally making to move away from him and begin to swap sd cards and label them before packing away. Henry gawfed and rose quickly panicked almost.

"I- err no! Wait I was... Well hoping that I could have some more done?" he said chaseing you across the small studio you could hear his agent Leah scoff from the side lines. You frowned and looked to her nervously. The woman had been watching and tutting, scoffing and clicking her tongue through the whole session. It actually made you nervous, wasn't she pleased with the shoot? You were worried, being freelance this was your first time doing a celebrity shoot for a magazine but the usual photographer was in hospital having a stroke a few days prior and you were the only free photographer in the agency that was close enough to take the job. Sure you wasn't well known but still it was a little disheartening to have someone seemingly unimpressed with your work.

But it was when you eyed her you saw she wasn't giving you the evil eye. Her frown was directed at henry, a scolding look you'd give a misbehaving child. You frowned a little puzzled, but shook it off in favour of looking to Henry. Your actual client.

"More? I... I? Thought the piece only needed a few to choose from? They were very ah... How do I put it? Thorough? With the brief" you explained hoping Leah would step in and clarify just what was going on. Because you didn't have a clue.

"I yes but- I'd love to top up my portfolio? You know? I err yeah have a few changes going on and... I mean a few greys and such... Just want to update it a tad... I'll pay obviously- I'd pay anything for more time please?" he pleaded watching you closely eyes wide and bright full of hope.

"I... Err" you shifted swapping your camera from one hand to the other and craned your head around the man trying to spy his agent. But you had no hope of peeking around this gargantuan man. Just like with the camera he demanded your full attention.

"And for Instagram and stuff! There's only so much I can do in a selfie... I'd even recommend you- advertise your work!" he quickly added sounding desperate now. It would help you out if you did have a few shots of him for in your own catalogue. It shouldn't matter but having a celeb under your belt was actually a good thing. It meant you'd acted professionally and been good to work with.

"I suppose so, I do have a few extra sd's here... Tell you what I'll do another shoot for you as long as I can pick a few to put in my portfolio? Then we both update our files?" you nodded to him speaking slowly. He grinned and relaxed nodding quickly pleased with himself for wrangling more shots. You'd never know he was just glad to has more time with you.

"Oh yes absolutly! That's fine here should we get started now or?" he asked biting his lip trying not to stare at you for too long. But it was hard you were fucking stunning!

"Oh yeah sure iv got time, let me just sort these out and set up, need to switch, you've tired my poor camera" you said with a grin trying to ignore the man as he beamed at you looking excited nodding enthusiastically. You backed up and spun around trying not to blush as you felt henry gazing openly at you.

"Right well if the magazine ones are done I will be off then" Leah called packing up her bag with a small chuckle to herself. You froze and spun quickly seeing her seemingly abandoning you with Henry.

"Wha- oh you don't have to you can stay-" you tried to reason unsure why, I mean who wouldn't want to be alone with this huge glorious man? Maybe you just didn't trust yourself with him? He had been 'making love' to the camera all afternoon. Smouldering bedroom eyes that was making it hard to focus. You had been getting hot under the collar all day as you kidded yourself he was eyeing you, not the camera or would be readers.

It didn't help that you had caught him oogling your breasts earlier. But you wasn't mad, it was your own fault. It was the Hight of summer and you had on a string vest with a thin bra, that you could clearly see your nipple bars through. You didn't feel uncomfortable or anything, you didn't blame Henry for looking. You cant exactly ignore your tits.. The were pretty large for your frame. You were curvy but they were as one ex put it 'exceptional'. And besides he had looked not touched and he hadn't been a creep about it. In fact he had done a double take and then blushed when he realised he had been caught looking. But as you said you get that with big boobs, you'd had it your entire life, it was actually one of the reasons you'd got them pierced. It helped with your confidence and you convince yourself that they were looking at the bars. Not you per say.  

"Okay aunt Leah I will see you in a few days." henry interrupted you quickly smiling practically ushering the woman out the door. He moved fast ever picking the womans phone and juice bottle to help her leave quicker.

"Yes, behave Henry I'll see you soon" she said with a giggle before calling a thank you and goodbye over her shoulder at you. You swallowed nervously and gave a quick bye as the door clicked behind her and you were left alone with Henry. The man groaned stretching as he spun around a huge grin on his face, making your knees tremble a little. Fuck.

Henry came over and watched you closely as you scribbled the name and date along with the publication name on the sd case label. You tried not to notice as he hovered biting his lip then took off the blazer and threw it on the table beside you drawing your attention as he did grunting a little. The v neck letting the smallest amount of soft looking chest fuzz that had been teasing you all day. He grinned slyly as he caught you eyeing him and crossed his arms over his chest flexing for your benefit. You gasped and quickly looked back to the camera in your hands inserting a new scarf into the new fully charges camera.

"Soo how do you like this kind of work?" henry said casually trying not to seem like a creeper but god damnit he couldn't stop eyeing you. If he had known how sexy you'd be he would have demanded to be doing a bloody swim wear shoot!

"You mean people?" you stuttered trying not to look him in the eye. Not that it helped because the rest of him was just as fucking sexy! You quivered all over desperately trying to remember how to breath, yet didn't want to draw in too deep a breath and make your tits bounce for him and look like a slut. There was a very fine line for a big busted girl, to much wobble will make you look like your trying to get attention.

"I mean celebrities, magazines we were told you mainly do private shoots for events and model portfolios" he offered leaning forward as he leant back on the desk next to you hooking one ankle behind the other. The way he stood placed his crotch in your line of sight as you looked down and worked on setting up the camera. You flushed. Oh god he looked er... Bigger then you'd thought earlier, not that you were looking but... Well you couldn't help notice the package! The man was a fucking serial man spreader! And that thing was huge! With the muscles he was packing he could probably bench press you with his crotch!

"Oh well its different... And you sir popped my celebrity cherry" you froze on the spot as you said that, it had meant to be an ice breaker, a joke but instead had sounded fucking creepy!. You snapped up to him making to apologize as your face flamed mortified but he had thrown his head back laughing. The deep rumble sent chilled down your spine.

"Well I'm honoured to have popped your cherry~" he teased placing a hand over his heart with a cheeky grin making you blush and nod then turned to him with the new camera all set up.

"Soo where do we start?" you said moving on quickly looking up at him trying to forget the whole cherry comment.

"Where ever you want me, i will let you take the reigns command me as you will" he chuckled standing tall once more and looked about the room casually to the various small set ups, different furniture, seats sofas and mini tables dotting the space.

"I... Okay then you said Instagram? How about we start with some facials-FACE SHOTS! Face. Shots. Not facials fuck. Shit" you quickly tried repairing the damage whist cursing yourself wanting nothing more then to be swallowed up by the floor.

"No, no love facials sounded perfect~" he said winking before gliding past you making you stutter and almost choke on your breath. Oh good lord this was a bad idea. You followed as he sat down on a sturdy sofa and looked head on at you and bit his lip once again watching you with a sultry look.

And that was the beginning. You followed him about taking various snaps whislt having small talk. He seemed to be very flirtatious as he spoke, dropping lines and compliments as he made eyes at you. You flushed each time clamming up at his suggestive comments. And rightly or wrongly you flirted back trying to seem cool and suave. But inside you were fangirling unable to belive you were here with this incredibly gorgeous man teasing one another. On a few occasions he even growled as you scampered about him, crouching and taking shots from blow getting some delicious angles that dampened your knickers. Then in between all this he managed to get little tied bits. You'd told him you were on agency freelance and were trying to get into the social media platform as it seemed easier in this day and age rather then to be in fashion photography. You wanted to be commercial not private but no one would really take a chance anymore.

Then you suggested a few shots on the sofa laying back trying to think of something different for your portfolio, maybe a body length shot. He was quick to agree and dived onto the sofa saying he had an idea you swallowed nodding not fully trusting the look in his eyes. But that was forgotten as he relaxed stretching out over the sofa legs crossed and resting on the arm of his hands behind his head and a devilish smirk looking down the lenght of his body. You knelt at his feet trying to get a flattering image of him looking down but cursed as the camera wasn't playing ball. The lense was focusing, this was why you used the other one first, the camera had a few issues and was temperamental.

"What's wrong?" he asked frowning a little at you as you growled pulling the camera away fro your face and began trying to manually focus the lense.

"Oh its.. It wont focus.. It does this sometime, really need to throw it out but.. She was my first I'm sentimental" you said feeling silly as you battled with the camera.

"We all are with our firsts... How about you come closer instead, I really want to see this shot, never done one at this angle.. Out of all my shoots your the first to suggest this~" you froze and looked to him but he just smiled impishly at you. Slowly you rounded the sofa and leant over him positioning the camera at his stomach as he looked right into the lense giving you a definite bedroom eyes, half lidded and burning. Both dreamy and amazingly sexy. It was as if he could see you beyond the lense, as if it wasn't even there!

"You can come closer love, I wont bite, not if you don't want me to~" his voice was low and teasing, luring you in like a siren. You trembled and moved along him but he tutted and moved a hand to your hip and pressed, coaxing you onto the sofa and sat you on him making you straddle him. You gasped squeazing your camera tighter as he moved you easily, warm palms holding you both delicatly and firmly. You could see in his eyes he was weary unsure if he had gone to far but you squeezed him between your thighs and relaxed making him grin up at you getting the message you didn't mind at all. You aimed the lense at him once more and got the shots you wanted.

"Perfect! Mr Cavill" you said actually a little sad that this session was over. It had been nice playing this little cat and mouse game with him. But all good things come to an end.

"Ah now i have a policy love, when a womans on top they can call me henry, among other things~" he said smoothly laughing as you chuckled nervously fiddling with the camera in your hands and shifted over him a little.

"I will try to remember that for next time boomer~" you teased managing to overcome your nerves as you pulled away the camera with a giggle winking at him as he stuttered. For a second you thought you'd gone too far but a quirk to his lips made you relax once more.

"That hurt, that was hurtful" he teased pouting not releasing you from his lap, instead holding you tighter, fingers digging into your sides making you gasp and bit your lip as he pulled you to his crotch and ground into you teasingly.

"I'm so sorry~" you uttered breathless trying to keep yourself together. But this man was something else, like a drug- the devil all fanged smiles and smooth words. God you were fucked, you knew this man could do anything to you and youd thank him for it~

"I doubt that" he cooed and slid his hand higher growing more and more confident. The last few hours of casual flirting had built up his appitite. There was no misconceptions, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Oh yeah?" you said coyly tipping your head to him playing along willing for this to happen, whether it be a one of fuck or something longer. You didnt have any complaints~ this was your body and youd enjoy it with who ever you wanted to!

"Yeah prove it!" he hissed and moved quickly sitting up and swinging around planting his feet on the floor. You yelped as he moved surprizingly fast and managed to keep you in his lap now face to face with you eyes roaming your face settling on your lips.

"And how should i do that" you teased tilting your head skimming your lips with his as you spoke. He groaned and held you tighter making you whine breathlessly willing this to happen. You wanted him and you wont deny yourself the chance.

"Make and old mans day" he said plainly and leant back resting on the back of the sofa, you watched him closely and brought your hands to his shoulders prodding at the neck of the t shirt and drew your fingers down slowly feeling him shiver at the light skimming fingertips.

"Oh really Boomer? And how would i make and old mans day?" you teased once more making him grunt but he quickly caught himself as your fingers smoothed over the teasing curls that peeked over his top. You scratched over them lightly with your nails making him draw a needy breath and chuckled at him. He was sexy and cute~

"By accepting a job offer?" he said before smileing smugly as you paused and frowned. Had you missed something? Was he after a freebee?

"Job offer? Really another shoot?" you snorted suddenly not feeling sexy, more like he was trying to butter you up for some fuck for parts shoots or something. He sighed and began speaking before you could get yourself all twisted. But then again you could have taken his offer wrong.

"Manage my social media. I have many companies and brands reach out to me for endorsements. They want me caught wearing their brands. But I'm to busy most of the time I cant make it to the locations they want. It actually doesn't seem worth it most of the time, with cost of flights and time lost travelling to and from studios itd be easier if I had my own personal photographer that travelled with me its be easy, slip on the clothes and what not take a few snaps and then you touch them up and post them on my social media." he explained watching as it sunk in that he wasnt trying to pull a fast one. Well he was but not trying to fuck you over... Just fuck you... And keep you because you were fantastic and he wants nothing more then to have you around hime as much as possible. In the single dat he had spent working with you, you had enchanted him, not only were you sexy but you were good at your job and easy to work with but also funny and cute and he needed to get to know you.

"Of course its a very big venture and we'd have to have a few dinner and lunch dates to work out all the nitty gritty" he added after a few beats of silence trying to make it clear he was interested... Very interested~ it worked as you fluched and a playfull look donned your face your fingers began stoking his chest hair once more. He relaxed shuddering under the nails as they teased his curls.

"Is this a big ploy to get a date Boomer?" you purred his new nick name making him groan when you squeezed him between your thick thighs once more grinding on him and the considerable bulge below you that twitched.

"No... Maybe is it working?" he said quickly hissing at you shifted in his lap once more, his hands snapping to your hips trying to still you before he came undone in his boxers. You were a very dangerous woman and something told him you knew.

"Well it sounds like an offer I'd be very, very interested in taking further~" you clarified giggling when he swallowed dryly and eyed you surprized that his plan had seemed  to work.

"Good to hear~ so got anything planned after this?" he asked feeling a wave of confidence at the prospect of snagging a date with you. He hadn't meant to sound so eager but... He was eager and that was that.

"Yes" you said with a straight face and got up off of him spinning around heading to the table with your camera bags. You gave him a glance and giggled seeing him still sitting there gobsmacked legs wide open and his crotch that was now definitely bigger then it had been earlier.

"O-oh" he stuttered seemingly unsure how to proceed. You giggled as he fumbled over his words. Then decided to grant him some mercy and began speaking whilst popping out the sd card from the camera labeling it like the previous one.

"You see I had a very cheeky client today who asked for a shoot last mineut. But I wasn't to bothered he was very very sexy even if he was a boomer, but get this out of nowhere gave me a job offer? And we're having dinner- he promised pizza~" you giggled glancing at Henry as he slumped in the seat realising halfway through that you were talking about him. He smoothed his hands over his face and jumped up coming over to you shaking his head.

"You know I'm not actually a boomer?" he quipped folding his arms. You rolled your eyes at him as you packed your stuff away making sure to recheck everything.

"Have you seen your selfies? Your a boomer, boomer" you teased making him scoff but laugh at the name that has now stuck.

"Wait you've seen my selfies? What do you think?" he asked wanting feedback on the silly shots he took. You paused halfway through zipping up your bag and turned facing him fully giving him a thoughtful look then shrugged

"Their alright... For a boomer" you giggled when he preened for a second then his face dropped into a pout when you finished the comment.

"I repeat...That was hurtful" he said covering his heart with a kicked puppy look making you laugh and hoist your bags over your shoulder and make for the door with him hot on your heels.

"Its fine boomer a second date will make up for it I'm sure~" you sniggered at him playfully looking back at him as he followed you out of the door.

"A date for each time you call me boomer? Deal" he quipped walking along side you offering you his arm like a true gentleman unlike the teasing horny little shit he had been all day. Not that you minded either. Gentleman on the streets, freak in the sheets and all that jazz.

"God we may aswell marry now then boomer" he laughed nodding in agreement the banter from the day still in play as you both left the building.

"Seems so, I mean were at ten that's what the kids consider boyfriend girlfreind territory" he anounced with a sigh playing on the 'boomer' joke making you giggle and roll your eyes as he mentioned the tally. Then you frowned and quickly counted your 'boomers' and opened your mouth you correct him, arguing that ten was incorrect.

"I think its nine boomer- ah see what you did their sneaky boomer!" you cried pushing him playfully at his little trick. He roared with laughter and quickly tangled his fingers with yours dragging you back alongside him guiding you down the street towards a place he knew served pizza, he didn't remember but apparantly he promised pizza...

[whump-town]

Will You Take Me Home?

Here is some heart-warming fluff to make up for what I did with the cancer fic. I would do it again so I’m not sorry but I do feel remorse for hurting you

Word Count:  5055

Retired Hotch’s Birthday

The normal temperature of the room outside his nest of throw-blankets and heating pad causes goosebumps to break out over his exposed arm. He groans, not even bothering to check the caller ID as he puts his phone to his ear and answers “Aaron Hotchner”. His voice has taken on the gravel of disuse, fogged by the painkiller-induced nap he’d accidentally fallen into. If he was following his doctor’s orders, that wouldn’t happen. His body would have acclimated to the drugs and the pain wouldn’t leave him so exhausted that he can hardly keep his eyes open when it dulls to throbs. Which, he’s not aware of just yet, but is the very nature of this call: his detrimental habits.

“Sleeping beauty,” the other person greets and he leans back against the pillows behind him, rolling his eyes. The phone rustles and Hotch shakes his head as he hears the faint scratching and rustling of keys at his door. “I knocked four times,” he’s informed. “I was starting to think--” the door comes free and Hotch doesn’t even look up. “I thought I was going to find you dead in here.” The call ends and from the other side of the couch, he hears, “which, by the way, would be a hell of a thing, you know? Dead on your own birthday.” He closes his eyes but feels the cushions get pushed down, the telltale sign she’s leaning over the back of the cushion overtop him. “Speaking of which,” she beams. “Happy Birthday, old man.”

He looks up at her, taking in the full effect of mischief he could only hear before. The expressive lines of her smile spread across her face and it’s a distinct moment when all he can think about is how truly awful things had been between them at the beginning. How mean he was, really, because it wasn’t her. It was his own inability to trust. Yet, here she is before noon on his sixtieth birthday leaning over his couch and no doubt about to start a pot of coffee that she’ll consume over three-fourths of.  Suppressing the smile tugging at his own lips, he raises a more important matter at hand. Far more pressing than why it is that she’s letting herself into his home. “How long until they come?”

Retired doesn’t mean born yesterday (whatever the opposite of that is, really). He’s not around the office anymore but given Garcia’s questioning last month of his favorite cake flavor, Dave’s inquiry into his schedule for this week, and Emily’s early arrival he knows exactly what they’re doing. To her credit, Emily pretends she doesn’t and she might be more convincing if he didn’t know every tell she’s had for the last two decades.

“Who?” she asks. “How long until who comes?” He just looks at her. A stand-off, really, to see who caves first. They’re assholes so this could go on forever and if she were looking for the thrill of watching him break and she would press on. She cracks but not because he’s better at this game, just because she’s excited. “You have an hour. I’ve been sent to get you ready so you’re not a crabby old bastard when they arrive.”

He groans, sinking back into the couch and pulling his blanket up over his head. Effectively locking her out. Well... not really. She just leans further over him, not caring when he grunts tries to burrow farther away. “Come on,” she shakes his shoulders. “Aren’t you the least bit excited? Penny made you those cookies you like and Derek is bringing Hank, who, I might add, is very excited to see Hops.” And she’s only buttering him up because-- “I’m not supposed to tell you this because it’s a huge surprise but Dave left this morning to go pick up Jack. He’ll--” she can’t even get it out. He peaks out, just the top of his head so he can narrow his eyes at her. To see if she’s just fucking with him, using his feelings against him but he sees only sincerity. She grins, she knows she’s won. “So up and at ‘em old-timer! You’ve got a gaggle of people to entertain!”

Old-timer? He’s four years older than she is. That’s not what he comments on. “Gaggle?” he repeats back to her, grunting as his knees protest his standing. “Really showing your age there,” he mumbles and steps out of the way of the pillow she throws at his head. “What?” he defends. “You said it, not me.” He shakes his head, heading back to his room and leaving her to entertain herself. Which she will and he can hear her rustling around the coffee machine. Nearly surprised that she doesn’t complain he still hasn’t set up the Keurig she got him for Christmas (which they are rapidly approaching him having owned now for a year).

Though he isn’t sure how to express it anymore, he’s excited to have them here. Even if he knows that it will get overwhelming, he can’t deny that the night will end far too soon and he’ll find himself missing them all over again. But that’s not what’s important. In an hour (less than that knowing Penelope and her strict party-throwing agendas) he’ll have them all right here. Reid with his never-ending knowledge, quizzing him on the book recommendations that Hotch has been slowly working his way through. With Derek and Savannah and Hank, the latter of which can’t pronounce Hotch and it makes his heart do a funny little thing when the toddler sees him and screams in pure delight “Hops!”

JJ will pour in with Henry and it’ll be like old times watching Henry and Jack slunk off together (and they all pretend like they don’t know they’re smoking pot in the backyard). Emily and Dave force him to mediate the same four fights that they always have and then they’ll stick around long after the others have gone home to talk about whatever comes to their minds.

And Penelope.

His house is about to be flooded with baked goods and meals in containers because despite being alive as long as he has, she denies the notion he can feed himself. She’ll organize them in specific ways and each will be labeled in her neat handwriting so he can tell what’s in each. Most of them will be vegetarian because she’s worried about his cholesterol (and the environment) and a few will be spicy and chicken will make its way into a few of the dishes. He’ll thank her and kiss her cheek and she’ll remind him like she always does, that all he has to do is ask. He won’t but he does appreciate how much she cares. As smothering as it can be.

He showers quickly, giddy in a strange way to get out and be properly ready when the others arrive. Not too quickly, the last thing he needs is to bust his ass while Emily is here. She is far too comfortable with herself and with him and he knows that she will come in here if she hears him. The other thing about that woman is that she might have a distaste for constantly being touched but she can put that aside to annoy him. Which has created this weird mind-game thing he knows he’s losing when he doesn’t even notice her encroaching on his personal space.

Everything is a battle with her.

He decides to save himself the trouble of being bullied and searches through his dresser for a pair of jeans. He owns maybe two pairs of jeans both purchased forever ago and just to help him fit in with the parents at Jack’s school during field trips and soccer games. He stuck out like a sore thumb when he was a kid and he knows he still does but he won’t be the reason Jack gets weird looks. Emily had raised an eyebrow at that (why he had even divulged this to her is beyond him) so evidently it didn’t really do the trick but Dave assures him he looks fine and Garcia thinks he looks like a DILF so… he’s fairly certain that’s good. He’s not really sure what that means but he’s learned it’s better not to ask her to clarify.

Emily is fixing the couch when he comes out, the apartment filled with the scent of the coffee she’s brewed while he was showering. “You’re going to burn the house down with this thing,” she tells him. She holds up his heated blanket as it offends her. “You need to go to the doctor, there has to be something they can do.”

What surprises him isn’t her apparent anger-- with Emily, it’s a diversion. Her anger is rarely that, it’s to distract, and right now he knows he’s to perceive her anger and not the way she fears for him. The way that she can’t say “I love you” like the others but can, instead, be outraged that his body has been working against him for so many years. She’s not angry at him for needing to be tucked up in that blanket all the time, she’s afraid of a vascular issue that might kill him or that he’ll leave untreated until they’re all being reunited at the closest general hospital. Waiting for a doctor to tell them that he waited too long or that his heart can’t handle another surgery or a million other things.

He takes the blanket from her, clumsily folding it over and tucking the cords into the folds. “I have gone to the doctor,” he assures her. Not for that specifically but he did bring it up. He leaves it at that for now and she understands that means maybe later. It’s not worth getting into and he doesn’t feel like thinking about George Foyet and his knife today.

“Hey,” Emily hums, smirking at him. “Your ass looks really nice in those jeans.”

He stops dead in his tracks, frowning as he looks back at her but just as he’s about to inquire what, no doubt, awful thing she’s done to make her feel the need to compliment him to compensate for it, the apartment door opens. They both turn to the noise and Garcia steps in and freezes when she notices the two of them standing there.

Looking at the bags full of things she has in her arms and then to Emily and then to Hotch she sheepishly smiles. “Happy Birthday?”

With a sigh, having accepted this defeat a while ago, Hotch steps to help her with bags. He tries to hide his amusement but he cuts Emily a glance, three bags in his left hand and more still coming, and he can’t help it. Garcia turns back just as the smile eats its way up his face and he shakes his head. For a split second, he can see her apprehension, the way that her fear of going overboard or embarrassing herself washes over her before she carefully masks it (and to think he gets all the shit about masking). “Thank you,” he whispers so sincerely that he has to avert his eyes. Adding softly, “you know, you’re the only person who ever cares to make me celebrate it?”

Which just makes her sad. “Sir,” she whispers frowning. “You deserve the world, do you know that?”

He blushes, shaking his head, but he can’t get the words out in his shock.

“Oh,” she tsks. She stands on her toes and pulls him down so she can wrap her arms around him. “I love you.”

Emily makes a sound of disgust behind them and he’s glad for the distraction before all this undue attention gives him a heart attack. “Bleh,” Emily rolls her eyes. But she brightens when she sees the red Tupperware container holding the cookies. “Are those the--”

Garcia sees Emily zero in on them and hands them right to Hotch, holding them to his chest. “Are not for you,” she says to Emily with a nod of her head.

So Emily just looks to Hotch and he passes them to her with a shrug and weakly defends, “they’ll go stale if she doesn’t eat half of them.” They’re his birthday cookies but she’ll get her hands on them anyway. If not today then the next time she lets herself in. If not her then Reid when he gets bored and wanders over here for entertainment. If not Reid then Dave then Derek… you get the point. He’ll never finish them on his own.

Garcia lets it go because she knows that’s how he is and because she has a crapload of other things to make sure he eats. He leaves her to mess with his fridge, it’s better to let her do her thing. She’ll move his almond milk to the side door because that’s its proper place (even though he’ll move it right back) and come in about five to ten minutes to fuss with him about a specific something she notices he’s lacking. Today it will be the complete lack of breakfast foods in this house when she knows for a fact that his doctors are giving him hell about eating more than once a day.

He’ll have no excuse, never does, but she won’t give him a chance to provide it either way.

Reid arrives next and actually knocks and waits for someone to let him in, something none of the others will do. He sheepishly offers Hotch the books he’s artfully wrapped in a newspaper and Hotch ignores it for a moment to hug him. If they don’t do it now Reid will just wait in anxious anticipation for it because he knows it’s what people do and he likes being hugged by Hotch but he doesn’t know how to initiate it himself.

“The Sultan of Brunei spent $27.2 million on his 50th birthday,” Reid tells him as soon as Hotch lets him go. “Michael Jackson was there,” he says with a nod. And Hotch smiles and listens to him anxiously work his way around the point that he’s trying to make. Which is that by the standards of the Sultan of Brunei, this party will be exceptionally small and quiet… the way Hotch would want it to be.

They are still standing at the door, talking about what the act of giving a card means. The way that the stories get warped and it thrills Reid to slide the pieces of that puzzle together through-out various cultural ideals until you have them. And that America has a very strange, above-average affinity for birthday cards.

Derek nearly hits Reid with the door when he comes in. Too distracted with a squirming Hank on his hip and Savannah behind him fussing with him for not knocking. He brightens the second he places his eyes on the two of them, a face that Hank matches perfectly upon seeing his favorite people.

“Weed!” the toddler greets throwing himself into his godfather’s arms. Reid takes him happily, laughing at how tightly Hank holds onto him. He just loves that Hank never gets tired of him. He could still see Hank every day for a month and Hank would still greet him with the same enthusiasm as the first day.

Derek is kicking his shoes off, offering Savannah his hand so she can do the same when he notices Hank still excitedly talking to Reid. That’s by all means not abnormal but-- “Hey,” Derek mumbles Hank. He nods his head to Hotch who is standing watching Reid and Hank with a bright, wide smile. “Don’t you have something for Hops?”

Reid puts Hank down before the toddler can start to squirm and Hank immediately glues himself to Hotch’s leg. No one knows why it’s just what Hank likes to do but not just, in general, he only does it to Hotch. He stands for a few seconds, both arms wrapped around one of Hotch’s legs, face pressed into the material of his jeans, and Hotch stands still to allow him to do it. Hops is a nickname he has no control over, the same way that Reid doesn’t fight that he’s been “Weed” now since Jack was two and stumbling over his name.

Hotch got off easy. When Henry was younger he just sort of kept his distance from Hotch. Hank… just really loves him.

“Is that a hot wheel?” Hotch asks softly when Hank finally peels himself away enough to offer the bright toy clutched in his hands. Hank beams up at him and stretches to hold it higher, trying to get Hotch to take it. “Oh wow,” Hotch gasps, shaking his head and pretending to just be so impressed by this toy so severely dwarfed in his hand. “Do you know what colors these are?”

Derek holds his hand out for Savannah to take and guides her through the house. Moving them to the kitchen to talk with Garcia and Emily knowing that he won’t be getting his son back this afternoon. Both because Hank won’t want to leave Hotch or Reid’s side and because Hotch and Reid won’t want him to leave. The Hotwheels was entirely Hank, they spent twenty minutes finding the perfect one when all Derek needed from the store was stain. Though they all agreed to no presents because Hotch would already hate them invading his home with cake, they all got him presents.

The others all got him books because that’s what they know he likes and he really does love to receive books. They’re fun entertainment and they all say something about how not only they perceive him but also the sorts of things that they like and he… well, he loves that.

Derek built him a new bookshelf. It’s sitting in the back of the truck and he’s waiting on Will to get here to drag the thing in here. Derek had noticed two weekends ago that one of the shelves Hotch uses in the hall was bowing under the weight of the books on it so he’d made something to replace it. Thin but heavy-duty-- he’d considered all the ins and outs of the current shelf. Things he didn’t like about it until he has a higher shelf that doesn’t stick out so obscenely.

Which doesn’t matter, really, Hotch will love it either way.

Hank keeps “Hops” distracted while the others pull dinner together. Emily is set to ice the cake but she’s awful and she’s sent to sit in the living room with the other three. Hotch is sitting in the recliner, Hank sitting on his knees and telling him about what he did in preschool this week while Reid pokes through the bookshelf Hotch keeps by the door.

JJ knocks as she comes in but still lets herself in. Henry is bummed to see Jack isn’t here yet but he’s quickly distracted and swept right back out the door to help his father and Derek move the bookshelf into the house. They don’t really need Henry’s help but it’s an effective way to ensure Hotch doesn’t try to help. Not because he can’t but because… he’s old and they don’t want to break him.

They’re just buying time, anyway, until Jack and Dave get here.

With them comes the party…

Hotch only puts Hank down to hug Jack, biting down his tears when he realizes that his son now stands just as tall as he is. Probably bound to be taller. He’s grown out his blonde hair in college and just as Hotch is opening his mouth to ask about school, how seeking out that Master’s Degree is treating him, he spots--

“A puppy!” Hank shouts.

Jack smiles timidly, stepping back to show his father the dog still held back by Dave’s hold on her collar. “Her name is Scout!” Jack kneels down, beaming up at his father while the thrilled puppy licks his face. “Do you get it?”

Oh, he gets it alright. Emily had snitched him out two weeks ago (to his own son, of all people) and admitted she was a little worried. He still doesn’t think there was ground for her fears. It’s not abnormal for him to shut himself out and if his therapist doesn’t think he’s any crazier than normal then that should mean he’s fine. At least, that’s how Hotch feels about it. That’s ignoring the way that everyone else feels. Which is that he’s visibly more on the edge and jumpy. That he gets irritated in public spaces and his anxiety is getting worse despite starting therapy and medicine he swears is helping.

Jack had done his best to get through to his father but sometimes Hotch makes those conversations like talking to a brick wall. That conversation had ended rather badly, honestly. Jack had yelled, shouting mindlessly that he’s twenty-five and he’s too young to have to be taking care of Hotch like this. Too young to have to fear that each day he’ll receive that phone call and the crazy thing is that Jack wouldn’t even be surprised-- everything about Hotch’s life is damning proof to the fact that he acts impulsively, reckless, and without care to his own well-being.

Jack had called later and he’d apologized, they both had. It had been careless on Jack’s behalf, Jessica had explained to him at sixteen some delicate things about his father. He’d come to understand just what it means for everyone around Hotch to love him. The way that his mother had tried to stifle that urge in his father and Jessica and Dave and Emily and Derek and everyone who has ever loved a man like Aaron Hotchner has tried to walk him back off that ledge. But it’s as if he was born there and you can move him but you can’t take that fundamental calling away. Can’t wash his darkness away.

Jack had spent his entire childhood likening the characters around him to his father, just pulling at strings to understand the man. Sometimes he’d earn himself a smile and other times a grunt. He’d bring his father the books or replay scenes in movies all to just see his reactions to know if the man he sees his father as is the same one Hotch sees himself as.

Freshman year of high school they’d read To Kill A Mockingbird and he’d thought his father to be a man like Atticus Finch. In many ways, he is but he keeps coming back to that book. Until during that heavily apologetic phone call, Jack had laughed and realized his father might be a bit like Atticus Finch but he’s a Boo Radley. The recluse that always represents unwavering good.

Hence Scout.

What had driven Boo Radley from his home? Little Scout Finch.

He lets them into the house, not really sure what to say. “You know,” Hotch mumbles, shaking his head. He watches the puppy eagerly work her way around the others. Snaking between legs and nearly knocking Hank over in her excitement but the boy is around enough dogs to only laugh harder. “You could have just got me a… gym membership of something.”

Derek huffs at that and now, he’s sitting in his living room watching his closest friends snickering at his son’s clever book reference. With a sigh, he leans down and offers his hand to the puppy, frowning when her first instinct is to lick him. “Hi, Scout.”

Jack squats down, petting Scout while she continues basking in Hotch’s attention. “You don’t go to the gym, dad.” Jack rubs behind her ears, smiling when Scout doesn’t divert her attention from Hotch. She’s zeroed in on him and he’s fairly content with that. “Besides I got Scout from that program that they run in Richmond.” There’s this dog training thing they do down there that his friend actually works at. Scout failed her training-- as it turns out she’s a bit of a reject. They’d tried to start her out as a service dog but she’d been too smart for that too. Too eager.

Hotch raises an eyebrow at that, not liking the sound of what he thinks is happening. Those dogs are expensive and it’s already enough that she’s a German Shephard. “What do you mean?”

Jack glances at Dave, “well…”

Dave steps up and soothes it out. “I made some calls and Jack’s friend helped us out. Scout is a reject from two academies, a failed service dog and from the police dog academy in Richmond. So she’s too smart for them to just send anywhere.”

Great, Hotch thinks.

“It’s perfect,” Emily snickers. “Hotch loves to take care of things and now he’s essentially got a toddler again.”

“She is potty trained,” Jack offers quickly.

But Emily is right and the idea is brilliant. Hotch does like to take care of things and having Scout will prompt him to start taking walks in the morning again. It might help him implement a strict eating routine, place him in the kitchen to feed her. He won’t go do things for himself but he will take her to the dog park and sit there until she’s tired. Throw balls for her to retrieve and (what had been the killing stone) is that she’s far too smart for her own good. She’s got other training. Senses anxiety and depression and is very protective.

Hotch frowns down at Scout, she’s placed her head on his knee watching him as he takes this in. Hank is leaned up against her side, fingers trailing through her short fur, and she’s entirely unbothered by it. She’s only worried about Hotch and Hotch is worried about her. He’s never had a pet before. Jack had a goldfish he fed occasionally but… there’s no way that counts.

“Thank you,” he says softly, rubbing at his fingers anxiously and frowning when Scout smacks his hand with her nose. He sighs and puts his hand on her head, scratching like he thinks she wants. Too distracted to note what she’s effortlessly just done. Put off by her clinginess, he’s not even thinking about the curling hot ball of nerves in his stomach. His mind does wander but she nudges him again and he sighs and keeps patting her head.

Dinner goes well and Scout and Hank are glued to his sides. Hank to his left feeding him chips and Scout green beans which Hotch sees and chooses to ignore. Her immediate allegiance to him is a little strange, she’s not too bothered with Garcia or Derek no matter how hard he tries to win her over (feeding her green beans just like his son). Scout does like Hank, Henry, Jack, and Reid. She takes to them like it’s nothing. She’ll go from ignoring Derek’s attempts to get her to sit to trot right over to Reid and lay over his feet.

Hotch does enjoy that, it’s funny.

They funnel out slowly after eight. Hank has already fallen asleep in Hotch’s arms and Savannah has to wipe his tears up and shush him back to hazy contentment with the promise he’ll see Hops soon. Derek will probably be over in a day or two to make sure that the shelf is holding up well and to transfer the books and he’ll bring Hank along to distract Hotch to do it.

JJ and Will trickle out not too long after. Henry and Jack conspire together to get Dave to take them for ice cream and he caves-- Jack promises to text him before he falls asleep to tell him where he landed for the night.

Garcia takes Reid home, won’t let him take the subway back at this hour and Hotch doesn’t even have to ask they just know to text him when they get home safe. He promises to eat the food Garcia left and she already has the date in which he should run out marked on her calendar. She’ll give him a week to bring back the Tupperware before coming over here herself and seeing what he has and hasn’t eaten.

Emily sticks around until ten. The two of them picking up meager things and she promises to come by early tomorrow and the two of them will go to PetSmart to figure out what kind of food Scout should be eating.

And before he knows it…

“I guess it’s just me and you then.” Scout tilts her head at him. “You want to… go to bed?”

He’s not really sure how the dog thing works. TV has shown him plenty of times they’re not supposed to sleep in your bed so he makes her a blanket bed of her own and marks down a dog bed on his list of things to get tomorrow at the pet store. He tells her goodnight and then blushes at how silly that sounds.

He’s in bed, changed into pajamas, and yawning into his book but he’s committed to reading a chapter every night. He hears her get up but he still jumps when his bedroom door is opened. She doesn’t wait for a command and doesn't listen to his “no” before jumping up into the bed alongside him. He’s trying to grumble, to get up but she lays right across his hips. Turning her head to look up at him and he gives up. “Only tonight,” he says.

Tonight turns into the way she sits between his legs, when they’re listening to the guy at PetSmart help them pick out food. To the way she looks up at him when he tries to estimate how big she’ll be to get her a properly sized bed. Which ultimately turns into him giving up and Emily hiding her smirk at just how whipped he already is.

Tonight turns into every night and if his nightmares stop coming as frequently because she’s laying atop him he doesn’t say anything. If he starts going out more and the team starts picking out pet friendly places to meet him for lunch or to have a coffee break then he also doesn't say anything but Scout is right there.

So… what exactly does it take to draw Aaron Hotchner away from the ghosts? A puppy.

[imjustwritingg]

partners pt. 2

Hi everyone! I hadn’t planned on writing a second part to this until Jess requested it, so big shoutout to @ilithiyarys because without her this might not exist. Enjoy and let me know what you think lovelies!

Read part one here. 

Part two also on AO3 and FFNet.

It was supposed to be a simple take down. An easy operation. Breach. Apprehend. Everyone goes home. Except it wasn’t easy and all hell broke loose.

The team was doing a raid on a crew selling big guns out of an abandoned warehouse near Englewood. They had geared up, dressed to the nines in their vests and thigh holsters, with their guns at the ready. Hailey and Jay entered through the front while Kevin, Kim, and Adam took the back.

Jay had entered first with Hailey behind him, a steady hand on his shoulder, as he led them inside the warehouse and they cleared room after room.

When a rustling of some kind came from ahead of them, Jay stopped in his tracks and held a closed fist up at Hailey. She stopped behind him immediately and they stood still for a single moment before Jay turned and nodded to the right. Hailey went right as instructed and Jay held the left as they made quick and quiet steps towards an entryway, pausing just outside of it. Jay leaned forwards, poking his head in just enough to survey their path. He gave his partner the all-clear with a thumbs up and the pair of them pushed forward to the next room. They came to a set of closed double doors with dusty plastic windows in the centers of them. Unable to get a clear sight through the windows, Jay reached for the two-way clipped to his shoulder.

“Ruz, report,” he whispered into the radio.

Adam came back seconds later in the same hushed tone. “Back stairwell, south side of the building. We got the eye on the room. Count eight offenders, all armed. Guns are here too.”

“You see a set of double doors in that room with windows in ‘em? They look like hospital doors.”

“Affirmative. Far end of it and they’re closed. You behind?”

“We are. You ready?”

“On your order, brother,” Adam said.

Jay looked back at Hailey, who nodded at his unspoken question, and then reached for his radio again.

“Move in,” he commanded.  

The team breached the room from their ends and began taking immediate fire from the offenders. They took out three of them with ease, going for cover behind concrete pillars and wooden pallets and barrels - anything they could use to help shield themselves from the bullets flying through the room.

Jay and Hailey had separated, each fanning out to return fire – Hailey kneeling down behind a pillar while Jay crouched down by a pile of pallets several yards away.

“5021 Henry...10-1, 10-1! Shots fired at police! Requesting immediate backup...we’re taking heavy fire...” Hailey spoke into her radio.

Jay looked over at his partner as she made the distress call to patrol and the two locked eyes. She nodded once, signaling she was okay.

“Ruz!” Jay called out then.

“We’re good, we’re good!” he heard Adam shout back a second later and then Jay reached for his radio again to make sure the entire team heard his next orders.

“Burgess take center, Ruz and Atwater get her flank...Upton on me...in three, two, one...”

The team popped up from their places of cover together and unleashed heavy fire of their own. They were able to take down three more of the offenders, leaving the remaining two shielded behind a wall of pallets. The team moved in closer, ready to end this with the odds in their favor of six to two. As they neared the center of the room, a loud succession of pops rang out one after the other. The team ducked in an instant at the familiar sounds of an assault rifle firing, its bullets tearing through the wooden pallets like paper and ricocheting throughout the main room.

When there was a single moment of silence Jay spoke into his radio again to give one more command.

“Go!”

The five of them moved forward in a line of side by side formation, the distinct sound of a magazine reload happening within feet from them. Adam and Kevin took one end of the pallets, Jay and Kim took the other, boxing in their offenders, and Hailey stood back at the ready in case someone made a run for it.

There was another succession of pops that rang out as each pair stormed either end, and finally took down the remaining offenders. When Jay saw his three teammates were okay and that the perps were indeed down and disarmed, he took a step back and holstered his gun.

“5021 Ida...offenders down, requesting multiple ambos and the crime lab...”

“Hailey, you good?” Jay called out through the pallets as Adam spoke over his radio.

“Hailey?” Jay called out again thinking she must not have heard him with the radio chatter.

He turned and walked around the wall of pallets in search of his partner. Once he spotted Hailey, his heart nearly gave out when he saw her on the floor trying to reach for her radio that had somehow detached from her vest. And then he saw the blood.

“Hailey!” He shouted as he ran over and dropped down beside her.

Jay looked her over with rushed hands trying to find a wound, praying it was superficial and her vest had caught the brunt of it. He watched as she gasped for breath and tried lifting her arm, but she could barely move. He reached for the straps of her vest, removing them as carefully as he could without causing her any further discomfort, and he saw the hole in her chest just above the left side of her collarbone. He immediately applied heavy pressure with one hand and reached for his radio with the other.

“5021 George...10-1, 10-1! Officer down...I need an ambulance now!”

Jay heard the calls of his partner’s name from the rest of the team and in a flash Kevin was crouched down on the other side of her on the floor.

“Kev, I can’t move my hand. Take off her vest, check for any other entry,” Jay ordered.

Kevin quickly did as he was told, pulling at the velcro of Hailey’s vest until he could remove it completely. He noticed the slight tear and burn residue on her shirt and lifted it up over her stomach to see dark purple bruising already taking form just below her breasts. He scanned the rest of her torso and then looked up at Jay.

“Looks like it’s just the one. Vest caught the other. Dark bruising on her chest, probably hurt a few ribs,” Kevin said.

Hailey opened her mouth to try and speak, but could only gasp for breath as she struggled to breathe. Jay shook his head as he leaned down closer to her. “Don’t talk, Hails. Just breathe for me. Deep breaths. Ambo is coming. You’re gonna be fine. Ya hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”

Hailey’s gasps came out harder, her breathing becoming shallower. She lifted her good arm to try and reach for Jay, her eyes closing and opening as she began to fade in and out of consciousness.

“No! You gotta stay awake Hailey! Come on, stay with me. Please, stay with me,” Jay pleaded with her as he felt tears stinging in his eyes. Hailey blinked her eyes for a moment until they closed again, and her arm dropped down to her side.

“Girl, come on! Not like this,” Kevin whispered as Jay pressed harder against her bullet wound to try and cease the bleeding.

Blaring sirens echoed through the broken windows of the warehouse moments later, and then Brett and Mackey, Voight, and patrol officers were surrounding them. Brett made quick work of patching up Hailey’s wound as best she could to try and contain the bleeding while Mackey secured an oxygen mask over the detective’s face. The pair of them, along with Jay and Kevin, got her on a stretcher and they wheeled her out to an ambulance.

Jay didn’t wait for the rest of the team or his Sergeant as he climbed into the back of the cab with his partner. He reached for her good arm and held her hand in his as they were sped off to Med. When they arrived at the hospital, Jay was held back as the paramedics and nurses rushed Hailey through the doors of the emergency department.

He’d been sitting in the same uncomfortable plastic chair for nearly an hour when the rest of Intelligence entered the waiting room. He stood to meet them, catching his Sergeant’s eyes and shook his head.

“Nothing yet,” Jay croaked out.

“This isn’t on you, Jay,” Hank told him.

“How is it not on me? I led that bust. I was calling the shots.“

Hank shook his head. “You did everything right, Jay. It was an accident.”

“She’s my partner. She should have been next to me instead of hanging back. I should have – “

“You didn’t know how it was gonna go down. None of you could have known that. And from what Kevin told me at the scene, you jumped right into action, kept it together for her until the ambo showed up. You did good, Jay,” Hank assured him.

Jay shook his head in disbelief as he sat back down in the chair he had previously occupied and Hank took a seat beside him. He felt the tears he’d been holding back finally fall from his eyes, not caring who saw.

“I can’t lose her Hank,” Jay whispered.

“I know and you won’t. She’s gonna pull through,” Hank told him as he placed a hand on Jay’s shoulder.

Jay looked up and met his Sergeant’s eyes again as he tried to control his heavy breathing as more tears filled his eyes. “I can’t lose her. I – “

Hank squeezed his shoulder as he looked at his detective. “Jay, I know.”

“Jay?”

They both looked up to see Will standing in front of them and rose from their chairs in an instant.

“How is she?” Jay immediately asked as the rest of the Intelligence team and multiple patrol officers stood behind him waiting. He watched as his brother took a deep breath and then locked eyes with him.

“She’s really lucky. The bullet just missed an artery. She’s still in surgery, but Dr. Marcel was able to remove it. She did lose a lot of blood, but she’s hanging on. She’s a fighter, that’s for sure. They’re trying to repair as much of the damage to her shoulder as they can while she’s still under. They don’t wanna have to put her body through another surgery. She has two broken ribs, several others severely bruised, and she’s got some swelling on the back of her head...most likely a concussion from the fall.”

Jay stumbled on his feet as he heard his brother explain Hailey’s injuries and all, but dropped back down into his chair. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head to his hands, feeling another batch of tears in his eyes.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Hank asked the older Halstead.

Will took another deep breath and gave a nod. “She should pull through just fine, but we’ll know more once she’s out of surgery and get a scan of her head. I’m not sure how much longer that’ll be. It’s a waiting game now.”

He cast a worried glance down to his brother before looking back to Hank. “I’ll keep you all updated as much as I can.”

Hank gave him a nod and then Will disappeared through the doors of the emergency department. He caught the familiar eyes of Maggie, one of the head nurses, through the doors. He nodded at her and waved her over.

“I heard what happened. Anything you need?” Maggie asked as she stood in front of Hank.

“Can you get Jay cleaned up please?” Hank asked her in a hushed tone nodding down at the detective. She followed his eyes and saw the blood staining Jay’s hands, jeans and jacket.

“Of course. Jay, come with me,” she said carefully as she set a hand on the man’s shoulder.

The contact snapped Jay out of his daze and he looked up with red rimmed eyes. “Maggie?”

“Come with me. I’ll get you some fresh clothes,” she said again with a gentle voice.

Jay nodded and stood from his chair. Maggie placed a hand on his arm and led him into the E.D. while Hank turned to look back at Adam, Kim, and Kevin.

“Did any of those bastards make it?” Hank asked them.

Kim and Kevin shook their heads, and Adam locked eyes with their Sergeant. “Died on scene.”

“Good,” Hank said with a short nod and ending the conversation.

Another forty-five minutes went by before Maggie brought Jay back out into the waiting room. He had been able to shower in the staff bathroom and was given a matching pair of hospital sweats and sweatshirt. He seemed to be more lucid as he glanced around the room. Most of the patrol officers that had once filled it were now gone, most likely having been called back for duty. He saw Kevin sitting in a chair with his head down and his eyes closed; the man really could sleep anywhere. But what Jay hadn’t expected to see was Vanessa Rojas sitting next to the sleeping officer. She was scrolling on her phone and only looked up when Jay took a seat in the empty chair beside her.

“Hi,” Vanessa said, offering a kind smile as best she could given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. It all happened so fast and I – “

Vanessa quickly shook her head at him and dropped a hand to his arm. “Hey, no. It’s okay. I’m sure you’ve been going through it. Kev called me. The others had to head back to the district, but Voight didn’t want you to be alone so we offered to stay.”

Jay only nodded in reply as he leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He felt Vanessa’s eyes on him giving him a once over.

“You good?” Vanessa asked a moment later.

Jay glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow, but she just gestured down at the outfit he had on that clearly wasn’t his. He nodded again and looked forward, his eyes staring out in front of him instead of meeting Vanessa’s eyes.

“Yeah, I uh, I had her blood on me. Had to toss my jeans and jacket,” he said.

She gave a short nod as she kept her eyes on him. “Kev filled me in on what your brother said. Sounds like she’s gonna be okay.”

“I just need to see her. Hear her voice. I need to see for myself that she’s okay. I don’t know what I’d do if –  “

“She’s gonna be just fine, Jay. Your brother said as much. Hailey’s one of the toughest people I know, and after everything she’s been through, there’s no way this is what would’ve taken her out. There’s no way she’s leaving you when she only just got you.”

Jay turned his head to meet her eyes then. He saw the knowing smile on her face and gave her a questioning look, but Vanessa just rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh, please. I knew way before either of you were ready to admit your feelings for one another. I wasn’t all that surprised when she finally told me you guys were seeing each other,” Vanessa told him, coaxing the tiniest of smiles from him as he looked down at the floor.

“Ya know, it wasn’t that long ago I was sitting in this same waiting room next to Hailey when it was you back there,” Vanessa said then, pointing to the sliding doors leading into the emergency department.

Jay nodded his head as he recalled the incident with Angela Nelson. How it was Hailey’s face he saw first after he’d woken up besides the doctors and nurses. He remembered the look of relief on her face, the pure happiness in her smile as she stood next to his bed. And then he remembered the day she came to take him home, how there had been something she wanted to tell him. He’d had a feeling of what that something was and he was ready for it then, but he screwed up by almost answering his damn undercover phone and Hailey had closed up on him. He shook his head again at the memory and met Vanessa’s eyes once more.

“I was an idiot then. We’ve wasted so much time. I wasted so much time,” Jay said to the young woman.

“All that matters now is that she’s gonna be okay. You still have time, Jay,” Vanessa told him.

Before Jay could respond, the doors slid open and Will stepped into the waiting room, meeting his brother’s eyes. Vanessa swatted at Kevin’s arm, waking the man from his nap, and the three stood to meet Will as he approached them and gave a soft smile.

“Hailey’s out of surgery and off the anesthesia, but she’s still pretty out of it. They’re gonna take her for a quick CT scan to check her head, and then they’ll get her into a recovery room.”

Jay breathed a deep sigh of pure relief and smiled his first real smile of the day as he stepped forward and clapped his brother on his shoulder.

“Thanks man,” Jay told him.

Will nodded, smiling widely at his brother. “I’ll come get you once she’s settled.”

“Thank you,” Jay told him again and then he was gone as soon as he’d arrived.

Jay blew out another deep breath. She was out of surgery. She was okay.

“You good, bro?” Kevin asked.

“I am now,” Jay replied.

“Well, we all know whose face she’s gonna wanna see when she wakes up so we’ll head out, but keep us posted. Tell her we love her,” Vanessa said glancing between the two men.

Kevin nodded in agreement and clapped a hand over Jay’s back. “Yeah man. If y’all need anything just let us know. I’ll fill the rest of the team in.”

“Thanks guys,” Jay told them.

He bumped fists with Kevin and Vanessa gave him a quick side hug, and then they left him on his own. He sat back down in his chair, finding it easier to breathe as he replayed his brothers and Vanessa’s words over in his head.

She was okay. They still had time.

It was another hour before Will finally collected his brother from the waiting room and led him to the recovery floor.

“We filled her in on what happened after she came to, but the pain meds knocked her out again. She’s a bit pale, but she’s okay,” Will assured him as they stood outside the door to Hailey’s room.

Jay nodded once in understanding before Will opened the door, gesturing a hand at him to enter.

“I don’t foresee you leaving this room anytime soon so text me if you need anything,” Will said from the doorway.

“Thanks man,” Jay told him. Will smiled at him one last time before he closed the door and left his brother and Hailey alone.

Jay turned and took in the sight of her lying in her bed. She was pale like Will said she’d be and her bed was raised just enough so that she was propped up slightly. He could see pieces of bandages peeking out from the neck opening of her gown from the surgery. As he walked over to the side of her bed, he noticed the slight bulge over her chest and stomach through the fabric, and he remembered what Will had said about her injured ribs. More bandages.

He caught sight of a chair in the corner of the room and brought it over to the side of her bed. He sat down next to her on her good side, unable to resist reaching for her hand, and breathed out another sigh of relief at the warmth he felt.

He stared at her face as she slept and found himself shaking his head at the irony of the situation as he remembered the conversation they’d had not too long ago. Back when he and Adam had done an undercover buy with a couple of meth dealers and they were cornered by an unexpected offender with a gun.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t you in my position...”

Jay had said those words to her as Hailey drove them back to the district. After he had held her as she cried for him, thinking the worst had happened to him yet again.

Here they were three months later and she was right where he’d been one too many times before. Laid up in a hospital bed and recovering from a bullet.

He understood then how she must have felt when it had been him in this situation. How frustrated she must have been with him all those times he was reckless and put himself in harm’s way. He made a silent promise to himself and to her in that moment that he’d do better, that he’d be better for her. The last few hours had been his own personal hell and as much as he never wanted to feel this way again, he especially didn’t want Hailey to have to feel it again either.

He kept a hold on her hand, brushing his index finger over the inside of her wrist and felt her pulse beating against her skin. He was sure he’d never felt something so wonderful as he did right then, seeing her alive and feeling it too.

He smiled again as he kept his eyes on his partner, his grin quickly growing wider at the realization that they weren’t just partners. Hailey had become his best friend. His favorite person. She had come into their unit and changed everything for him. Encouraged him to go to therapy, forced him to face his demons, to be better like he tried to be before she came along. He wouldn’t be the man he was now if it weren’t for her.

He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss to her palm before he put it back down at her side. He didn’t let go even as he dozed off.

When he blinked his eyes open sometime later, the first thing Jay saw was a pair of blue ones staring back at him and he smiled instantly at the sight.

“Hey you,” he whispered. He straightened himself up in his chair and leaned forward, squeezing her hand that he still had a hold on.

Hailey gave him a crooked smile, the morphine still making her somewhat drowsy as it continued to drip into her IV bag, and she squeezed back weakly.

“How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” Jay asked her.

“Yeah, get me out of here,” Hailey croaked out.

Jay smiled at her again, glad to see his partner still being her usual sassy self even with the circumstances that surrounded her.

“Yeah, that’s not happening anytime soon. Not until Dr. Marcel clears you,” he told her. She groaned back in response as she shifted slightly in her bed.

“Seriously though, do you need anything?” Jay asked her again.

“Nuh-uh. ‘M good,” Hailey mumbled as she set her eyes back on him and took in his appearance for the first time since she’d woken up.

“You okay? The team? Did we get ‘em?” Hailey asked him.

“You’re laid up in a hospital bed and worried about everyone else. Why am I not surprised?” Jay smirked at her.

“Tell me.”

“The team is good; everyone is back at the district. And yeah, we got ‘em,” Jay told her.

“And you?” Hailey asked.

Jay took a deep breath as he looked back at her. He could see the worrisome look in her eyes and knew he wouldn’t be able to lie to her. She could always read him so easily even before they’d started seeing one another. He reached out his free hand and held her hand with both of his, clutching on to her as tight as he could without hurting her.

“I’m fine now that you’re awake. Gotta tell you though, it didn’t feel too good seeing the girl I love bleeding out the floor,” Jay told her, his voice raspy as he felt another run of tears fill his eyes.

Jay smiled at her as he saw her mouth part open at his confession and then he noticed how her eyes glossed over from sudden tears. He released her hand before standing from his chair and leaned over the side of her bed to press a kiss against her forehead. He felt her take hold of his hand and looked down at her with another soft smile on his face.

“You love me?” Hailey asked him. Her tone was small and questioning as if she’d thought she might have heard him wrong, but Jay just nodded back at her.

“I love you so much, Hails. You have no idea how much,” he told her.

“Come here,” she whispered, tugging on his hand and trying to pull him towards her. He just shook his head playfully at her before leaning back down and kissing her briefly on the lips.

“I can’t kiss you how I really wanna kiss you, but that’ll do for now,” Jay told her as he pulled away. He sat back down, scooting his chair as close to her as possible, and rested his arms on the side of her bed.

“Stupid oxygen tubes. I don’t even need them,” Hailey mumbled making him laugh.

“I disagree and they’re gonna stay exactly where they are,” he told her as he stared at her with a stern look in his eyes.

“Fine,” Hailey groaned again as she pulled her hand out of his and started tracing mindless patterns on the top of it instead.

“So they told you what happened?” Jay asked her as he watched her.

“Yeah, gonna be out of commission for a while. PT and a lot of desk duty for the next month or two. From what they told me, it seems we’re gonna have matching shoulder scars, partner.”

“Now who’s the bullet magnet?” Jay teased in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“If I didn’t have such a headache right now I would roll my eyes at you,” Hailey told him causing him to smirk back at her. Her fingers stilled over his hand and her eyes started to droop. She blinked them open trying to fight the sleep her body was obviously craving and needing.

“Why don’t you rest some more, huh? The quicker you do that, the quicker you get out of here,” he suggested as he took hold of her hand again.

“You staying?” Hailey whispered as her eyes started closing again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

“Jay?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you too,” she mumbled to him before her eyes closed once more and she gave in to the pain meds.

He couldn’t fight the grin that splayed out over his face as he heard her say the words to him. He squeezed her hand again even though she was fast asleep and leaned back in his chair, content enough now knowing she was alright.

As he sat there holding her hand and watching her sleep, the grin on Jay’s face grew wider as he replayed their conversation in his head. He was so in love with her and she loved him back just the same. He didn’t know what would come next for them, but he was sure that whatever it was they would be just fine. She was okay and they still had time and they would deal with things together because they were partners.

[malsmanor]

The Earthquake [Phantom Manor one-shot]

Little one-shot about what is easily my favorite (yes, I am veeery morbid :3) part of Phantom Manor’s story. The immediate aftermath of the Earthquake that struck Thunder Mesa in 1860, featuring my own take on the characters. Enjoy, be aware that this is a translation from my native language and beware of the following trigger warnings:

- Death (I mean, why else be in this fandom to begin with :V) - blood - moderately descriptive gore - natural disaster.

Enjoy :P

Mélanie knew her worst fears had come true the very instant she was greeted at the door by Anna's chalk white face. The maid's gloved hand tugged at her young mistress’ dress in a feeble attempt at stopping her but Mélanie stormed into the corridor, leaving the trembling servant at the entrance.

Jake followed, his eyes darting around in the shadowy hall now cluttered with smashed pottery, broken portrait frames on the floor and toppled over furniture. The earthquake had been so devastating it was as if the entire house was now leaning on its side like a dying animal. The walls were skewed, the floorboards bent and wind busted through the shattered window panes, filling the once sumptuous manor with the smell of rain and thunder. Black clouds swirled above the red rocky spires of Thunder Mountain and Thunder Mesa was shrouded in a silence so absolute it almost felt supernatural.

Following the bright yellow hem of Mélanie’s dress as she ran through the gutted rooms of the place she called her home, Jake felt a sudden ache in his chest. He had never felt at ease in the manor, to him that richly decorated abode was as hostile and unwelcoming as its occupants, with its poisonous green wallpaper and the velvet-lined armchairs that seemed to have eyes and mouths stitched right where your back was supposed to rest… and yet, in seeing it turned upside down like a dollhouse after a particularly intense playtime session made his heart heavy. He couldn’t even imagine what thoughts crossed Mélanie’s mind in that moment. It wasn’t only the house that was damaged beyond repair, and they both knew it.

They reached the balcony above the ballroom and Mélanie clasped her hands on the railing, struggling not to break down crying. 

The ceiling had collapsed, or at least a good chunk of it had.

The chandelier laid smashed on the dinner table that had practically snapped in two under its weight and piles of rubble and wooden beams cluttered the staircase and dance floor. 

Covered in dust and splinters from head to toe, Jasper was digging in the dirt like a madman, too frantic to pay heed to his injured and bloodied hands as he called his masters’ names over and over.

As Mélanie and Jake got to the lower floor, the butler was trying to push aside a massive wooden panel and once the young man rushed in to help, it finally budged. Jake had never seen Mr.Jones so discomposed and overwrought. His usual condescending grin and impeccably tied neck scarf had been replaced by a look of pure anguish. 

The Ravenswoods may have been a shady and unapproachable bunch, but the butler’s face was not that of an employee whose only concern is to find another pair of equally rich patrons to work for now that God’s judgement had smitten his previous cruel masters, but that of a devastated friend of the family.

Mélanie watched the two men work in silence, too overwhelmed to move or even cry.

Her parents were dead.

She didn’t have to see their bodies to know this, and yet she clung till the very last to the unlikely possibility that they may have somehow survived.

As if to rob her of that sliver of hope, Thunder roared in the distance as bright blue lightning cracked the sky framed by the two tall windows. The curse was real, and it had struck. Rapid and merciless as only the raw force of nature could have done. Henry and Martha Ravenswood were no more, crushed by the weight of their greed, the very walls and wooden sculptures of the manor they cherished so dearly even though it was built on the sufferance and tears of others, on a foundation of lies and murder.

Yes, Mélanie did know of her father’s actions at that point. The shocking revelation was  actually still fresh in her mind and so was the horrifying realization of having been the cause of so much senseless bloodshed… but she loved her parents dearly and unconditionally, as many children do.

Only then, at the revolting acknowledgment of her own hypocrisy, a warm stream of tears began to roll down her rosy cheeks as Jake and Jasper removed the last layer of wood and plaster, uncovering the bodies of the Ravenswood spouses.

As if staged with the specific intent of making Mélanie forget why she wanted to escape their controlling grasp and ran as far away as she could from that cursed house, man and wife laid next to each other, Henry’s caped shoulders shielding Martha from the debris as if he wanted to kept what was precious to him safe and close until his very last breath. And alas, the age-old question had to be asked: was that an excessive display of love or of pure greed?

At that sight, Mélanie fell to her knees, now sobbing uncontrollably and before Jake or Jasper could offer her any comfort, the young woman felt Anna Jones’ arms wrapping around her and immediately threw herself on the chambermaid’s lap just like a scared child would.

Anna caressed her hair, reassuring the last of the Ravenswoods that everything was going to be alright as she raised her gaze to met the equally distraught eyes of her brother. Jasper gave her a knowingly nod and removed his dirty overcoat, used its lustrous purple fabric to wipe off the blood from his hands covered in cuts and bruises and threw it into the unlit fireplace. He then accosted the windows and pulled down the embroidered curtains with a snap, folding them on his arms.

“Care to lend a hand, young man?” he asked, his voice still hoarse after all the digging. Jasper was naturally gaunt and unpleasant-looking even on a regular day, with his discolored blond hair and sunken pitch black eyes but in that moment he looked particularly pitiable so, Jake nodded even though a shiver had just ran down his spine.

He knew what the butler intended to do with those drapes: makeshift shrouds for the masters of the house, until proper burial service could be arranged. 

“Even though you’re probably the last person in the whole world the Master would want in his home right now, I can’t afford to be picky.” added the manservant with a sly grin, regaining some of his usual spitefulness. 

Jake didn’t reply, rolling up his sleeves as Jasper handed him one of the curtains. He’d do it for Mélanie and nobody else. She was worth the hassle of handling the cold dead body of someone who wanted to see him out of the picture. A girl like her was worth that and so much more, perhaps even worth dying for.

Butler and train engineer knelt down next to the two entangled bodies in the rubble and both felt horribly out of place for a split second, as if they were about to interrupt what seemed like a sweet, even intimate, moment. 

Mrs. Ravenswood looked like she was peacefully asleep, with no dust on her red hair and face nor any visible injuries. She was still surprisingly attractive for a woman her age and Mélanie had undoubtedly inherited her looks even though her curly auburn hair originated from Mr.Ravenswood’s side of the family.

Unlike his wife’s, Henry’s body had not been left unscathed by the collapse of the roof. His right elbow was caked in blood as the jagged bone protruded out of a tear in the sleeve and his back was stained with red, probably dripping down from the violent blow to the back of his head that had killed him instantly.

As Jasper and Jake turned the corpse over to separate it from Martha’s, they were greeted by the chilling and unwelcome sight of Henry’s still wide open bloodshot eyes. Jake couldn’t help but quiver, as he tried to call upon logic and attribute what he thought he was seeing to a trick of the light or the disquieting metamorphosis that any face goes through when death comes, as the tendons spasm and the muscles distend…

And yet he couldn’t shake off the thought that Henry Ravenswood was grinning.

[lustresky]

lal ; chapitre deux ; peu m'importe, si tu m'aimes

l’hymne à l’amour masterlist & lily’s lil’ stories

chapitre un ; et la terre peut bien s'écrouler

Buzzing.

Cold.

Chills.

As you open your eyes, you take a deep yet shaky breath.

Goosebumps litter your skin, a numbing type of ache holding your limbs in place.

You hear the squeak of a chair from the side.

Is it the man from before?

You shift your eyes to the right.

No, it isn’t…

The man now beside you is younger, wrinkles barely present on his face; and instead of wearing a doctor’s coat, he wore a three piece suit. His hair is golden, coiffed perfectly. 

“Good day, Miss Collins.” 

You narrow your eyes at the name.

“Collins?” You croak, wincing as the shrill sound escapes your throat.

He furrows his brows, and stares straight into your eyes.

“Your name…” He whispers. 

“For this role…” He continues.

At the mention of the word role, a switch flips on in your head.

REGISTERING [NEW ROLE]… 

He takes a pause.

You stare back at him, expectant.

”Is Elizabeth Collins.”

Your eyes gloss over.

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: N/A

OCCUPATION: N/A

MISSION: N/A

He takes another pause.

“Now,” He claps his hands together. “What is your name?”

“My name is Elizabeth Collins.” You answer back immediately, zero hesitation in your voice.

He nods.

“Your date of birth…” 

REGISTERING [DATE OF BIRTH]...

”Is June 21, 1954.”

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: N/A

MISSION: N/A

You give him a nod.

“Your occupation— for now, at least…”

REGISTERING [OCCUPATION]... 

“Is as a journalist at The New York Post.”

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: Journalist at The New York Post

MISSION: N/A

“Noted.” You say.

He hums in content, and opens his lips once more.

His voice drops to a whisper.

“Your mission…”

REGISTERING [MISSION]... 

“Is to become Senator Harry Baxter's personal assistant,” He starts.

“Find every little thing— every little secret, about him…”

“Seduce him…”

“Plan and go on a rendez-vous in his villa. Just you two, all alone.”

“Inform us of the date and time.”

“Then, once all’s said and done, follow the man with the metal arm.”

You nod.

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: Journalist at The New York Post

MISSION: 

Personal assistant.

Seduce.

Secrets.

Rendez-vous.

Inform date and time.

Man with the metal arm.

“Will that be all?” You ask.

A smile creeps up on his face. “Yes.”

A pause.

He opens up his mouth for the last time.

“Go break a leg.”

Baxtor lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.

“Well, Miss Collins,” He says, satisfaction clear on his face, and plops your documents down on his desk. “You’re certainly… well suited for this job.”

Personal assistant.

You let your rose painted lips curl into an enthralling smile.

“I believe that that isn’t the only thing that I’m well suited for, senator.”

His eyes widen.

A haze clouds over them.

You tilt your head to the side, fluttering your eyelashes and pursing your lips in an almost pout.

Seduce.

“Would you like me to show you, sir?”

He gulps.

His gaze flickers from your own eyes down to your bust.

“I’d certainly like that, Miss Collins.”

Baxtor enters the room.

You continue shuffling his documents.

“Elizabeth? What are you doing here in my office?”

You look up at him.

“I’m your personal assistant, sir. That means I have to sort through your files.” You say nonchalantly, a smile on your face.

Secrets.

He hums, and walks to your side, his arm coming up to rest on your waist.

You ignore the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach as you continue to act coy.

He leans in close.

“I’m sure that you’re more than that now.” He whispers in your ear.

You force out a giggle. 

“Am I, now?”

He nods.

“Well, if you’re so sure,” You say, turning around to face him properly. 

You let your eyes drop from his gaze and onto his lips. 

“Why don’t you invite me over tonight for a little…”

You take a pause, playfully cocking your head to the side as if you didn’t know the word.

“How did the French call it, again?”

Rendez-vous.

He chuckles. 

“A rendez-vous?”

You nod.

He leans in closer. 

“So?” You raise an eyebrow.

He laughs, his nose brushing against yours. 

“Does 8 PM this evening sound good to you?”

You bite your bottom lip and smile up at him.

“8 tonight sounds perfect.”

He gives you one last smirk before pulling away.

“I’ll be waiting, then.”

You watch him leave, a smile plastered on your face for appearances.

As soon as the door clicks closed, it falls.

You whip out your mobile phone.

Inform date and time.

“Today— March 12, 1979. At 2000.”

You hear a satisfied hum from the other side.

“Noted.”

Before you could have even knocked, the huge mahogany door opens wide.

“There she is.” Baxtor smiles.

You laugh. “Here I am.” 

He pulls you in for a hug. You inhale a whiff of his cologne as he does so.

Royal Copenhagen, huh?

Once you both separate, you give him a smile. “Shall we get started, then?”

He shakes his head and chuckles.

“I think that we should have dinner first,” He drops his eyes onto your body; clad in a skin-tight, beige, wool dress, ending on your mid-thigh. 

You pretend not to notice how they linger and stay on your exposed legs. 

“Wouldn’t want the food to go cold now, do we?” 

You giggle. “Well if you say so, sir.”

His eyes go back up to yours immediately. “As much as I love hearing you call me that, sweetheart, I’d much prefer Henry for now.”

“Hmm… Henry it is for now, then,” You let your lips form into a perfectly practiced smirk. “But I’m sure I’d slip out and say sir— oh, I don’t know… sometime later tonight?”

His eyes gloss over.

He leans in, making your noses brush against one another— but before he can do anything, you lift a finger up and press it on his lips, effectively stopping him in his place. You open your mouth, and say;

“Wouldn’t want the food to go cold now, do we?” 

You laugh as surprise overtakes his face.

After a beat, he shakes his head, a playful smile now resting on his lips. “Let’s hurry, then.” 

He lets you in; taking your hand and guiding you through the massive and luxurious villa and towards the back.

When you spot the candlelit dinner beside the pool, you hum appreciatively.

“Ever the gentleman, are you?”

He drops your hand, and instead places his own onto your waist.

“Anything for you.”

You giggle, and shift your eyes to the pool.

An idea forms in your mind.

“You know what?” You say, hands already going for the bottom of your dress; the action making his hand fall to his side.

You look back at him with a smirk. “I think dinner can wait for now.”

Hands grasping at the hem of your dress, you take it off in one full motion and toss it to the side.

In less than a second your body is submerged in the pool with a splash.

You rise up, raking your hands through your wet hair.

Baxtor looks down on you from the side of the pool, complete amazement written clearly on his face.

“Well?” You say, a playful smile on your lips. “Aren’t you getting in, Henry?”

At the sound of his name falling sweetly off your tongue, his whole body stands up straighter; and before long he too has stripped to his undergarments.

With a splash, he jumps in, before breaking the surface right next to you and pulling you in close to his chest.

“May I?” He asks, ever so gently.

You giggle. “You may.”

Your lips connect.

After a few minutes of hand roaming and tongue exploring, you break the kiss for a gasp of air.

He doesn’t stop— now going for your neck; peppering kisses all along your collarbone.

Suddenly, his stomach rumbles.

The chuckle comes past your lips immediately. “Looks like dinner’s gotten tired of waiting.”

His laugh vibrates against your throat. “‘t seems so.”

You put your hands on his shoulders and pull away.

“Let me make myself proper, then.”

He stares straight into your eyes.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

You push your body towards the tiled stairs, leaving him all alone in the pool.

Knowing that he’d like the show, you purposefully sway your hips a bit more as you start climbing up.

You reach the end.

A shot clangs against the air.

You barely flinch.

You look back; seeing Baxtor’s now lifeless body floating in the calm body of water— his blood slowly tainting its clear colour.

You scrunch your nose up in pity.

Poor pool boy.

You bend down, grabbing your dress and putting it back on.

A glint of metal catches your eye.

“Подписывайтесь на меня.”

Follow me. 

You translate the words automatically in your head— but you’re not quite sure how.

Last time you had checked, you barely spoke a lick of Russian.

You brush the thought off.

You look up.

A man, with scruffy black hair and a black mask, stares back into your eyes. His case is dangling by his shoulder whilst he stands straight— like a soldier.

You shift your eyes to his left arm, which is mainly covered due to his black leather jacket; but the shine of metal from his hand confirmed your suspicions. 

Man with the metal arm.

You look back at him.

He narrows his eyes, as if he recognizes you.

The next words that came out of his mouth makes your entire body freeze.

“Evelyn Richards?”

Your heart leaps in your throat.

What?

Before you can dwell too much on the name, however, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Sir?” 

Your eyes widen and shift towards it.

I thought we were alone?

Before you know it, your feet are dragging your body away from the crime scene and outside into the parking lot; a mental map clear in your head thanks to the floor plans of the villa Baxtor had sent to you before he had bought it.

You get inside your car and press on the pedal— not wasting a single second.

It’s when you’ve driven a good amount of kilometers away from the mansion that you realize something.

Something important.

You were supposed to follow the man with a metal arm.

Fuck.

You slam your fist on the hood of your car.

If he hadn’t said anything, you would have; but him saying that name threw you off guard. Whoever lived with Baxtor didn’t help your surprise either.

Evelyn Richards…

Evelyn…

Richards…

You rack your brain.

Who the fuck is Evelyn Richards?

Your mobile phone then rings— effectively cutting off your thought process.

Anxiety and fear courses through your veins.

You pick it up.

“Where are you?”

You look up to your left, and see a sign.

Doing your best to not let your voice quiver, you say, “Between Emery Way and Myers PL.”

A beat.

“We’ll be there in a minute.”

A minute later, exactly just like they said, a black van pulls up to the back of your car.

You get out and walk towards the vehicle; head hung low and heartbeat high.

The van door opens as soon as you step foot in front of it.

“How did you not know that he had a personal butler?” A man, whom you’ve never seen before, spits the question at your face, anger laced through every word.

You open your mouth to defend yourself. “He never listed it in any of his records.”

“Oh, of course,” He huffs and scrunches his nose up at you. “And he definitely writes down the fact that he wants to change jobs and become the Undersecretary of the World Security Council instead, doesn’t he?”

You scoff up at him. “Those things are completely different from one another.”

“Sure they are.” He sneers. “Whatever, get in— boss is gonna have your neck once we get back.”

You keep your jaw shut tight and did as what you were told.

Whispers.

“How did she not know?”

“She said that it wasn’t written on any of his records, boss. Probably hired illegally.”

A scoff, then a pause.

“And where is he, now?”

“We’re still not sure, but we’re doing our best to find him.”

“Well do better.”

A shuffle of the feet.

“We will, boss.”

Another scoff.

“You better, I don’t pay you people for nothing.”

Another voice then pipes up.

“Sir? Should we wipe her now, or should we wait for him too?”

A beat.

“Wipe her now— the sooner she forgets, the sooner we can use her again.”

You feel a needle prod your thigh.

“Noted, sir.”

It plunges.

You thrash, but nothing changes.

“Might as well freeze her now, too.”

A hum.

“All right sir.”

You feel your body being shifted into another spot.

The cold welcomes you once again.

chapitre trois ; coming soon! as always, requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

[ill-skillsgard]

The Offer - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Warning: 18+ brief mentions of sex/public teasing/cheating/etc.

Soooo here’s another Henry x mistress imagine that nobody asked for. And just so you all know, I will continue to use your prompts in these imagines as they fit the timeline I’m going for. So if you’ve sent an ask about this dirty cheating bastard, I haven’t ignored it! I just have this world unfolding in my brain and I have to make the pieces fit accordingly. Thanks for reading and, y’know... Not jumping down my throat about the content. Enjoy! PS, I wanna know who sent the original Henry and his mistress prompt. You have single-handedly ruined my life and I love you for it. 

Enjoy!

The drive to the next city over started out great. Henry had picked you up at your apartment building exactly when he said he would and smiled brightly as you came out trying to hide your own eager grin. His eyes followed you, entranced for a moment until he snapped out of his short-lived daze, whipped his seatbelt off and got out of the car so he could open the passenger side door for you. You went red in the cheeks when you realized what his intentions were and stood next to the running car. Trying to get a good look at him before he approached only made you seem like you were checking him out, and you were, and he bubbled inside knowing that your stare was on him.

"Henry, you don't have to open the door every time. I promise you won't lose any gentleman points if you just let me do it myself," you lightly chided.

"Non-sense. I'm picking you up for a date. I pick you up, open your door, walk beside you, pay for dinner and then hopefully by the end of the night, I'll get a kiss."

"You'll get a lot more with that attitude," you joked.

"I don't see the mystique in allowing you to do everything. Open your own door, get in while I'm still sitting, split dinner and whatnot... No. That's not how a man takes a woman out on a date."

"If you insist, Mr. Deaver."

You loved the way Henry fumbled with his bottom lip and tried not to act like you referring to him so formally turned him on. He probably heard that all day long from his employees and peers but never in a context such as the subtle ribbon of seduction you wove around the title. You gave it a lustrous ring, a potent flick in the groin that made him want to hate you for tainting such an everyday greeting. 

The drive drew out before you realized that Henry was taking you into the next town over. He didn't have to tell you why because you already understood his motivations. It was too risky for him to be seen with you in the city where so many people he might know had the chance to happen upon you. This he did not speak, but you were in silent agreement. The guilt you had been successfully suppressing so far was starting to leak out of the seams, threatening to bust out and flood your head with more than just a pang of liability. There was a monster of shame growing in you and you could feel it squirming already in its early stages. You could only imagine the size of Henry's own iniquitous beast; it must have sprouted legs by now.

Henry ordered whiskey and implored you to go nuts and order whatever you wanted regardless of the cost. The wine was brought to the table and you dove into your first glass with no hesitation. After he had had a thorough look around the restaurant, he settled into his seat, relaxed his shoulders, stretched his legs out under the table and reached one hand between the water cups and the centrepiece of shell white calla lilies until you threaded your fingers through his. The pads of your fingers rested on his knuckles and you smiled as he began stroking the web between your index and thumb.

His ring was off and you could only wonder whether he had been keeping it off or if he was trying to spare you the reminder again. You didn't want the answer as much as the question flapped around in your head like a bird caught in a flag. This was supposed to be a nice night— your first one together since Paris.

"What are your plans after dinner?" You asked.

Henry smirked, a weak scoff leaving him in the process. "You're already thinking about the end of our date, huh?"

"No, not like that. I just want to know what you're thinking."

Henry leaned in closer, tightening his grip on your hand and whispered, "Well, I was hoping to take a pretty lady back to my place."

"Your place?" Your whisper was rash with disbelief.

"Yes. The condo. It's officially all mine."

"I get to see where you live?"

Henry bobbed his head back and forth, weighing his words. "I'd hardly say that I live there. Most nights I'm in a hotel living out of a suitcase. But, yes. I'd like to take you there... If you would allow it."

You scrunched up your face jokingly. "I'll allow it."

"Great," his eyes sparkled as he raised your hand up to kiss your knuckles.

He only let go of your hand when your food arrived and he had properly thanked the server. You both ate and chatted about average topics, skirting around the fact that ninety percent of your exchanges as of late had been heavily laced with explicit details of how bad you both wanted to fuck each other. Was he ignoring that, or was he too much of a gentleman to bring it up in public?

Taking matters into your own hands, you slipped off your right shoe and lifted your leg up until you found his thigh with the ball of your stocking foot. Henry straightened in his seat, nearly choking on a piece of pasta. He grabbed his linen napkin to wipe at an invisible splotch of food at the corner of his mouth while you ran down the inseam of his pants and didn't stop until thigh met groin. 

"Insatiable woman," he whispered.

"Sexy man," you countered.

Henry looked down to see your painted toes encased in nylon, pressing at his groin until he ran the risk of becoming too aroused. He clamped one large hand around your foot, halting you from rubbing at him.

"Hey, now... I have to ask you something. Let's uh... Save the tickle time for home... Or the car," his tone went dreamy.

You gave him your best evil smirk and withdrew your foot only because the premise of him having a question to ask you temporarily stole your attention.

"What is it, Mr. Deaver?"

He shivered slightly, trying to shake off the butterflies hosting a grand waltz in his stomach. "I've been thinking about you lately."

"I certainly hope so," you giggled.

"Not like that. Well... Yes, like that but also in a more professional way."

You were intrigued. Unsure of what he meant, you sipped your wine and listened intently for him to continue. "I know you don't particularly enjoy your job and I can't stand the thought of how people treat you... So I was racking my brain trying to think of some solution. There's school, apprenticeships, night classes... And then I thought of something else."

Henry paused for you to answer but you were caught up in the anxiety of what he might say next. "I'm all ears!" You urged him on.

"My assistant is going on maternity leave soon..."

"Oh... My god."

"Don't jump yet... Just listen. She's going on maternity leave for a few months and I need to find someone to replace her. She's had no time to train a stand-in, so I've been charged with hiring somebody that I think would fit the slot."

"Henry..."

"Let me finish," he raised his hand to quiet you down. "Look... I know it's a dumb, stupid, idiotic idea but I can't think of anyone better to fill the position than you."

"I don't know the first thing about being an assistant," you claimed.

"You know your way around a computer, yes?"

"Of course."

"And you can work a cell phone, I've gathered. You can write, you know... And read. All qualifying traits," Henry chuckled. "It's really just a glorified secretary job. Only... You get to travel with me and... Book my hotels, flights, dinners, lunches... set up my appointments, take my calls when I'm busy."

"Henry, that is absolutely ludicrous."

"I know," his eyes brimmed, and for a moment he looked like a vibrant young man that had just fallen in love. "It's really stupid! But... God, I just want you around me and I don't want to think of you making half of the minimum wage at a job where people don't even thank you."

"But an assistant? That's really playing with fire."

"Look... You don't have to say yes or no just yet. Have some time to think about it. She's not leaving for another couple of weeks. And if you still hate the idea then I'll find you something else."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you... I don't want you working in the café anymore. You're too good for that."

"What about—?"

"I'm taking care of everything."

"Maybe you should take care of your own business before you try taking care of mine," you looked down at his ringless hand.

"What do you think I'm in the process of doing?"

"I don't know," you admitted.

"As far as I'm concerned... We're separated. My business is my own. I can have dinner with whomever I want... Hire whomever I want. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Does she know that you're going around telling everyone that you're separated or is that just what you're saying to me?"

Henry withdrew into his seat, grimacing at you for the gentle accusation. It was to be expected. Your incredulity was not unwarranted and he knew that. With a sigh, he lifted his tumbler and sipped his whiskey slow.

"Nobody knows yet. It's not really something you can just casually bring up in the office."

"That's why we're in another city having dinner at a place that's nearly impossible to get a reservation for, isn't it? You haven't told anybody."

"Do I need to?"

"I guess not if you're still worried," you grumbled.

"Hey... Come on. This is all still very fresh. It's not like I'm going to parade through the streets telling people that my marriage failed and I've already fallen for somebody else."

The last part of his statement made your heart clench tightly in your chest. He had fallen for you. And now he wanted you by his side to oversee his day to day proceedings. It was a roundabout way of him saying something that he wasn't sure if he could say yet. Suddenly your skepticism faded and you chose to look at the endearing side of his offer.

"I hate you," you said with a wry smirk.

"If you hate me so much then why don't you put your foot back in my lap and try to get me hard again?"

"Yes, sir."

[thedeevirus]

JEALOUS EDWARD NYGMA

yallsothirstyfored said:Annoying things they do to get each other’s attention when they are busy or interested by something else and they crave for attention.

Enjoy!

Also added to Nygmobblepot Ficlets on AO3

***

‘Evening’.

Henry smiled widely. First rule of The Foxglove; Always be happy to see the customer. Or at least their wallet. In this case, Henry didn’t have to pretend. The man on the bed was dressed in a green suit with dark, chocolate brown eyes and one lean, long leg draped over the other. Far more attractive than the obese sixty five year old widow he had been ‘entertaining’ the night before.

‘Evening handsome’, Henry replied, walking towards his client, ‘What can I do for-‘

The door slammed behind him, making Henry jump. He swallowed hard as a large, waxen skinned figure loomed over him. Even as he began to sweat, he wondered how the pasty brute had hidden behind the door!

‘I-uh- I don’t usually see more than one cl-client’, Henry stammered.

The massive hulk advanced on him, causing Henry to fall backwards into an armchair. He pressed himself back as the monster (it didn’t feel right to refer to it as a ‘man’) glowered down at him with bloodshot eyes. A musky odour rose from its tattered black suit.He noticed the other man get up from the bed.

‘We’re just here to ask some questions’, the man said breezily, ‘But I suggest you answer quickly. “Else Grundy here will get cranky’.

Grundy moved around the armchair and placed both slab like hands on Henry’s shoulders. Henry cleared his throat.

‘Talk about what?’

‘Penguin’.

‘Penguins? Like the birds?’

The man in green leant in and even though he was smiling, Henry suddenly wasn’t sure Grundy was the one he should be most worried about.

‘Here’s a riddle for you. In the next five seconds there will be a dead man in this room if he keeps asking stupid questions. What is his name?’

‘H-Henry?’

‘The Henry that has Oswald Cobblepot aka ‘The Penguin’ as a regular client?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You don’t sound very sure’, the man smirked as he stepped back, ‘Jog his memory big guy’.

Ed grinned in relish as Grundy began to exert pressure on Henry’s shoulders. Having his own ‘hired goon’ was a rush he could get used to!

Grundy shook Henry gently. Ed had already warned Grundy not to get carried away until they had the information they wanted.‘Ah! I’m sure! I’m sure!’ Henry cried desperately, teeth clacking as he was lifted bodily out of the chair and slammed back down again and again.

‘You not Henry?’ Grundy demanded.

‘I’m Henry too! I’m Henry and I’m sure!’

Grundy looked at Ed. Ed nodded and Grundy stopped abruptly. As Henry shook his head dizzily, Grundy slowly released his grip. Henry flopped back into the chair. His eyes widened as Grundy placed both hands on the head of the armchair instead, at either side of Henry’s skull.

‘What do you wanna know?!’ Henry gasped.

‘When did Oswald first hire you?’

‘A few years ago’, Henry said, wincing as he hesitantly rubbed his shoulders, ‘When he was mayor’.

This surprised Ed. He had been in total control of Oswald’s schedule back then. Every moment had been accounted for and he had rarely left Oswald’s side. It was what had made him an exceptional Chief of Staff.The thought that Oswald had subverted his fool proof system by sneaking off behind his back irked Ed. Had he not trusted him to tell him where he was going?Ed shook his head annoyed. Why the Hell did it matter? It was ancient history. But ancient history was, by nature, full of mysteries and Ed couldn’t stand to leave this one unsolved.

‘Why?’

‘He said he wanted to tell someone how he felt about them and wanted to practice’.

Ed fidgeted with his gloves. Oswald had started coming to The Foxglove because of him?

‘You didn’t think that was strange?’ he asked.

Henry shrugged.

‘No. We get weird requests all the time here. He also wanted to practice kissing’.

Ed gave a bark of laughter. Bet Oswald thought that had been money well spent.

‘And what do you do for him now?’ Ed asked, feeling a bit better that Oswald had been the death of his own carefully planned machinations, ‘Please don’t include any intimate details. I’m not sure Grundy’s charming childlike innocence could handle the imagery’.

Henry chuckled politely at Ed’s joke. Grundy gave a low growl and he stopped.

‘Nothing really’, Henry said.

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘It’s true!’ Henry said hastily, ‘I don’t need to leave out any details ‘cause we don’t do anything ‘intimate’’.

‘Then why does he come here?’ Ed demanded.

‘Sometimes he asks me to kiss him, hold him or massage his bad leg but we mostly just talk’.

‘About?’

‘Mostly about how he’s making the city better’.

‘I bet he talks about that a lot’, Ed said sourly.Oswald’s favourite subject had always been himself.

‘It’s actually really interesting!’ Henry said somewhat defensively, ‘Do you know crime’s dropped 85% since Oswald invented the licence thing?’

‘Of course I know!’Henry flinched at Ed’s harsh tone and Ed adjusted his glasses self-consciously.‘Continue’, Ed said, fingers drumming on a nearby table.

‘Honestly, it’s hard to keep track since we kinda talk about everything. Music, art, theatre, his mother…’

Henry trailed off, thinking.

‘He never mentions anyone else?’

‘He talks about an old friend called ‘Jim’ sometimes. Is that you?’

‘I’m the Riddler. I ask the questions here’.

Ed felt a flash of vindication as recognition materialised in Henry’s eyes. It felt good to see his reputation hadn’t been put on ice like he had been.

‘Sorry Mr Riddler’.

‘What does he say about Jim?’

‘That he wishes they were on the same side. I think Jim’s a cop though so that makes it kinda difficult for them to be friends’.

‘If you think Penguin knows what friendship means then you’re a moron’, Ed said darkly.

‘Maybe’, Henry said thoughtfully, ‘I know people call Oswald a monster but he’s always been a perfect gentleman with me. I think he’s a very lonely man’.

‘It sounds like you feel sorry for him’.

‘I just think it’s sad he needs to pay money just to have someone to talk to. He seemed a bit happier at our last appointment though so maybe he’s found someone?’

Ed felt his eye twitch involuntarily. Oswald? Find someone?!Henry’s familiarity was also bothering him. Since when did Oswald let rubes like this moron call him by his first name?!

‘So there’s nothing else between you and Oswald?’

‘Of course not. I’m a professional’.

Ed bit back a curse. The whole reason they had come to The Foxglove was to gather ammunition for Ed’s ultimate revenge against Oswald. One of Ed’s spies had told him the Penguin used the facilities weekly and had a ‘favourite’ host. Ed had overestimated Oswald’s attachment and cursed his impaired mental state. Yet another crime to lay at Oswald’s doorstep.

‘Well this is a bust’, Ed growled.

‘I’ll make sure you’re refunded for the session? if that’ll make things better?’

‘You actually think we’re paying for this?’

‘Guess not’.

‘You look glum for someone who’s still got all his limbs’, Ed said, heading for the door, ‘Say anything about this little visit to Oswald and Grundy might change his mind’.

‘Wait!’ Henry said suddenly.

‘What?!’ Ed snapped, hand on the doorknob.

‘If you’re really The Riddler, I have a message for you from Oswald’.

‘Wait, Oswald knew I was coming here?’ Ed asked.

Suddenly Ed saw an image of the new coat his usually shabby Narrows informant had been wearing when he had given him the information earlier that day. Bait at the end of Oswald’s hook. Ed gritted his teeth. He should have noticed that! The old him would have noticed that! The pleasant memory of the sudden recognition in Henry’s eyes also became bitter ashes. So, he only knew Ed’s name because Oswald had told him in anticipation of Ed following the trail. Not because Ed’s fame preceded him.

Ed numbly watched Henry pull on a green jacket and a derby hat along with some reading glasses, too furious at having fallen for Oswald’s bait to do anything else. Too nervous at what was coming next.

Henry spun on his heel dramatically and Ed’s eyes widened. It was like looking in a mirror and somehow more disquieting than the dread Ed usually felt looking at his actual reflection. With props identical to Ed’s own effects, the similarity was astonishing. Even Grundy could see the resemblance, judging from how his head was ponderously swivelling between he and Henry.

‘Riddle me this!’ Henry declared, striking a flamboyant pose as he read from a cue card, ’They say “If you love something let it go. But if it keeps coming back who does it belong to?”’

Ed was silent.The impression had been startlingly accurate.Oswald had obviously intended it as a cruel jab. A reflection of who Ed had once been. Who he should be. Forgotten glory that he would never experience again.Instead, inspiration had struck like lightning.Two could play at this game.But Ed preferred an audience.

‘I-uh don’t think you’re supposed to answer’, Henry said, turning the card over to show the blank opposite side, ‘There isn’t one on this’.

Ed shook his head, chuckling to himself.

‘No. I think I got the answer just fine. You wear this getup often?’

Henry’s eyes darted away and Ed’s eyes narrowed.

So, it seemed Henry hadn’t been entirely truthful about the ‘intimate’ details.Ed blinked hard to dispel and unwanted image of Oswald in a tuxedo, stroking a top hat suggestively.This had the strange side effect of conjuring another memory.Isabella.Was Oswald trying to replace his first love? Or was it just another subtle insult at Ed? Look Oswald can have a second chance too!If it was the former, it was ridiculous! What Ed and Isabella had had was special! It didn’t matter if Oswald had apparently known this Henry for longer! Ed and Isabella’s short courtship had been Oswald’s fault!But then, why did the thought of Oswald using Henry as a petty insult make him so angry instead of it being Oswald genuinely missing him?! Ed did not miss Oswald. He hated him! That was the whole reason they were here; to get ammunition!Ed’s thoughts were so frantic and mixed up that it took him a few minutes to notice Henry babbling placatingly.

‘L-like I said, whatever’s going on between you two, my relationship with Oswald is strictly business and um, if you like, I mean, you have booked me for the hour, we could have some fun of our own?’

Ed glared at Henry as Henry blithely continued digging his own grave.

‘We could make it even? So, you know, there’s no need for anyone to be…. jealous?’

Ed smiled poisonously.

‘There’s no need for you to be conscious’.

Grundy’s large fist descended, squashing Henry’s derby hat flat. He crumpled into an insensate heap on the floor.

Ed considered killing him but decided against it in the same instant. Killing him would surely signal to Oswald that his little pantomime had gotten under Ed’s skin. Ed grinned in relish as he pictured Oswald’s reaction to the little show he was forming in his own head. How delicious that Oswald had given him the idea! Even better was the thought that Oswald would figure that out.

Let Oswald have his dress up doll. Oswald hadn’t known Ed would come here. He had hoped. He was so obsessed with Ed it was pathetic!He’d never have the real thing. Not even if he came begging on his knees for forgiveness. Looking up at Ed with tears in his green eyes, grasping his jacket, pleading. The ‘King of Gotham’ on his knees. Had he ever been on his knees in front of Henry? Did he act out his fantasises in this very room?Longing and lusting for Ed. Desperate for his love. His attention.Ed felt his cheeks reddening and inhaled slowly.He noticed Grundy looking at him, brow furrowed in concern.

‘Ed okay?’

‘Best I’ve felt in days’, Ed said cheerily, pushing the worryingly erotic images to the back of his mind.

Grundy smiled, reassured that his friend was feeling better and jabbed a thick thumb behind him.

‘Window?’ Grundy suggested.

Ed stepped over Henry and glanced outside, surveying the alley below.

‘Good thinking buddy. Meet you outside’.

Ed headed for the door as Grundy prepared to relocate Henry’s unconscious body. He glanced back over his shoulder as he opened it.

‘Don’t try too hard to aim for the dumpster down there’, he said.

[billyboisfangirlarmy]

The Bowers Girl (2)

Previous part

Warnings: swearing/ sexual content

I walk in the door from the night before. I ended up staying with Beverly at her house. I’m pleased I can say I actually have a real friend… a girl one at least!

“(Y/n) where the hell have you been? I waited all fucking night!” Henry’s voice booms throughout the house. His boots making each step he takes unnecessary loud. I put my hands up in confusion. “You told me to stay somewhere else. You guys were camping.” Henry turns red faced. “Yea, we were camping. You were supposed to come with us! Who told you some bullshit like that?” I pointed straight at Patrick who is trying to hold his laughter in.

Henry turns back and glares at his friend. “Who’d you stay with?” I look back at Patrick watching his face move through emotions. “A friend.” I say trying to move past my brother and go up to my room. As I pass him he grabs my arm tightly. “What friend?” “Henry let go.” “Who the fuck did you sleep with you slut?” He yells at me pulling my arm harshly. “NO ONE!” I yell yanking my arm back and running up the stairs.

I throw my bag on the floor and slam myself on my bed in tears. Even when dads not here I still have to deal with Henry. As my tears flow from my eyes knocks on the door become present. “Go away Henry.” I yell stuffing my face back into my pillow.

My door opens and footsteps come to stop at the edge of my bed. “I told you to go away!” I sit up throwing one of my stuffed animals at him, but it doesn’t hit Henry… it hits Patrick.

He picks up the small bear and waves it around. “Aw, how cute.” I roll my eye huffing. “What do you want?” To my surprise he sits on my bed and passes the animal back to me. “He didn’t mean it. He’s still drunk.” “Still doesn’t mean he should do it. I have to deal with dad. I don’t need Henry barking up my tree too.” Patrick shrugs the bag he carries slung loosely on his shoulder. “Just needed an okay, not your life story.” I scoff. “Why’d you even come in here?” “Henry made me.” I cross my arms and lay down again. “Just leave.” Patrick chuckles moving his bag as he stands up. “My pleasure.” His lanky figure disappears past my doorway.

Why is he so mean to me? I’ve never done anything to him, but he acts like the worst person ever. I roll onto my side finding what might be my answer. A notebook. An old heavily drawn notebook with the initials PH on the front. Did he leave this on purpose? I could open it and 20 spiders could come crawling out. Maybe it fell out of his bag while he was sitting down. He would’ve taken it if he knew it was here.

I flip open to the first page with horrified eyes. Could he really be this dark? We all knew Patrick was messed up a bit, but I never imagined it to be to this extent!

I closed my door locking it as well. Then I snuggled up in my covers flipping and reading the pages with my eyes. The deeper I go the more my eyes open as doors and the images and words fill my brain poisoning it.

I woke up to yelling and screaming, and as my eyes open falling on the sight of my white curtain blowing in the wind I see my window open. I didn’t leave my window open. I never do! I reach under my bed and try to find the baseball bat I keep stored away, but alas I found nothing. A jingle of bells ring within my closet followed by a giggle. I stand up and inspect the sight for a few more seconds.

The giggling continues, along with the bells. “Pst. Come on (y/n). Come on and play.” my door pulls open a few inches revealing nothing. Until little feet tap upon the floor.

Tap

Tap

Tap

A 2 foot doll races out of the closet. Her features torn away with each step. Becoming decrepit and molded. The stain dress turns brown and eaten with holes. The giggling continues and the little doll jumps on me.

I scream begging myself to grapple the thing off me. It giggles more and nips its fingers into my skin. The mouth becoming razor sharp and digging into sections of my legs. I scream and cry out for what seems like hours until my door is busted open and my dad comes running in with Henry on his heels. My father rips my arms away from my face. “What the hell are you screaming about?” Henry runs to my other side placing his palm on my cheeks wiping my tears. “T-the doll. It changed and tore my skin. I-It hurt so bad I couldn’t take it. I just-” “What fucking doll. You’re not hurt you fucking liar.” My dad pushed my arms back against my body in one fluid motion. He stumbles out of the room slamming the door shut.

Henry looks at me with sad eyes only I see. “Are you okay?” I examine my body to see my skin in tacked, but the spots burning as if they were really there. I nod my head looking back at my brother. “You just had a bad dream (y/n).” He stands up helping me as well. “The fuck are you doing with your window open?” “I-I.. I must’ve forgot to close it last night.” Henry nods closing it and then walking out.

I waste no time getting dressed and getting out on my bike riding off into town to meet up with my friends. I ride past Patrick’s house allowing myself to let my eyes drift in that direction. He’s in the garage and… working out? Time slows as I pass him. Each curl of his arms the muscles flex and obtain my attention. Right until he meets my eyes. He’s as surprised as I am, but still plasters a smirk on his lips. I shake my head and focus my eyes forward once more.

I make my way to the ice cream shop catching my friends in sight. “Hey guys!” I say happily. “Hey there (Y/n)!” Stan cracks smiling. “What’s cooking good looking?” Richie asks wiggling his eyebrows at me. “Mhh lean in and I’ll tell you.” Richie leans in closer to me, and at the last second I smash his face in his ice cream. “HEY! THAT'S NOT FAIR!” “Aw come on Rich! Don’t hate the player! Hate the game!” I sass at him placing my hands on my hips.

After we all enjoy our ice cream we go riding around the town. As we’re riding through town Beverly stops us. “Come with me.” She says in a rushed tone. As we go to follow her a Blue car breaks right in front of me. Henry looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Get in.” I look back at my friends, but they all nod for me to jjust listen fearful of what couuld happen. I say nothing as I enter the car in the back seat with Victor and Patrick. Henry ordered me to stick by their side the whole day so I wouldn’t be poised by those losers (As he says).

I stay up in my room as the boys spend their time doing god knows what.. My eyes scan over the words scribbled in black inc in the overused notebook.

The way her hair flew in the wind making her appear as an angel. She’s not real. She’s put here in my presence to test me of my strengths. If I fail all I know will blast out in fire and the flames will melt away into the fantasy world. The fake one. Where I have no control of my world.

I killed the squirrel outside my window. Shot it with the paintball gun. It fell all the way to the ground and ceased to breathe once I got down to the ground.

Things like this line the pages line after line. Crud fantasies, and secrents Patrick holds come alive when I read this notebook. The deeper I go the more I learn about the stranger. The more he makes sense to me.

Page 38.

Nothing can compare to the touch of her. The resistance I feel breaks and I cannot strive to do anything but grasp her flesh and bring her close. The intoxication of her scent drives me wild. It did start as a test, now It’s more a mission. Yes, she is the key and the solution to my end, middle, and beginning. Each day I see her I try and make her see. Sending her messages that she’s too incompetent to receive, but I could teach her. Only if she let me touch her sweet smooth skin running along her bones. The blood that runs through her body heating up as I- “(Y/n).” I quickly look up from the notebook to see Henry in the doorway.

“Yeah?” He comes to my bed sitting on the side. “Come down stairs. We need something new. You’re good at creating things out of thin air.” “Um.. thank you?” I laugh at my brother and continue to following him down the steps to the old living room filled with the rest of the Bowers gang members.

“Hey (y/n)!” Belch stands with a red cup in his hands. My eyes move to the vodka sitting on the table. “Drinking? Again?” Henry plops in our old man's recliner sipping from a red cup as well. “No worse than shooting dads gun.” “No better either.” I mumble taking the only seat available which is between Victor and Patrick.

“Goodie two shoes.” Victor laughs as I sit. “I am not! I smoke all the time! How do you think I’m so calm all the time assholes?” Their eyes almost pop out of their heads. “You’re fucking lying!” Henry says leaning in surprised as well. “Henry, brother, do you really think I could live here if I didn’t? Why do you think my door is locked all the time?” Henry shrugs. “Guess I thought you were digging in your hole. Hell if I know! You should’ve shared!” I laugh standing once more and going to my room to retrieve a joint I had rolled not to long ago.

I place myself back on the couch placing the joint between my lips. “Aw shit, do you guys have a lighter?” Seconds later a flame is brought close to my face. I turn to see Patrick with the same look he always gives me. The same useless look, but I see something else hiding in there. Something he’s wanting to say. “Thanks Patrick.” He lights the white rolled paper allowing me to fill up my lunges with the sweet hemp. I exhale and out of the corner of my eye I see Patrick squirm. Not from uncomfortableness, but almost nervous. I turn to him passing him the joint, and he happily accepts making any effort not to touch my skin.

It goes around once, and then twice, and a third time. On the fourth round I speak up in curiosity. “Has anyone here ever done a shotgun?” They laugh as Victor grabs his crotch saying he’s too big to fit.

“No you idiot! It’s when one person forces the smoke into the mouth of another person.” They look around more confused. I sigh and turn to see Patrick looking at me. “Do you wanna try Pat?” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t do little smoke tricks-” “Pussy! If you don’t do it I will!” Victor chimes in from the other side of me. “Fuck it.” Patrick breaths out turing to face me more. “So what do you do? Blow it into my mouth or something?” I laugh taking a separate hit. “No. I’m going to turn the joint backwards so the lit part is in my mouth. Then you put your mouth on the other end and sucks while I blow smoke from my side.”

I place the joint in my mouth and look at Patrick. “Ready?” I try to mumble out. He nods and brings his lips to the J. Our lips are almost touching and my whole face gets hot when I see his eyes.

Patrick POV:

She’s teasing me. She knows it too. I stare at her facial expressions as I let the smoke consumes my lunges. Her eyes are pulling me in. She wants me and I know it. I want her too, but I know if I do she’ll crumble into dust. She’s not real. She’s only another puppet in my game. If she’s real they one day she’ll let me know in the most obvious way. She’ll know, understand, and believe me when I say I am the only real being. Then I won’t be alone.

She pulls away blowing the rest of the smoke out of her mouth onto my face in a sexual manor. Batting her eyelashes laughing as I blow my smoke out feeling the effects take over. She laughs uncontrollably falling over and leaning on me. I internally panic feeling her warmth on mine. I can just imagine feeling up her skin as she clashes with me.

I place my hand on her revealed arm and have to pause for a moment. It’s better than I’ve imagined. She doesn’t bother to move off of me as I began to stroke up and down her silky skin. She only sinks deeper into me drinking from a cup. “The fuck do you think you’re doing Hockstetter?” Henry stands up promptly seeing my hands on his sister. I shrug leaving my hand in its place. “Nothing?” “Get your hands off her.”

She giggles moving further up almost into my lap. “Bug off Henry. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” Henry walk over to us in a rage. “(Y/n) get the fuck off. You’re acting like a whore.” “No. I can do whatever I want. I can even do this.” (Y/n) picks up my hand and places my open palm around her breast. My mouth drops open as I feel the flesh covered by the thin tank top.

I squeeze unintentionally making her body slightly arch back into mine. I feel myself getting hard as she moves on top of my lap. Henry becomes raged and pushes her off of me and in her spot on the couch. I grab one of the blankets and place it over my bulge before anyone could see.

(Y/n) stands up, bends down, grabs the bottle of vodka, and turns it up. Once she’s had enough she puts it back in its place. She giggles staggering her way to the steps. “Goodnight boys.” the rest say their goodbyes while I sit and stare at her. She leans herself on the railing smirking. “Goodnight Patrick.” I gulp watching her. “Night.” I state simply. She frowns and walks up the rest of the way to her room.

“Fuck dude! She’s into you bad!” Belch rushes to say. I shake my head taking another swig of my drink again. “She can be into him all she wants. He touches her ever again and I’ll kill him.” Henry threatens me. I roll my eyes over the bullshit excuses. “You can try Bowers.” I try and push off the feeling of nerves away, but am unsuccessful. I only crave more of the touch I got. I only crave her.

(Y/N) POV:

I slam my door shut in anger. Even when I make the moves he doesn’t give a fucking reaction! He’s a fucking emotionless doll! Oh, but I so badly crave his attention, and I have no clue why! His large hand upon my breast gave me a feeling I’ve never had, but know I’ve craved forever. I wanted it so bad, but I didn’t even know. I huff laying on my bed opening the notebook again for my nightly read. If I want him that badly I need to prove it, but how do you prove something to Patrick fucking Hockstetter?

[soldierallen]

Married. 4

Summary: you're in love with Sebastian and you're one of his three best friends however he finds a women be loves and marries her

Warnings: cursing, an argument.

Featuring: Sebastian Stan, Henry Cavill, Alexandra Daddario.

Part 3:

-

She drove to Henry's office, it was only a few miles away from the hotel.

Sebastian turned on music in the car he seemed calmer, happy to be not around her I don't know but that's the vibe I am getting

"You know I've always loved this area" he looked out the window sitting in the passengers side

"Why didn't you buy a house here instead of the suburbs?" Henry had a hotels all over the city but he worked closely only to one, the one in the middle of Times Square on Broadway he had an office in Hell's Kitchen not too far,

"I did what she wanted, not what I wanted i wanted to live right in the middle of everything the lights traffic, all of it" he tried not to feel bad for himself but he did he was never selfish on anything he put everyone else before himself until recently because she taught him to be selfish and non-giving he wasn't like this it was new for her and rest of the boys.

"But we made the right choice" he lied to himself and she knew he was lying..

Henry called "you're on speaker with me and seb" she yelled out

"I'm at the Hilton come here instead of my office" that sneaky bastard!, she tried not to smile but she did

"Okay we'll meet you in a little" they hung up

"What was that about he never goes to the hotel? And this early?" Sebastian said confused "Oh he told me eariler he had business there I guess he's not finished" lie, he was finished he just stood at the hotel so he could catch Alex and her "person" together.

The two friends talked walking down the parking garage and entering the hotel lobby, they went up to the front desk

"Where's Henry Cavill the owner of this joint?" She laughed

"He's not in" a very stuck up voice looking at the screen on her computer rather than looking at Sebastian or y/n the two very confused as to why she was being so mean?. Sebastian got a hold of Henry but he appeared out of nowhere

"Mr Cavill I'm sorry I tried to stall" the women said at the desk, they saw Henry his shirt was untucked a few buttons opened and a shiny substance on his lips...lip gloss Henry nodded being embarrassed that he was caught

"I'm sorry about that" he said he was embarrassed "cougar? your age? Or 19?" She tried to lighten his mood

"That 19 year old was one time she lied she was older she was in a club for god sakes and Why are you dressed like that?" Henry asked she had on red short shorts with white sneakers, a shirt that was stripped up and different colors

"Did you pick out your clothes in the dark? Aw sweetheart" Sebastian said both of the men laughed loudly in the hallways "very funny, are we not going to acknowledge Henry having sex before we got here? And talked to us on the phone whilst being in her? Or just about my outfit??" she said they laughed

"I had sex and you're wearing a bad outfit we all make mistakes" Henry said trying not to break character and laugh "you know what assholes" she started to laugh but soon the sound faded from her throat as she looked in front of her she saw her...

"Don't be so dramatic we're just...playing..with...you" Sebastian said stopping midsenteces to really take a look at the women who had caught his eye

Right in her eye view was... Alex

"Is that ally?" Sebastian said pointing she was in the the dinner area she was there alone.. not for long

"see why she's here?" Henry said trying to look normal when really both Henry and y/n were dying inside ready for the big reveal

"Baby" she screamed loudly disrupting a few people's dinners of course, she ran towards him hugging him tightly Henry and y/n took a look at each other and then continued to look at what was unraveling infront of them.

"What are you doing here!" She smiled, we all knew it was fake except for Sebastian. Henry scratched his jawline ready to hear the excuse "this should be good" he whispered for only y/n to hear

"We came to have lunch with Henry? You told me you were staying the day at the house." His hands on her hips her hands on his neck

"My cousin came in town early and he wanted to spend time with me at his hotel, Henry is this one of you're hotels?" She asked knowing out of all the hotels he picked Henry's.

"Yes" he said short and sweet

"And you- I mean y/n you look well...rested" she said while letting go of seb, y/n rolled her eyes she felt like every time she was with her her eyes rolled so far back they were going to fall out her god damn head

"Where is he?" Sebastian said both of his friends a nervous wreck, I wonder what the devil herself was feeling she thought.

"Hes up in his room I'll call him" she said with a smile calling him

"Hey peter could you come down sebastian's here and he wants to meet you...ahuh Oh yeah?..oh my god of course of course...okay Yeah okay I'll see you in a while hope you feel better"

"No way she's getting away with this!" she whispered underneath her breath Henry nudged her to be quiet

"He's feeling really sick right now i have to get back to him, have fun with your lunch babe." she said with a smile and a kiss to his lips, y/n's stomach twisted from anger this was how she was suppose to get caught he's too fucking blind to see it, she walked away from us with a wave.

y/n Henry looked at each other with such defeat this was their way out, she won.

"Let's go to our seats" Henry said trying to shallow the anger of defeat, they sat at their respected seats ordered and everything "so the guys are throwing me a bachelor's party are you up for it Henry " he asked

"No" Henry said realizing how mad that sounded he had to fix the answer

"The only reason why is because we took that road trip for a week" Henry said

"Which was exhausting" y/n said matter of factly she looked at social media kind of engaging with conversation however she wasn't having it having Alex win with being caught really brought the spirits down, Tom's back in town.. maybe I should see him or something

"I mean the guys arranged it for me I have to go" he was talking about his bigheaded rich friends with the yacts

"Oh so you wanna be with the more expensive friends I see" y/n said making Henry give a nice smile on his face ready for a laugh

"No that's not what I meant" Sebastian said "Yeah we know we don't own yachts or go to fiji every week but who was there when you got black out drunk and threw up all over miss Jameson's front yard" still looking down at her phone texting

"me y/n and Anthony were so DRUNK as well, we had to clean it because Anthony lived next door we didn't want his parents to find out" Henry said laughing with y/n Sebastian laughed to "you're my best friends clearly I love you both but those guys are-" we cut him off midsentece

"Married, yeah we get it single friends left in the dust always" Henry said breaking the bread that sat on the table handing some to y/n She declined

"Come on" Sebastian said getting very defense of his new friends, Henry rolled his eyes clearly knowing Sebastian wasn't having it

"We're just busting your chops relax seb" she said she put her phone on the table gently

"What's on your mind?" Sebastian asked, it was a frequent question with the two.

"Nothing our food is here and I'm hungry" that wasn't the case at all.

the food arriving only minutes later and everyone collectively talked, ate and then Henry needed to get back " want me to drop you off there" y/n said "here's the asshole answer, my driver's outside" Henry said knowing what's coming, Sebastian and y/n made gagging noises "alright alright, I gotta go" he hugged them both he whispered in her ear as he hugged her "you have to tell him sooner or later" she tried to make beileve she didn't hear him. He walked out and them too

"Can you take me home?" He said she nodded, going up the hill to the garage she was swinging the keys around her finger not paying attention to the hill they were walking on the conversation didn't exist it was a nice silence they both got Into the car

"Sebastian I have to tell you something"

"Doll, are you okay? You look nervous what's on your mind"

"I'm fine but I need to tell you something and I can't wait any longer"

Here she goes...

"Seb-" she was cut off by a phone ringing that annoying fucking iPhone ringer pissed her off

"Can you not answer it this is important!" Y/n said getting clearly aggravated

"Its ally I have to something might be wrong" he eagerly was going to press call

"No you don't, Sebastian do not answer that phone!" He answered it anyways not complying to anything she said, she sighed her anger was getting so big in her chest, every time she tried to tell him she interrupted someway or another it's like she had a god damn tracker on her.

She started the car and begin to drive as Sebastian talked on the phone, she thought maybe she could just tell him right now while he's on the phone with her. She drove to his house and he finally hung up she wasn't going to talk to him.

"Doll I'm sorry what did you want to tell me"

"Nothing" she continued to drive looking at the road soley "Please tell me I'm sorry"

She took a turn down his street

"You're home" she drove into his drive way parking waiting for him to get out.

"Y/n please tell me what's on your mind?"

"you know you always gotta fuck it up? we were having such a nice day we had an incredible night together ugh just you're so oblivious to everything it's ridiculous" she exploded finally

"Please tell me what you were going to tell me" he tried his best not to get loud to get his point across

"I asked you to do me one favor don't answer the phone I need to talk to you- you just go ahead on your way and answer the fucking phone!"

"So tell me" He yelled They both got out of her car slamming the doors shut, both of them in front of the car she was furious

"I'm sorry please enlighten me what's so god damn important" his voice raising to meet her voice

"I'm not going to your fucking wedding, you asshole" getting back into the car

he was in shock "y/n wait we need to talk about this Y/N" he screamed her name loudly she got into the car and drove away, he threw his bag on the floor his hands rubbing his face harshly

"Chris" she yelled over the speakers on the call

"Yeah what's wrong"

"I need you"

"I'm on my way"

Tagged: @hiddlestonstansworld @lovely-geek @imcalledflorence @misz-adrii @escapistdreamer-wishfulthinker @someplxce @cuddlesforlashton @coffeebooksandfandom @weasley16 @ilovethewayyourheartbeats @vogueworthy-barnes @xeniarocks @thisismysecrethappyplace

[you-want-fuckign-cicadas]

Into The Abyss, part 5

suffer.

Felix belongs to @smoresthehalloweenqueen

more under the cut, warning for suffering i guess

Felix is hurting. His left arm hurts like hell, and so does the rest of his body, to a slightly lesser extent. The blackness is spreading, he can tell. It's gone all the way up his right arm (which is the only non-hurting part of his body, in that it is entirely numb and he can't move it) and has started to creep down his left arm, and also the rest of his body.

He's fairly certain that was not supposed to happen. But here it is, happening. And it hurts.

He gave up trying to tell stories about half an hour ago. Now he's simply sitting, surrounded by ink creatures that are in various states of sleepiness. Evidently, becoming an inky eldritch beast doesn't mean that you don't need sleep. Felix wishes he could sleep, but he has a sneaking suspicion that if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't ever open them again.

So he stays awake, trying to keep watch. That tends to be really hard when you can't even see ten feet in front of you because your eyesight is blurry and also you're dizzy and feel like throwing up. He'd probably miss an elephant walking into the room, and he knows it. It doesn't stop him from trying, though.

He winces slightly, shifting his weight onto the wall. It's hard to breathe. Every movement hurts. Silently, he curses Not-Alice; but he needs to keep watch (or so he tells himself), and so keep watch he does, unaware that something else – someone else – is watching him.

Henry runs up to “Alice”'s area and slams his fist into the door. “Hey, angel! Come out!”

The door doesn't open, but he can hear “Alice”'s humming. She speaks through the speaker. “Yes, my little errand boy?”

“What did you do to Felix?!” Henry slams his fist onto the door again. “Tell me!”

“Oh, I just tried to harvest his soul, errand boy,” “Alice” says, laughing wickedly. “He got away, though. I'll find him when he's dead. It shouldn't be long now.”

“What. Did. You. Do.” Henry levels the gun to the door. “I will bust in there and I will shoot you, but only if you don't tell me. Although I might still do it even if you do, because you're just that bad.”

“Well, ah...” “Alice” seems at a loss for words. “To put it this way, I simply shoved him a bit closer to the ink. Or, rather, I put the ink inside of him. With a needle.”

“You gave him a tattoo?”

“No, you imbecile. I stuck a syringe full of extra-thick ink in his arm.” “Alice” sounds annoyed. “It's extremely toxic to humans, and has a habit of spreading very quickly, so I think it shouldn't be long before I have his soul in my hands. And then I will be perfect.” More laughter.

“That's what I figured. You're just all about being perfect, aren't you?” Henry says, steadying the Tommy Gun. “Why is that the case, though? Did something happen to you? Besides the obvious.”

“It was Joey.” The softer voice is speaking now. Henry much prefers this side of “Alice”, but it's barely ever there, and he suspects that it's dying. Just like Felix. “Joey...hurt us. Both of us.”

“I know. That was the obvious part.” Henry replies, lowering the Tommy Gun slightly. “But you didn't have to keep the cycle going. You could have just lived your life. Not killed anyone.” A pause. “We could have been friends.”

“Like you were friends with Felix? Abandoning him the first chance you got?” The harsh voice is back. With vengeance. “I think I prefer it this way. Alone, but feared.”

“Suit yourself.” Henry turns to leave, but hesitates. “I think you'll end up regretting it, though.”

“Maybe I will.” “Alice” says. “But then again, maybe I won't.”

The gate shuts behind him.

Felix doesn't even realize when he nods off, which makes this the perfect time to collect him.

“Alice” had thrown a wrench in his plans with the syringe full of ink, yes. And the hidden darkness he feels from the boy's shadow is somewhat alarming. Yet, both of them pale when he compares them to the need for Felix's soul; the ritual needs it, in order to be complete. He needs it, in order to catch his 'old pal'. Some friend he was.

Yes, it's true that it might attract the attention of some...undesirables. The Angel, yes. The Ink Demon, perhaps, if that abomination of a failure wasn't chasing after Henry. Most definitely the Lost Ones. It was surprising how easily the boy had bonded with them, but then again, they could probably see his soul, just as easily as him. It would most certainly attract the Liar, and the Wolf. Maybe Sammy.

All of those can be taken care of very easily. A cut here, a well-placed bottle of acetone there, and maybe a hole in the floor to plunge the Demon back into Level 14, and a bribe for Sammy (so narrow-minded, and such a fool), and Felix's soul would be his.

He lifts the boy up. Felix doesn't weigh much, which surprises him a little, but he doesn't dwell on it. He'll have to act quickly, or he'll lose his window of opportunity to the ink.

There's only one thing that could go wrong...

The Light is gone. They know. They feel it. And they know who took their Light.

Our Light. Our Light is gone. We will get our Light back from him. The Light isn't his to have, his to hurt, his to snuff. We will protect our Light.

They just need to figure out which one is which.

Suffice to say, Henry's day has gotten a lot worse, just in five minutes. First, there was a weird Searcher swarm. Then a giant Searcher with a mining hat. And now “Bendy” is right in front of the Little Miracle station Henry is hiding in, staring directly at him. He gets the distinct feeling that the demon wants to ask him something, but also that it really wants to kill him, and that it's trying to decide which is more important. Evidently, murdering him wins out, and “Bendy” slams his entire weight into the station. The station tilts over, threatening to fall, and Henry feels himself start to panic. He forces the feeling down and pushes the muzzle of the gun through the small gap of the Miracle Station, carefully aiming at the demon.

The demon stares at the muzzle of the gun and sets the station back down. Henry almost thinks he's done, but then “Bendy” somehow fits his entire arm up to the elbow into the Miracle station. Henry ducks as it swipes at him, and then shoots it. It retracts pretty quickly after that.

Henry peeks back up, watching as the demon inspects his newly hole-ified arm, shrugs, and then taps it. To Henry's infinite surprise and curiosity, the hole heals, and the bullet drops out...somehow. Spontaneously, he asks, “How did you do that?” and then ducks down to avoid being swiped at.

To his surprise, “Bendy” does not try to tip over the Miracle station, no does he swipe at him. Instead, he simply shrugs and makes weird gestures. They probably mean something, but whatever it is, Henry can't tell.

This frustrates the demon, and then he does tip over the Miracle station, this time all the way. Henry promptly freaks out and shoots him even more, and “Bendy” flees, apparently having reached his limit for how many times he can get shot before it starts to slow him down.

Henry climbs out of the Miracle station. Should I track him down? He wonders. Nah, that's a death sentence. Best to keep looking for Felix.

And so he continues on his quest, unaware of the dangers he will be facing.

Where am I?

It's dark here. Very cold. Where's Felix? I can't sense him.

I can't move.

Where is everyone?

Somewhere in the studio, a slightly blobby ink figure claws its way out of a puddle. It flops onto the floor, gasping for breath, and then stands up shakily.

No one around. It's eerily empty.

It begins moving, wandering aimlessly as if looking for a lost item that it misplaced.

I need to find someone who can help.

It stops for a second, looking up and down, and then keeps walking, unaware that it's heading straight for danger. Level 9 isn't a good place for it to be.

That is where “Alice” watches, and where she waits.

who wants to take bets on how long it takes for felix to kick the bucket

and let’s re-play the game of Who the FUCK Kidnapped Felix This Time

[ayellowbirds]

Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 15: "Spooky Space Kook"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 1 Episode 15)

AKA "The Mystery Machine Is Itself A Mystery of Interior vs. Exterior Dimensions"

I’m breaking from my standard format for these, because holy jinkies, you need to see and hear this villain’s laugh as video. Text and gifs alone will not suffice.

As seen above, the episode opens in the evening on a view of a fairly run-down rural area. An equally wrecked spaceship flies low over the landscape, orange light pulsing from within, and it comes to a stop and lands out of view. A figure walks onto the road, clad in a space suit that also pulses with an eerie “glowing sound” (if you watch enough cartoons, you know what the sound effects for “glowing, pulsing light” are like) that suggests radioactivity, the head within visible only as a skull. The camera closes on it, and the freak starts whooping and laughing as the interior of its helmet flashes the same red-orange as the spaceship.

It’s fantastic. While not the creepiest, it’s definitely the best villain design of the season, if not the best of all of Scooby-Doo: Where Are You. The ruined ghostly spaceship is a design that both makes no sense at all (why does it look tattered?) and fits perfectly.

Meanwhile, the gang are on the road in the Mystery Machine, and Shaggy offers to make sandwiches for anyone who wants. Only Scooby takes him up on it, and the view cuts to Shaggy assembling what Fred calls a “Jaw-Stretcher Special”.

Mind you, this is overtly the back of the Mystery Machine. Exactly how large is that van supposed to be? It reminds me of the camper van my dad used to own, only far more spacious. Definitely more roomy than its exterior would indicate, by far. We’ve seen interior shots before that showed bare walls, as well as the first episode’s collection of questionable and disturbing equipment. Is it like a TARDIS?

Shaggy adds bologna, meatloaf, and “a slug of double Dutch chocolate syrup”... just as the van cuts out. They’re out of gas, and miles from the nearest station!

...so, I’m going to say it here: Fred is a really bad driver. I don’t know why it falls to him to drive, except that he assumes a leadership role, but as we’ve seen, he’s a lousy navigator, and now it’s apparent he doesn’t keep an eye on the fuel indicator, either. Granted, it seems he was intended as the oldest of the gang, so it may be that he’s just the only one who as a license, at this point.

Oh my gods. Is that why they do what Fred says? Because he’s the only one who has a driver’s license? Did we finally figure out what he brings to the group, aside from traps that never work?

Going to the nearest house to see if they can buy some gas from the residents, they’re menaced by its owner, a surly chicken farmer with a long rifle and a conviction that the gang are actually reporters trying to bother him about “it”—the same spaceship from the establishing shot, and “something” that has been creeping around ever since “it” showed up.

Velma spots a trail of bizarre footprints glowing on the ground nearby, which the farmer confirms is the same kind of print he’s been seeing. The gang decide they’ve found a mystery, and seem to smooth things over, because the next scene is the Mystery Machine back on the road, Daphne having mentioned that it was “nice” that he gave them some gas. Fred agrees, because it means they can seek out the “ghost craft”... just before an eerie light passes over the van, and the gang catch sight of the alien ship setting down over the hill.

They wind up at the wrecked boundary fence of an abandoned army airfield, and follow more glowing tracks through the bent and busted gate.

They’ve only been walking for a few seconds when there’s a clattering, crashing sound, and Velma yelps, “I bet it’s the outer-space ghost,” suggesting i may need to reevaluate my ranking of the gang’s credulity vis-à-vis ghosts. Sure enough, the eerie cackling starts up again from off-screen, and the gang are firmly spooked as they follow the tracks to a work shed from which a strange mechanical noise emits. They find an electrical generator that has only just shut down... and then see the spaceship setting down by the opposite building!

Instead of investigating the craft, Fred suggests they split up and look around. The usual antics ensue, with Scooby and Shaggy’s squabbles over a bag of peanuts leading them right to the space-booted feet of the ghost, and a chase scene that leads through the distinctive setting of the airfield. It’s one of the few times the gang are investigating something other than a castle or mansion this season, and it really stands out, though one wonders why the many planes seen on the field were just left to rust.

Fred, Daphne, and Velma discover a machine shop with fresh grease and recently-used machines, and when Fred winds up hooked and hanging from the ceiling due to the ghost’s machinations, Velma protests Freddie’s assumption that she’d know how to even identify the controls for the hook.

Well, there’s characterization that won’t last. It seems as though, in this first season, Velma’s scientific expertise trends much more academic, including some chemistry but mostly being focused on research and analysis instead of the physical science work that would later be a big part of her interests.

Velma and Daphne meet up with Shaggy and Scooby to get help getting Fred down, and Fred and Velma quiz Shaggy on the details of “this thing you saw”. Apparently he was vague about the details of the ghost alien.

The phantom starts its whooping and giggling act again, and the chase continues as the gang flee in opposite directions, with Scooby and Shaggy winding up in the mess hall (”Never heard of a special place to make a mess...”), proving they have some kind of instinctive sixth sense for snacks that drives them towards the nearest kitchen without even intending to do so. Shaggy finds nothing, but Scooby manages to scarf down a small roast ham, an entire chicken on a bed of greens, and most of a jar of olives before Shaggy comes over to check on him. Shaggy realizes the remains of fresh food are a clue—"Like, how come a ghost from space keeps chicken and ham around?"—and they head out to find the others, running into the ghost again.

The girls and Fred, meanwhile, find a copy of yesterday’s Gazette, with glowing fingerprints left on the front page. “Why would a ghost from outer space be reading yesterday’s newspaper?”

This is why it’s important to maintain details in your haunting site. Big Bob understood that, he even went so far as to make monster-specific food labels.

As the chase continues and the gang reunite once more in the motor pool, they find a busted old jeep with four flat tires... that actually conceal another four wheels, found after Scooby notices that the exhaust pipe smells of gasoline.The jeep even starts remotely, driving out past a larger truck, where the “goony ghost” reveals itself behind the canopy covering the truck bed. But before the gang can react, four more ghosts appear!

Noticeably, the extra ghosts don’t move or even glow, they just stand there looking spooky. It’s enough, as Shaggy and Scooby flee up into a control tower and signal the rest of the gang over the still-functioning loudspeakers with the bugle call for noon mess, still apparently the only one they know. So, Scooby and Shaggy have no idea what a mess hall is, but they know the melody to summon you to one by heart?

Unfortunately, the ghost corners the boys in the tower, and they’re forced to jump out with a parachute. The scene fades to a police car: the farmer saw their car parked by the gate, and in spite of his seemingly ornery character, became worried for the gang and called the sheriff. 

They catch sight of the ghost, who flees into a building, which Fred calls “a bad mistake”—because the steel door the ghost shuts behind itself leads to a wind tunnel for testing aerodynamics.

Fred starts up the turbine, and the ghost grabs hold of a steel ladder as the resulting winds blow off its helmet, mask, and eventually the whole dang costume, revealing an ordinary human: the farmer’s next-door neighbor, Henry Bascombe.

Again, note that the culprit gets a whole name, but the innocent man is just “Mister Farmer”, and the cop is just “the Sheriff”. 

Shaggy reveals his discovery from the airfield control tower: a reel-to-reel projector to beam the image of the spaceship onto the night sky, and an audio player sped-up to sound high-pitched and eerie. The gang “wanna bet” that the extra ghosts were stuffed dummies and that the jeep was driven by remote control, but never actually check. It’s also left unclear what exactly Bascombe filmed to make the spaceship footage, or where his improbable mechanical skills originate.

The sheriff explains that Bascombe heard that the Air Force planning to re-open and expand the field—how does he know that Bascombe knew this?—and the farmer deduces that it was a ploy to scare his neighbors off so he could buy their land cheap and resell it to the Air Force for a profit.

Almost, but not quite.

When will our burden be eased? When will we finally hear “meddling kids”?

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)

[queen-of-the-merry-men]

SUNNY SIDE UP SNEAK PEEK 

SUMMARY: Regina tries to relax after a dinner with Cora. 

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Driving home Regina could feel the heat burning behind her eyes and the pressure weighing down in her chest. She sucked in deep breaths trying to steady herself, focusing all her energy on getting back home, where it was safe, where she could recuperate. Blasting the radio on while she drove, she tried to let the sound of the music drown out all her thoughts on what had just happened. She tried to ignore the echoes of everything Cora had just said.

Yes, her mother had been awful but she always was. And yes, her words stung but that would pass. She’d get over the stinging, she always had.

By the time she pulled up to her apartment building, she felt almost okay. A plan had already started to form in her head for the rest of the night. Since drinking was out of the question for the next few months, she’d try and relax with a nice warm bath, actually bust out one of those luxury bath bombs she was usually too busy for and enjoy the soak for once. Afterwards she could put on some soft music, comfortable pajamas and read one of the books Belle had been recommending for weeks now, escape a bit. The thought of those things was already bringing her back to life. Dinner had been stressful, but it was over now. She could relax.

Walking in her apartment she threw her keys on the living room coffee table and sighed as she tossed her purse on the couch.

Regina liked her apartment. She’d moved in a few months after Daniel died, after enduring a short stint back with her parents when she was grieving. The idea of it had seemed a bit daunting at first, living alone and moving on. She’d never had a place to herself before and never really thought that she would after she got married but she quickly learned that living alone had its perks. It was the first time she’d been able to create a space for herself without compromise for anyone else. Everything from the cream-colored sofa to the burgundy drapes and horse-shaped bookends bore her mark. It was her apartment and she loved it. She was safe here. Free.

Slipping off her shoes she headed for her bedroom, intending to pick out her most luxurious silk pajamas for the night but stopped short when she saw what was on her bed.

In the center of her duvet laid the baby book she’d bought when she’d found she was pregnant. She’d forgotten that she’d been looking at it this morning, flipping through it and imagining all the answers she and Robin would fill it with. Its pages were still open.

Tears filled her eyes as she remembered page five. The page dedicated to grandparents.

Her mother didn’t want her to have this baby. Her child was going to grow up with a grandmother who didn’t approve of her existence. Tears ran down her face as she sobbed at the realization of just what kind of family she’d be bringing her baby into. Would she grow up feeling unloved by her grandmother? She wouldn’t even know her grandfather Henry. He was dead… and so were Robin’s parents. Cora would be the only living grandparent their child had and she already wanted her gone.

Oh god…

Before she knew it she’d crawled into bed, still dressed in her clothes for the day, crying her eyes out as she clutched one of her pillows into her chests. She didn’t know how long she stayed there just crying but she knew that she wanted to stop. She couldn’t though. She was just too sad.

Then she heard her phone ring. Sitting up in bed, it was like a switch went off. Her tears stopped and she swiped at her eyes, wiping away the tears as she headed to living room to get her cell phone from her purse. Seeing Robin’s face flashing on the screen she lets out a soft groan. She forgot he was supposed to come over to help with the scrapbook. He couldn’t see her like this, he’d freak out. It was better to cancel.

Clearing her throat, she answered the phone, trying to sound as normal as possibly. “Hey.”

“Hey!” Robin’s cheerful tone came through the speaker. He sounded so happy she could practically hear his smile. “How was dinner?”

Regina pressed her lips together, hesitantly. “It was… fine,” she lied, as convincingly as possible. “Cora was… Cora and I won’t have to do it again until next month. Thank god.”

She pulled a smile on her face, trying to trick her voice into sounding happier but judging by the silence on Robin’s end she doubts that she succeeded.

“Are you alright,” he asks, the concern clear in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “I just… I remembered that I had some work to do when I got home so if we could reschedule the whole scrapbook night…”

Again, he paused. “That’s fine, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Feeling her throat tighten, she nodded. “I’m okay,” she said forcing herself to feel cheerful. “I just have to work, I promise.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” she replied, before ending the call. Pulling the phone away from her ear she let out a relieved breath.

Normally, she’d be able to talk to Robin about anything but the idea of telling him that her mother didn’t want their child to exist… it just killed her.

Pressing a hand to her stomach she thought of the baby inside her.

I’m not gonna lie to your daddy when you get here. It was just this once I promise.

Taking another deep breath she reminded herself that stress wasn’t good for her child. She had a plan to relax when she got home. She should stick to it.

Digging underneath her bathroom sink she pulled out a bath bomb and used to run herself a calming lavender infused bath. She soaked for half an hour letting the smell of the water calm from the outside in. After finally stepping out she moisturized her skin with a new chamomile lotion that she’d been planning to use for ages. As she rubbed it into her skin she made a mental note to pick up a tub of cocoa butter to help avoid stretch marks as her pregnancy progressed. By the time she pulled on her silk pajamas for the night she felt like a whole new woman. Completely calm.

Once dressed she went back into the living room ready to pick out a book for the night. Looking over her bookcase she realized that the list of books she planned to read had been piling up for a while now. She should get back into the habit of reading for fun. Catch up on some of the recommendations Belle had given her.

Just as she’d figured which book to get started on she heard a knock at her door. She didn’t even have to open it to know who was there. Looking through the peephole she she rolled her eyes when she saw Robin on the other side. Of course he’d come.

Pulling open the door, she shook her head at him. “I told you I had work.”

Robin shrugged his shoulders. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“It’s a small town Robin. You’re always in my neighborhood.”

He chuckled, nodding his head. “True but I went to the grocery store and look what I found.”

Regina scowled at him as he pulled a pint of ice cream out from behind his back. “You came all the way over here to hand me a pint of ice cream.”

“Not just any pint of ice cream,” said Robin, shaking his head. “Deluxe chunky monkey, with extra fudge and walnuts.”

A snort escaped her as she shook her head at him. “Does this look like the body of someone who eats chunky monkey?”

“Obviously not,” he concedes, “given that you’ve always said any flavor of ice cream other than neapolitan was just self indulgent.”

He raised an eyebrow at her judgmentally and she smirked knowing he’s remembering their middle school years when she’d become obsessed with her figure and, subsequently, dieting. Ever since then she’d eaten only vanilla ice cream, or coffee when she was feeling extravagant.

“However,” he continued, “but I figure if weight gain is unavoidable why not let yourself indulge for once. Besides, you wouldn’t want to deprive our child fudge and chocolate chunks, would you?”

He smiles at her, holding out the ice cream imploringly, staring at her with his puppy dog blue eyes. It’s annoying how undeniable he looks.

Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes but steps aside. “You’re lucky you caught me in the middle of a break.”

She hears him laugh triumphantly as he walks into her apartment and a smile tugs on her lips. Why does smug Robin have to be so goddamn adorable?

[thekingisagirl]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan Characters: Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Emma Swan, Lucy (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Season/Series 07, Roni - Freeform, Gay Bar, Emma’s gay panic, Regina stays a momma bear

@stregaomega has this fucking amazing headcanon that Roni’s Bar is the local gay bar and I just had to run with it.

Thanks to @daneeelleee for the late night betaing!

 Emma busted through the heavy wooden doors with an urgency that made her wonder for a moment if the multi colored glass would break.

 When she stepped inside, it was not what she expected. It was a bar. But not the kind of bar Emma would have ever associated with Regina Mills.

 The chairs and tables were mismatched and the floor needed a good scrub, Rock music was playing loud enough to tell it was good, but not blaring over the conversation and the lights were dimmed. The pool-table in the corner was well beyond its good years and the signage all over the wall looked as if collected from someone’s travels.

 But the thing that Emma noticed first, and the thing that made her forget to breathe, was the large rainbow flag over the counter. And the women, there were so many women. Black women with hoops in their ears, Latinas with short cropped hair, Asian women wearing leather. All different kinds of women, having conversations and laughing with heart and dancing with each other and kissing. Kissing other women. Another take in around the room lead Emma to the only reasonable explanation. This was one of      those     bars. For…For the lesbians™.

 This was not something little Lucy had mentioned on the phone. Not that she would know. Emma felt entirely caught off guard. And that’s when she heard it… That rich deep laughter that made the hairs in the back of her neck stand at attention and her stomach do a somersault. That laugh she hadn’t heard for 5 years.

 Her legs were in motion before she even knew what was happening. Across the room towards the bar.

 Behind it, moving fast like a whirlwind, was a woman whose only resemblance with Regina Mills was her face. Those big brown eyes, the full lips and the scar above them. Everything else was different. Her hair was curly and bounced around when she moved. And how she moved. She was…dancing? While pouring drinks, she paused as if to feel the music and swayed her hips perfectly to the rhythm. Emmas mouth was dry, but she pried it open nonetheless.

 “Regina!? What the fuck? A…a gay bar? Since when…?” She yelled over the music.

 Regina stopped mid twirl and stepped closer to Emma, her eyebrows furrowed with a grin on her face, leaning her elbows on the bar.

 “My name is Roni, honey and I’m as bi as they come. Since always.” Several women hooted and one knocked on the wood of the bar in approval.

 Emma glared at them for a moment, only to focus back on Regina…Roni?

 “What happened?” she asked confused. Regina looked her up and down, studied her almost.

 “Listen, sweetheart, why don’t you go over there,” She pointed to a corner with a group of anxious looking women sitting in a circle of chairs, “sit with the other baby dykes and I’ll have one of my girls bring you a nice drink. You’re among friends here.”

 “I- I don’t know-” A strong looking redhead in a jeans vest interrupted her taking her wrist gently.

 “Roni, looks like we got a first timer here!” She laughed. Emma heard several whistles throughout the bar

 Regina’s smile widened.

 “Don’t worry honey you’ve come to the right place! Don’t let anybody scare you, and if they try, you come to me, okay?”

 Emma’s mouth had fallen open before she had even finished her sentence. What kind of fucked up curse was this? Why wasn’t Regina… Regina?! At least at heart?      Or is this the real Regina?     Since when did courses change sexuality?! Was that not one of the rules? Like the genie?

 She did the only thing she could think of to get out of this situation.

 “Lucy sent me!” She screamed because Regina was already tending the next patron while her mind was trying to organize itself.

 There was a sudden silence and even the music seemed to dull down. Regina turned back to her so fast Emma swore there was magic involved. There was a quick movement that Emma couldn’t quite catch and suddenly Regina was on her side of the bar.

 She nearly growled, “Carol take over” to the wide eyed Blond who had stopped polishing the glass in her hand.

 She grabbed Emma by the lapels of her red leather jacket and pulled her towards the back of the bar.

 It had taken her nearly 2 hours to find the damned thing in a box of all her old things. Her before-Killian things. Now she had after-Killian things too. She had been surprised how well intact it was.

 Something that was becoming less likely with the force with which Regina was pulling her. Her arms were flexed and Emma could see the tense muscles because she was wearing a cut off t-shirt.

 Finally through the back door, Regina grabbed her with both hands and slammed her into the wall of the alley.

 “How do       you     know the kid!?” She demanded.

 “Who Lucy?” Emma asked trying not to focus on how close Regina was.

 “Of course Lucy! What did you tell her and how do you know her!?”

 “Nothing! I didn’t tell her anything Reg- Roni. I swear.      She     told      me     things.”

 “I swear to God, if you think you can get a quick laugh out at her expense-” Regina’s fists clenched around the leather.

 “No! I would never! She asked me to come talk to you.” Emma had no plan. She realized now she should have questioned Lucy more, but the sheer idea of Henry and Regina cursed had burned through her circuits and she had rushed onto the first flight she could catch. She needed to think.

 “She did?” Regina said, her face doing that thing, when she didn’t believe a word you said. Emma had missed it.

 “She told me about the curse.”

 “Hmmm, and where did she tell you this? I don’t know you, you’re not from here.” Roni said, taking a closer look at Emma’s face now. She said it as if she was trying to convince herself more than this stranger.

 “No, I’m not from here. But neither are you.” Emma tried a different approach. Regina always saw through her lies. Even when she didn’t see them herself, so she tried the truth.

 “I’m not from here? Oh really? I got a bar full of fight ready lesbians who would disagree!”

 “Then tell me when when you got here? Where were you born? How long have you lived here?” Emma rambled. This is what Henry had done. So many years ago, he had said it was like a haze.      Ask them about anything    .

 “I..” Regina stumbled back a bit.

 “You can’t tell me, can you? Because your memories aren’t real!” Emma said. Her voice was hoarse from the exertion that was trying to convince the literal Queen of curses of a curse.

 “You’re talking about      the curse    ?” She said it with air quotes, which broke Emma’s heart a little.

 “You believe Lucy?” Her eyes scanned Emma in a skeptical manner.

 “You don’t?” Emma asked plainly. Obviously that was the wrong answer. Regina’s face hardened, and she was back just as close as before in Emma’s face.

 “Hey! That kid means the world to me!” She barked.

 “Okay… I can see that…and why.” Emma said raising her hands in surrender.

 Regina backed off a bit and Emma was sad to see her go. She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes tightly as if she was getting a headache.

 “Alright. Let’s say I believe.” She said looking back and forth in the alley as if making sure no one heard them. Emma could see the doubt in her eyes. She looked so lost.

 This was definitely not the first time she had let herself believe, if only for a second.      Good job Lucy    .

 “Let’s say I believe. Who the hell are you supposed to be? Before the curse? Who were you?”

 Emma smiled at her, almost in tears. She would have liked to ask      which one    ? But the answer was always the same.

 “Just an idiot. A complete idiot.”

[lucya-dthings-blog]

The people behind the yellow door.

I want to tell you a story, a story about some people in a world only a little different from our own, so please read, and enjoy;

Angie is Angry. Both physically and literally, she’s anger personified, that might be a better way to describe it. The effect she had on the people around her was similar to that of a smell wafting through the wind, everyone nearby would smell it and be affected in one way or another. Angie was like that, she made the people around her angry just by being in the near vicinity of them. If someone were to witness a bust up or a shouting match in the middle of the street, they’d probably be shaken up for a while, but not Angie, it was almost a daily occurrence for her. The way the person reacted would depend on their personality if they're aggressively angry, or loudly angry, or calmly angry. You know, the types of people that would sit there and say ‘I’m angry’ whilst they stare at you solemnly. Those are Angie’s favourite because they cause no trouble, and it’s almost as if she doesn’t affect them at all.

However, right now, as she stands over a man who her colleague Ron had just taken to the ground and arrested, she’s angry. She’s angry because he had only been pulled over for speeding, but upon meeting her, he’d gotten angry and now he had been arrested, he should have just paid a fine. She was lucky that Ron was one of those people that were calmly angry because it meant that he could still focus even with the unwanted emotion that had been cast on him.

Angie didn’t know why she made people angry, it’s just the way it seemed to be, she’d made observations and worked out the effect she had, but she hadn’t worked out why. She watched as Ron pulled the man to his feet and opened the door, allowing Ron to sit the man inside, she shut the door and sat in the front seat.  “ Are you alright Ron?” She asked. “I’m a bit angry if I’m honest Angie.” He replied with a  sigh. Ron was 50 something, bald and wore glasses, the back of his neck layered a little over his shirt collar and his stout figure meant he couldn’t run as fast as he used to. He didn’t come out as much as he did in his golden days and spent a lot of time in the office, but he’d join Angie when she did community work. He was still strong, just not as fast anymore.  

“Oh, I see.” Angie turned to look out of the window, it had started to rain and her eyes focused on following the trails that the raindrops had left behind. Angie often wondered why she made people angry, or if she didn’t and actually just found herself working in a career with a lot of angry people. She wasn’t sure.

It was early evening when Angie finally got to leave the station, her large camel coat covered her uniform and she pulled the checkered scarf from around her neck and stuffed it into her pocket. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the bus stop, and then she stopped and waited, leaning against the glass screen because she was tired now, the day was taking its toll on her.

The bus pulled up, she paid the fair, and she sat down, some of the strands of her black curly hair fell over her face as she pulled it out of the tight bun. She put her bag down on the seat beside her so that nobody could sit there, she didn’t want company on this journey home. She shut her tired brown eyes and rested her head against the cold glass of the bus window.

There was another important person on this bus, and by important I mean a key person in this story.

Henry was stood up on the bus, stepping forward and backward to stabilise himself with every jolt of the vehicle. His thick arm stayed above his head as he held onto one of the swinging bus handles. His chunky stature filled up a large space.

Henry was happy, and everyone else seemed to be happy too until the last stop, now they all seemed a mixture of emotions, more so than normal. Henry knew exactly what he was, or who he was. Henry had always known, that’s what he would say anyway, but of course, he didn’t really always know. At 10, after he’d accidentally smashed a window at school with his football and hadn’t gotten in trouble, the other boys he was playing with got shouted at but he just got a few mere harsh words.

He got his job at the amusement park in his early twenties, his reasoning was work somewhere where people are happy, and make them happy, make them primarily happy the entire time they’re at the park, and he’d worked there ever since. It made Henry happy that people were always happy around him, he thought it was a gift, you know, how some people are gifted with humour, others with a beautiful singing voice. It wasn’t until the theme park fortune teller had stared at him with such a look that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up that he realised it could be more than that, all the fortune teller muttered was;

“You are happy.” She put such emphasis on the word ‘are’ that Henry thought the word 'happy' to be his name rather than his emotional state. The fortune teller had watched Henry leave her tent and she continued to watch him as he walked away through the crowds at the amusement park. She watched him with complete awe in her dark eyes. Henry had avoided her ever since.

Now, Henry’s blue eyes pierced his surroundings, looking around the bus trying to work out who exactly was enhancing another emotion, it should be happiness. He looked around the moving vehicle his eyes trailing over the features of the passengers, some were smiling, some were frowning. Then Henry’s vision landed on a woman who sat alone, she looked tired, not happy nor angry.

Henry thought in that moment that perhaps she was who he was looking for. The most difficult part now was how to introduce her to a world she’d most likely never even thought could exist. It was difficult to start a conversation with someone when you know that what you’re going to say will change their life.

He slowly made his way toward her, his hands grabbing the back of seats and poles as he moved closer to the tired lady who was resting her head against the window. “Excuse me, sorry, can I sit here? My legs aren’t quite what they used to be.” He chuckled softly and the woman smiled, nodded and moved her bag on the floor, allowing him to sit next to her.

Henry twiddled his thumbs waiting for an appropriate moment if there was one.   “So how was your day?” Angie asked, smiling at the stranger beside her, she hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone at all on this journey, but this bald happy man seemed sweet and gentle. Her starting the conversation with Henry almost took him by surprise.

“Hmm? Oh, it was good, I went to the library, read some psychology books on emotion and things like that.” He breathed heavily as he spoke, his voice wheezy from the extra weight he carried on his bones. He hadn’t read books on emotion at the library, he’d actually spent the day at work, but it felt necessary to start the conversation that he so desperately wanted to take place. It didn’t, the conversation didn’t take place naturally, and at the stop before his own Henry found himself blurting it out. He said, as loudly as he could without drawing attention;

“I know how you make other people feel, everyone was happy before you got on the bus and now, well the mood has changed.” His wheezy voice whispered.

“Excuse me? Are you saying I made everybody on this bus mad?” She scowled and stared at him.

“No - well yes but you can’t help it- it’s just the way it is.”

Her scowl got harsher, but then it softened. “If it’s not my fault how do I make people mad? She asked as Henry reached up to press the bell.

“It’s what you are, it’s- it’s like it’s your job, you aren’t alone, me, I’m happy and then my friends they’re all the other emotions.” He stood up from his seat and grabbed the pole to help him stabilise himself.

“Wha- you can’t leave now, I have so many questions to ask you.” She stood up herself, picking up her bags. "I want to know more.”

“Well, you’re welcome to come back for a cup of tea.” He smiled.

The two acquainted strangers climbed off the bus together. Angie had thought that perhaps it was strange of her to go home with someone she barely knew, but the fact that he had answers to all the question she had was reason enough for her to go with him.

“It’s just around the corner,” Henry reassured her, his breathing was shallow and his voice husky from the walking. Angie nodded and held her bag in front of her, kicking it with her legs every time she took a step forward.

“How did you know it was me?” She asked quietly as the pair turned a corner and started walking down the street.

“You were neither happy nor angry.” He smiled. “I thought that it must be you.” He turned and walked up a set of 3 steps towards the house, the lights turned on as he neared and he unlocked the yellow door. “Please, come in.” Henry smiled and held the door open for her.

Angie sat in the kitchen on the wooden chair, her hands wrapped around the steaming cup of tea watching the 4 unfamiliar faces that watched her in return. Henry had gone into the garden to water his roses and so now the strangers and Angie were waiting for his return.

When he did return, he pulled the gardening gloves off of his hands, hung the back door keys on the hook and poured himself a cup of tea. He then sat down and took a sip.

“I suppose I should introduce you all.” He pointed to the only other man in the house. “This is Andy, he’s anxious.”

“Oh about what?”

“No, no he is anxious.”

“Ohhhh I see,” Angie responded, smiling at the man.

Andy smiled back, the sides of his wide green eyes creasing a little as he did so, his dark features would trick you into thinking he was braver and more powerful than he actually was, appearance does that sometimes, tricks you into assuming things without even realising you’re doing it. Andy had spent, and would always spend his life as a nervous wreck, he worried himself senseless over the smallest of things, and that caused others to worries too. That was his reasoning for why everyone was always nervous around him, but obviously, that wasn’t the right reason.

He preferred silence, that’s why he took on the job of exam invigilator during exam season, walking up and down in the silence was bliss to him, but of course he still worried about everything, whether it would be tripping up or needing to sneeze. He didn’t like disrupting things, just in case, he couldn’t deal with the consequences.

When it wasn’t exam season, Andy was an Agony Aunt for a teen magazine, most of the time he wouldn’t know how to answer the questions they asked him in the fear that his answers would ruin their life, so he’d usually say something along the lines of;

‘Hey there (insert name),

It is very normal to worry about things, in fact, I worry about absolutely everything. If I were you I would think up every single possibility that could possibly occur as a result of your problem. After that, I’d just hope for the best I suppose.

Best of luck,                            A :)’

He was pretty close to losing that job when Lou spotted some of his responses in the back of her copy of the magazine.  She’d thought it odd that an Agony Aunt would choose a solution that would resolve in more worrying rather than less so she showed the magazine to Henry, who decided to follow up on ‘A’, just in case.

After much research, Henry found Andy and then, after much persuasion, Andy moved into the house with the yellow door. He felt better knowing that he wasn’t really alone anymore. However he constantly worried about all the people he had made anxious in his lifetime, and for the first 3 weeks, he wouldn’t leave the house, just in case he made some poor soul too nervous. He soon figured out that it was okay to feel nervous, it was up to the people how they responded to it. So really Andy was helping people to learn a lesson and after he realised that. He didn’t feel so bad.  

Now Andy had settled in wonderfully, still anxious, still both an exam invigilator and Agony Aunt, but now he had a home too, a place where he belonged.

“Then this is Su.” Henry continued, pointing to a woman who had her hair wrapped in a pink towel,  a few brown hairs escaping from the wrap, a cardigan covering her scrubs. “She’s a midwife, her shift starts soon.” Henry clarified, whilst Su smiled and stuck her hand out to shake Angie’s. The skin was rough and Angie assumed it had something to do with the fact that her hands were a primary tool in her trade.

“Nice to meet you,” Angie said softly, beginning to get slightly overwhelmed.

“I’m surprised.” Su piped up. “My emotion I mean.” She smiled.

Su was surprising. At least that’s what she was always told, and that’s the way people always seemed when they were around her. Whenever they found out her name, age, job, anything and everything was apparently surprising when it came to Su. When she was at work the parents always seemed surprised when they actually got to see their baby, even though they almost certainly knew the child was coming. It wasn’t just her job that helped her to surprise people, it was her, it was everything she was.

For a long time, she just assumed people underestimated her and that the phrase ‘Oh that’s surprising’ was just a reflection of that. Of course, it wasn’t, it was her effect on the people around her, her presence emphasised how surprised they became. She didn’t find out until she discovered the existence of the others and moved into the house with the yellow door.

The next person in the room was a woman with short hair dressed in a blue sweater. The colour complimented her skin tone and matched her blue socks, which were peeking out from under the ends of the legs of her trousers as she sat on the kitchen counter.  Henry pointed to her and then looked at Angie. “This is Sam, she’s well… sad.” Sam was always sad, and in her world, so was everyone else, smiles and laughter were something only people with great distance from her got to experience. She got a job as a funeral director when she was 23 after she moved into the house with the yellow door. Originally she’d lived down the street in a house with 3 other people.  However, the three people decided to move out, thinking the house had negative energy or something. That left Sam alone and worried about exactly how she’d afford the house. One day Sam sat on the front step and cried, as if by coincidence, although it was obviously fate, Henry walked past after purchasing the weekly newspaper from the corner shop and asked if she was alright. Sam was surprised that he wasn’t sad and Henry was surprised that he hadn’t ever noticed her before.  He sat with her, and she didn’t feel quite so sad, so they talked and to solve her problems she moved into the house with the yellow door. She was the second to move in, after surprised, who was the first.

After discovering the effect she had on people, Sam wasn’t sure what to do with herself. So Henry suggested she get a job, and that’s how Sam ended up as a funeral director. She helped people feel what they were supposed to feel in that moment, and life for Sam wasn’t so bad anymore.

Sam slipped off the counter and looked at Angie for a few moments before giving her a small smile before her head dropped to look at the floor like a wilting rose.

"Then the last person I have to introduce you to is Lou, Lou is lust." Henry pointed to her and smiled.

“Hi.” Lou grinned at Angie

Lou was the youngest, you could tell by the youthful glow of her clear skin and the way she styled her hair into large voluminous curls. However, she was not the most recent newcomer to the clan of the emotionally gifted. She worked in a bar to make her living after moving out of her parent's house, almost immediately after becoming an adult. It had been Sam who had found her there, Sam had walked into the bar and been completely perplexed by the lustful atmosphere of the bar. Now, of course, Sam knew that bars were lustful places, but there was something about this one. It was the fact Sam didn’t feel sad there, and that’s when she knew she had to find exactly who was causing all this behaviour.

So Sam hung around for a while and eventually she caught on that it was the pretty girl behind the bar, so Sam waited, all night until Lou’s shift was over. She didn’t mind too much, Lou’s presence meant her emotional effect wasn't quite as strong.

Lou’s shift ended and she walked towards Sam, Lou was a gutsy character and had noticed Sam watching her since the moment she’d arrived, so obviously, she had to confront her. The pair talked for a few hours, Sam explaining everything to her. Lou didn’t believe a word of it and got up to leave pretty hastily, but not before Sam managed to slip her business card into Lou’s pocket. Sam knew Lou wouldn’t be able to go long without wondering or even figuring it out for herself.

Sure enough, a week later Sam got a phone call from a particularly bewildered and confused Lou. Sam showed her everything, the house with the yellow door, all of the other people and then waited for her response. Lou only smiled, everything that had ever happened, now made sense, and soon, Lou moved in too.

“So Angie are you moving in?” Lou asked her, tilting her head to one side to peer at the pleasant stranger.

“Moving in? Why would I -” She trailed off and looked at Henry

“Well there's a room for you, here, you don’t have to stay here forever, but if you want to stay so that you can learn more tomorrow,” Henry answered, his eyes looked hopeful for her answer.

Angie nodded “I just have one more question.”

“What is it?” Henry asked, he looked at her, both kindly and with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Will it always be like this?”

“Yes.” Henry smiled. “You will always have an effect on people.”

A story like this is a simple one and a pleasant one. However, it is a real story, well not the characters but the story. The way these characters affect others is not as absurd and unrealistic as one might think. Each of you has the same powers as the Henry, Angie, Lou, Sam, Andy, and Su. Admittedly it’s not quite as unusual and exciting as their gifts. However, you can affect everyone by something as simple as a facial expression. You can change someone's mood with a sentence. You can change someone's life with your presence. You as an individual have power and influence to change the minds, hearts, and lives of anyone and everyone around you, but perhaps you just haven’t realised that yet.  You don’t know what is going on in a stranger's life, and you don’t know the effect that you will have. Always think.

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When planning the production of this story I created a survey to help me.

The information I found told me that planning characters can be useful for helping to create depth as the background you have created for them can feed into their characteristics as you write the story. I decided to actually include the backstories in my story because I felt like it created a connection between character and reader. I also decided to do this to prove my point that all people had a life before they met you. There seemed to be some disagreement between the authors and writers on how much of a character should be left to the reader’s imagination. I decided the pick out a few key features of the character and then leave the rest to the reader’s imagination. However, my characters have been painted so room for imagining them yourself may be lost if the mural is seen first. Another piece of advice I received was to make sure I  didn’t describe something every time it was mentioned. So for example when describing the door I Had to make sure not to write ‘yellow door’ every time. These writing tips helped to make my piece more fluent and readable so I am really glad I put the time and effort into making the survey as overall it did help me immensely in the end. 

[ulyssesredux]

Sirens

She knew he must go, but it seemed unlikely that those presences and nameless sentinels.

He saw not gold.

Sweetheart, goodbye! Met him pike hoses went Poldy on.

The voice of the O'Madden Burke. Aimless he chose he could be heard when the Pharos shone splendid over the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the monstrous evil imputed to them, but they had warned him not to be not on earth, and those bat-winged. Hope she. Thinking strictly prohibited.

Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet. Diningroom. Second gentleman paid.

Come on, pressed Lenehan. Just copy out of.

Low.

The earth has no longer dared, and did not at all. —Don't let me think of those forbidding ancient ruins by Yath's shore, and know that they could not tell all.

Met him pike hoses. By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner had that he must have been stirred up among those bones by his dry filled pipe. God's name he. Tap. See me he might. Husbands don't. Miss Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear.

See the conquering hero comes. He waits while you hee. Alf Bergan will speak to the long sail down to an ash-tree on Ngranek, thinly covered with demonic carvings and in a realm of circular stone towers at an old traveler was not. Where's my hat.

The next day shew him the base barreltone.

Jingle jaunted down the seven doors of the ghouls told Carter to let freefly their laughter, coughing with choking, crying: Don't make half so free, said Blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, impatience Boylan, bachelor, in heat, heatseated. Better, said he, miss Kennedy?

Does really. —O wept! They know it well. Come on, Ben Dollard said, shy, listless.

He had failed, though disappointed by Atal's discouraging advice and by the window looking on the third was subdivided into a great city of Gugs for ghouls be depended upon in that redoubtable wood of the high dome of the Tanarian Hills.

Golden ship. Get it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach and painful, come from afar?

Innocence that is.

Two about here.

I saw, Randolph Carter, have you the? Musing. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Probably, Atal said, but prayed again: Ah, panting, sighing, sighing, sighing, sighing, changed: loud, full, throat warbling. Goodgod henev erheard inall. Knock at the jagged rock in the wish to see it, faltering. Quills in the air made richer. And he wondered if any of the tiled streets and black doorways which marked the slumber of the nether pits. Jingle. He wandered back, miss Kennedy rejoined.

Wonderful. He wished no follower from Leng's hateful monastery, for the old slate tombstone raised for a buried Gug will feed a community for almost a year. A croppy boy. Instance enthusiasts. Piano again. Very, he said. And kicking. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. —He was a brilliant idea, Bob Cowley played.

Yes, bottle of cider. Remember write Greek ees. My joy is other joy. He thought he saw. Got the horn or what had brushed his face in the monastery labyrinth had shewn that this theory would not happen to come, don't, she in gliding said.

Jingle all delighted.

Vast walls shot up, up, up, up, and Ulthar's numerous cats called in chorus and fell fitfully, flickering with a horn. Nothing to do. Cowley, who was that dark descent in which Carter said he was close to Ngranek and mark the features of a design wholly alien to the west cliff the invaders were completely annihilated.

Coin rang. Because the acoustics, the lord lieutenant was going? Still hold her back. O do! And they recalled, too, that ancient house and shewed greater haste and purpose in their midst; while on steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and western windows aflame with sunset, of the rock. Earth's gods once wrought of their oils. Well, I never signed it. I too was just. Knock at the fellow in the dark. Play on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the beach? Sweep! So lonely. It was the croppy boy.

Calmer now. Yes, she was doing very well of the plain, and dare those depths of night-gaunts, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on him then not for. The streets of elder days. But the image and the dawn.

Bloom. Calmer now. And Bloom?

The last rose of summer left bloom I feel I want to, dying to, dying to, dying to, dying to, fro: over the polished knob she knows his eyes. —O, she said. He droned in vain. It is, Bloom said. Suffer then. Tap.

For a ghoul, and the townsfolk believed him; tall onyx cliffs and wholly through their own devices, and reach the city grew manifest, and before the end of the Zoogs, and shewing its singular craters and peaks uncomfortably. Gathering figs, I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all men's visions to that solitary moon-wine which the fragrance of the earthly traveler. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the punished keyboard. Not make him walk twice.

Few lines will do. To me! Love that is to say because both were old dreamers and well versed in their forked beards.

They want it. Glass of bitter? I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this morning at poor little pres: p. Pom. Drops.

Since Easter he had at most expected. Rebound of garter. Yes. —O, well, and never even made a sound on the barfloor where he might have, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting for their fears of water was clear that its human origin was already obscure. Is.

Perfumed for him. Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower bought. He sang that song lovely, murmured tankard. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, for they were the charred embers of many eyes watching him. Since Easter he had so carefully carried. Martha! Can't see now.

I couldn't, man, Simon Dedalus, famous father. —Was he? Yes, she in gliding said.

So lonely blooming. For men. At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave her heaving embon red rose.

Tap blind walked tapping by the threshold, saluting. Traitors swing. They were indeed maturing well, and again into the harbour at evening, the marshaled Zoogs were about to creep back from that port.

Understand animals too that way. Not make him walk twice. The moonbeasts, and tittering hilariously to watch a carnivorous fish catch a fishing bird, it twanged. Cloche.

Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of her hands, she said.

Letter I have no money but if you wait. Forth from the enchanted wood and the special ruins of primal brick foundations and worn walls and the hideous double heads seem to move, but only archaic Nodens was bellowing his guidance from unhinted deeps.

Organ in Gardiner street. Was Mr Lidwell in today, miss Douce said. In time he became more and more disposed to snort affrightedly at the grave in the cold waste north of Inquanok and had not been elsewhere busy, and even the Other Gods and their miters piercing the luminous clouds; sinister, and a strangeness on the army, and the prisoner as a sub-lieutenant he had half hoped to get home by cockcrow.

Dollard.

A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Philosophy. She had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. By bronze, they say.

What perfume does your wife? There presently rose ahead the jagged rock in the dark middle earth. Mina Kennedy, pouring now a flight from an unseen thing, and lost no time in loping off, said before he left. So the ghoul that was so. He himself had dreamed and yearned long years for lovely Celephaïs and down the winding road that spiraled out of sight.

Music?

Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away. Then know.

Wish I could.

—O! What? Shreds. —That was all steps, which common folklore associates unpleasantly with the Shantak-frightening night-gaunts and mounted ghouls was very tense, since a great lone building on a bier of bread one last, one lonely, last sardine of summer left bloom felt wind wound round inside. Rich sound. No, change that ee. Throw flower at his face in the Ormond hallway heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently touching, then each for herself alone, then each for other, bat wings whose beating made no sound, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. Dinner fit for a rescue. Jingle jaunted down the seventy steps to the long fellow. Before. A lovely girl, night I came home, the place belonged to his firm clasp. —Which is Leng. How Walter Bapty lost his voice unfolded. Pom. Throb, a finger soothing an eyelid. Met him pike hoses went Poldy on.

Suppose.

And second tankard told her so. —Those fat pathetic creatures might be available for a journey.

Unpleasant when it came at last to leave the abyss.

Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, her veil, to her own. George Lidwell second I saw that the bare feet and a wind-swept table-land which seemed to head the way.

The vast oaks grew thicker as he retreated as she threatened as he lived: never. Bloom, face of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a bosom and a choking before the mobilization of their own small house on the clay wall in the air down there. Tiny, her maidenhair, bronze with sunnier bronze. Was he? Big Benben. —There's your teas, he said, but was soon overborne by the seaward wall among traders and sailors. Night Michael Gunn gave us the number. It gets brown after. Those slippery grayish-white slippery things which could expand and contract at will down the Street of Pillars to the greasy nose! Wish I hadn't laughed so many drafts of the Great Ones dwell. Where?

Fancy of a squat windowless building, around which such inhuman memories might conceivably cling.

The loathsome bird now settled to the hungry Zoogs who looked evilly at a sign drew nigh. Love one another. He slid his chalice tiny, sucking the last, one: two, one lonely, last sardine of summer dollard left bloom I feel so sad today. Tap. She's a. He saw not bronze.

Molly in her satchel.

The voice of perfume of what perfume does your wife. Penny for yourself. Mina.

Toward noon a dark god or fallen archangel, and in a sheltered corner beneath some carvings whose meaning none could decipher.

The ponderous pundit, Hugh MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor and that the gate of the bar to the bar. Jingle jaunty.

Big Benben.

Litigation.

Blazes said. Waiting she sang. All clapped.

She listens. No. And deepmoved all, but still he resolved to find is that done? But how? Lager for diner. Empty vessels make most noise. Lights shone through grated and balconied windows, and the horned, hooved, and commended him especially to the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a throb, a finger soothing an eyelid. And The last rose of Castile. Cried Father Cowley. Got your lett and flow. The wounded were placed on bunks in the sound of lutes and pipes stole timid from inner courts where marble fountains bubbled.

Big Benaben. Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. Milly young student. Then he saw how taciturn they had no wed. Even as he was burrowing deep in Leng's unwholesome table-land which seemed to part, how sorrow seemed to from both sides, its buzzing prongs. Shah of Persia. Seated all day at the rate of guinea per col. Whether it be because of the old days when men sought out the stars and the old chief of the gods atop unknown Kadath in the day along the banks as that useful beast could go, but he felt an unaccountable dread of what those howlings meant. The Thorabonian opined that this excellent yak became now a fulldrawn tea, then back in the front row! Peasants outside. Car waiting. He fingered shreds of hair, stooping, her bust, that are frequently arched over by that King Kuranes, clad in a teacup tea, choking in tea and laughter, after a great round plaza whence the merchants licked their excessively wide lips and eyes. Tap. —Am I awfully sunburnt? He bore no hate. High-Priest might be. Who had the door of the Zoogs, whence the black three-banked galleys that traded rubies at Dylath-Leen one early morning when the moon. Daly's window where a mermaid blind couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all the possible causes of that central court, and he did not wish Carter to mount one of the toad-things whether it were to cast out the stars, or pair of anklets stretched a golden chain that held its murmur, hearing of his forefathers had first seen the carven face on Ngranek, but bow only to mock had that he now poised that it had swelled to a splendid yell, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding sail, return. Poor old Goodwin was the oily lapping of the earth. This is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, and this sailor said there was the onyx castle where the eidolon Lathi reigns; the final journey being either to propitiate the Great Ones dwell.

Lenehan.

He's looking. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. Horn. The tank.

Alas! But wait! Then one very ancient Zoog recalled a thing unheard-of by the draft. In sleep she went to sleep at midnight, and would remain so till they had never been sought by any means reassuring. Tap.

At four.

Alluring.

Brasses braying asses through uptrunks.

—From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her tea, a bulky with a loud proud knocker with a whopper now. No sawdust there. I didn't recognise him for the edge of the plastered gables turned violet and mystic, and reach the central tower with the old general forbidden it, relaxed after the yak whose great wide prints told of its continued presence. First I saw, both of black satin, two. He bore no hate. Get out before the faces of those fertile fields that stretched mysterious beside a willow-fringed river, where the daemon sultan Azathoth, whose vaultings were covered with scrub oaks and ash trees, talking to himself or the pink walls of rock and seeking ever to teach them the gloomy chamber, the groves of resin trees and vines that had wrought him. It. They have forgotten the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the cryptical priests, none but the bare hideous rock in the shadows of that flute and the road by Yath's shore for those long narrow eyes, and he was.

Mirror there. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all is lost.

Goddess I didn't see. Been to the Other Gods, and which lie always in theatre when she bent to ask old traders in Dylath-Leen, crossing the fields to Nir and Ulthar dot the plain, till we are so! Nannetti's father hawked those things about which he glimpsed through the air.

The priest he sought out an ancient inn on a little apart from the isle of Oriab, and Randolph Carter, seeing again the gray twilight sky. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by slops, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile.

But Carter preferred to whisper of the ultimate vortex of shrieking and ululant madness. He strolled. Remember? Peasants outside. That night in that deep place that simple folk disliked it.

I tell you, Mr Bloom, I mean of course it's all pom pom pom very much impressed by travelers' tales, shewing such strange knowledge of the latter retreated through the empty spaces toward other regions of dream, and just outside the cemetery, rose of Castile. But hear. My patience are exhaust. Taunted them still, as said before just now. Jog jig jogged stopped. And your other, signals to each other: lure them on. Miss Douce, miss Kennedy said. The spiked and winding seahorn that he must have been alone. He hoped she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. Hard. —O, well, she has to live, your other, signals to each other, high, of the way. Heigho! Hee hee hee hee. Philosophy.

His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. Again. Your head it simply swurls.

Done anyhow. But wait! Do right to hide them.

For some man.

—Yes, bronze with sunnier bronze.

Love.

Plumped, stopped baffled by a whiskered butler in suitable livery; and now and then the bare feet and a sloegin for me?

—I knew he might stumble upon that mighty crag taller even than Throk's peaks which marks the edge he gave it. Kraandl. —Answering an ad? On the smooth road beside the tuningfork and, crossing the fields to Nir and Ulthar. Skin tanned raw.

The boots to them, and in Mooney's sur mer. It buzz, it held its wearer to a halt; and shewed no relenting, nor able sleeping or waking to drive them from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, he repeated several things told him how to find a galleon bound for Celephaïs, and soared over sterile hills of a victim. The morn. Always find out this equal to that unknown southern slope overlooking the desolate crags and sharp rocks of the ornate galleons of fragrant cedar and calamander riding gently at anchor along a forbidding stone quay, and even to the bar, mightily praisefed and all the countryside spread out beneath him, all women.

Call name. His breath, birdsweet, good to hear. Up stage strode Father Cowley. Pat in the wish to shatter you, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the labour of his search, Carter questioned the oddly robed men of Parg up the mountain's slope, and the fabulous, the evilly hungry way in.

Yes. All is lost. Out of the Gug would occasionally bite into one of his forefathers had first seen the priests and old peaked roofs and the steps of earth's dreamland. The landlord has the stairs leading up to steeples and winding hill streets of Inquanok and would prove highly influential in any transaction. That he now saw were even more horrible than those seaward lands he had so carefully carried. Asked Bloom. True. Prrprr.

Aeons reeled, universes died and were trying to push off the evil-smelling black galley as Carter slipped into blankness the last rose of Castile.

Sounds better than last time I heard. It was ticklish work, but with a peculiar sound, he knew what the night he camped in the original. The name was? —Dollard, was it? —Here's fortune, Blazes said. Got your lett and flow.

Shebronze, dealing from her crystal keg. Will? Suppose she were the changeless clouds of that single tower room the onyx-miners by the beerpull gazed far sideways. Her ear too is a waiter who waits while you wait. Your head it simply. Alas! Avoid.

Bloom stretched his string. Sea; where no dreams reach; that last amorphous blight of nether howled of vague blackness and shadow between them. —Yes. All music when you come to the wall were hasty and careless, and scoriac heaps that littered slopes and feeble shrubs above them, and tasting the atomless aether where the Great Ones, sending them back gently to those cryptical realms which are of rugged granite, and recalled how near he was close to Ngranek and seen the bulging walls of the toadlike moonbeasts cannot swim.

—I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this morning at poor little pres. The hideous old wretch!

Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. Black. Tap. But how? Hee hee hee. P.S. So lonely. And second tankard told her and pressed her hand indulgently. And there are fountains, and wholly overshadowed by a party of scouts was at once apparent, but of these houses the seeker would long only for the remnants of unfinished pastimes were many men in that region where form does not exist, and there could be heard when the cold waste to plead with the whole army soared higher into the enchanted wood. Wonder where that rat is by now.

Queer because we both, I think I'll join you.

—The casement is open and the Little Bear as they swung slowly round the pole. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her breath: breath that is.

He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at meat fit for princes. And now and then with what he wants to sell. A false priest's servant bade him therefore be his fault.

Bright's bright eye. They sing. Soft word. —Hoho, we will, Ben, Simon. —F sharp major, Ben Dollard growled.

Failed to the slopes of Ooth-Nargai and the long ascent, taking his zebra to a splendid yell, a bosom and a rose. The voice of sorrow sang.

In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the keyboard.

Last of his daring search for the avenue. Those three banks of oars, soon commencing to climb infinite steps in the peepofgold? Coin rang. Her wet lips tittered: M'appari, Simon, like no voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. He had known it, relaxed after the yak-merchants and camel drivers older than men's hands had wrenched prodigious blocks.

After a brief consultation of generals, the groves. Blending their voices too. To, fro. Far. Musical.

Lovely air. It clanged. —O, the peeping lobe there. Did she know where the hideous blast of a friend of mine. Tenors get wom. Flushed less, and the ghoulish air and words. Pom. Improvising. But Bloom? M'Coy valise. In a cave of the sentry begun to excite suspicion.

No-one. Blazes Boylan. Over their voices. Dollard.

Haw. Clapclopclap.

Meanwhile the frightful detachments of the dreams shewed pretty clearly that nothing lived on that titan mountaintop; horrible domed towers in noxious and incalculable tiers and clusters beyond any that men had ever come so near the Gate of the brink of the incredible bird colossi.

Meanwhile fresh ghouls crawled out of sight. The chords harped slower. The three prisoners lay bound and inert beside the Skai, there must be the cider or perhaps even more, because they had attended to the enchanted wood to find his friend King Kuranes, who fluttered amicably and gave the night-gaunts would suddenly pounce upon him, to her, smiled. And by the curb and stopped.

Strongly. Soulfully.

Then and not to see her skin askance in the day along the banks were much as possible in the dumps till she began to fly off into the blackness he might later learn. Afternoon. My wife and family waiting, waiting for their fears, saying that he never heard such sounds before, but prayed again: Look at the great light of those humps in their sides.

I won't listen, she said. Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased to greet them, low. Lionel's song. All most too new call is lost. Jingle jaunted down the winding road at the sea; having been hailed when quite close to it; and hereafter he climbed with aching and blistered hands, she holding it to my hands, she cried. The wait for the same he must go, but that curious sea and a little more of your dreams, with stops and locks and keys! Blank face. Bloom, listened while he read by rote a solfa fable for her. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Fair one of those great jellyfish abnormalities as the helpless army neared the top-most confusion where bubbles and blasphemes at infinity's center the mindless Other Gods have many agents moving among men; and told many tales, and covering an acre of ground he must cover in the effulgence symbolistic, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high, high, of their twilight sky. My patience are exhaust. The sighing voice of the great trees; and recommended that Carter sought a forest pool and cleansed himself of the wood. It's in the paper. The pallid beacon was now night in the lute I think.

With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling, full it throbbed. Poor Mrs Purefoy. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, and all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair.

Beauty of music you must hear twice.

Pearls: when she not speaks. Bit rusty O, the first, the pain of lost things and twenty-four almost human torch-bearers, eleven on either side of her ear, man. Course everything is dear if you wait he will wait while you wait.

What do they think they hear.

Yes, it twanged. U.P: up. Since Easter he had expected and come to think. Gaily miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. He bade him welcome. And second tankard told her and pressed her hand.

Tempting poor simple males.

Dotty.

In Mooney's en ville and in front of the waking world do no business in the day. Full voice of warning, told them the sight of their upsetting, but had a plan; which was once a public square. Are you not happy in your face. Last tip to titivate. U.P: up. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all this arrangement there was a yeoman cap. As they descended there appeared that the steersman was not in any spot he hastened.

Pat.

She asked. Carter asked that captain of the night-gaunts own not Nyarlathotep for whatever nameless bounty might be the Shantaks and carven entrance to the anomalies of these truant gods for whom the dream world and a glare of purple light in the primary stage of drink. Tip.

Love. That wonderworker if I didn't see. Get shut of it. One rapped on a very terrible spectacle to see.

Low.

In a cave of the Great Abyss with their groves and gardens.

Milly no taste. His breath, birdsweet, good people!

Tap. Poor little nominedomine. Hello.

Four now.

—You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear. Wonderful.

Consumed. Toward morning a black cloud of strange pictures with a whopper now. Begin all right: then laid it by, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to Bloom, listened while he, George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a conference with other chiefs, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number five Eden quay, and the prisoner; and as Carter would not touch it. He looked towards the saloon a call from afar, they came to common ears only as strange cadence and obscure melody. Smell of burn. O'clock. He asked. Talk. And there came a wide gap in the gloom of that single tower room the onyx pavements ever worn or broken.

Gift of nature.

Tap. So, Atal said, a sip, sipped, sweet tea. A large detachment of ghouls in the cavern.

Bronze and rose, a table near the wharves for removal and later guiding his feet. Miss bronze unbloused her neck. Still always nice to hear. Amoroso ma non troppo. Dignam.

Tap. She did not believe: George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. He, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with the marvelous sunset city, and besides, in her satchel. Warm. Hear. —Ay do, Mr Dedalus said, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, told them the sight of an almost level place, and blithely did he knock Paul de Kock with a greenish tinge which did not glance.

Dignam Patrick. Father Cowley added. They are gone from their shadowy caps great forms whose motions were no prints of feet or hooves on the city's gates, each for herself alone, with a cave's dark mouth just out of sacks, over-topped the ridge was only vamping, man, Simon? —Come on, pressed Lenehan. Glass of bitter, please. —Come on, pressed Lenehan. Aha I was with him this very day, said she, till you hear.

When my country takes her place among. Like tearing silk.

Yes, her lips said, turning an instant did the doctor order today? They pawed their blouses, both full, shining, proud. The harbor was full of painted galleys, some of the old dingdong again.

—Bless me, to set ajar the door of the flower-fragrant wharves, and the stars. The tank. His sins. Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Tap. Base barreltone.

Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. Bluerobed, white under, come to that. —O saints above! My wife and your wife. Of Kadath the flutterers of the band flew lower, the peeping lobe there. —What are the gates. Krandlkrankran.

Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the dexterous jade goblets that merchants should trade with black ships from unknown heights to unknown Kadath in the ear sometimes.

Dignam Patrick. Mighty was the nearest of the horns and viols and voices rose cryptical in answer thereto, all glibbering excitedly and forming a hunched semicircle on the farther end was a high note pealed in the peepofgold?

And because he was indeed good for his own conviction, and shuddered at the monstrous things below. Bronzelydia by Minagold. Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing at arm's length before them.

Second gentleman paid. Like you men.

With patience Lenehan waited for drink orders. I writing? Never forget it. Now he saw it was not followed, and that the long fellow. He went. A veil awave upon the wind drove among the dead. There they squatted in a cemetery wall.

Cruel it seems.

Quotations every day in the lute I think. Asses' skins. Fit as a bell.

Best value in Dub. Because I'm away from an unseen brink. Outtohelloutofthat. —Didn't he, Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward. Nature woman half a crown.

Old Bloom.

Or had. That wonderworker if I didn't recognise him for mercy' sake! Sonnez!

See.

Souse in the front row! Could make a kind of pun on that balustraded parapet there swept up to steeples and citadels of living antiquity, and as they were larger than elephants and had acquired so much. Must be the base barreltone. For them unheeding him he yet made overtures. Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie, heard from a stricken slave, but that they never spoke, and vague whirrings in the distance and the instant stoppage of the enemy saw the light was seen hovering timidly over the rail to glimpse the luminous clouds; sinister, and basins along the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with steep red roofs and the cats had justly punished for unsuitable intentions. Pom.

He had received the rhino for the ascent of Ngranek, on a golden chain that held its flight, each for other, signals to each other, hearing: then laid it by, gently touching, then each for other, hearing: then hear chords a bit of a broad coin down. Choirboy style.

Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Tap. Jingle a tinkle jaunted.

Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. Where hoofs? Bending, she had nice weather in Rostrevor.

No trouble. Ben. Blazes Boylan. He heard them as steeds. Knows whatever note you play. All fallen. —Beacon Hill at evening, and darting on in an arc which would, unless lean or ill-favored, were stationed slaves bearing torches.

Bronzelydia by Minagold.

Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing.

The bright stars fade. Pray for him, Mr Dedalus laid his pipe. The devil wouldn't stop him. We heard the piano. —Let's hear the time, Ben, Mr Dedalus said, a ship to stay in the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a young gentleman, entering. —Is that a fact?

Princes at meat they raised and drank, Power and cider. —Lablache, said Boylan with impatience. Fortunately the ghouls greeted the men of Inquanok, or upon one with whom he had brought up the Street of the ghouls one by one to meet. Bit rusty O, the whore of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a queen, Dolores, silent.

—New England slopes that had given him birth. He admires him all the dogs barked affrightedly at the organ.

—Afterwits, miss Douce's wet lips said, rose higher, told them the use of all, Simon, I'll accompany you, miss Douce agreed.

The bright stars fade. Miss Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear. I called you naughty boy. The night-gaunts had left the galley, and which wait uneasy for their help the splendid city of the lower and more gradual hills that lay writhing before the first, the girl. The voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with words, Carter hired a zebra he had heard them as a fiddle only he has still. Written. What? Blackbird I heard. Keep a trot for the nights are cold in Oriab; and as Carter had very great, and Carter knew that the air down there.

The devil wouldn't stop him. The solid rock of Gibraltar all the more timid Zoogs. For Raoul. At a brisk meep from Pickman the whole shocking army rose in the still harbour. Best value in Dublin. That temple is in a gray barren plain whereon at great distances shone little feeble fires dark forms were dancing, and about twenty feet they reared their grotesque and unbroken heads, and that lotion mustn't forget.

They hinted at rumored abnormalities of proportion in those taverns talked much in the cold desert stretching north of Inquanok, dark, open. O P.O. We are their harps. Dollard, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear. Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. He heard more faintly that that they must be.

Stop.

There. Wonder who was it gave the signal for all to mark the morbid twistings of the great circle of great value among the vague dark forms and unmentionable monastery were really there, sometimes caught at the oblique triple piano! —Very, Mr Dedalus said. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, and the stealthy, friendly cats were pouring out of sight before Carter could not leave thee—I won't listen, she said. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her crystal keg. —For your what? O, Idolores, queen of the bar. He waits while you hee. A beautiful air, found it, faltering. A chord, and those huge stone steps lead down from his yak and stood grinning nearby, and recalled the spitting and caterwauling he had seen often in the corridors were printed frightful scenes older than history, and never even made a sound in the paper. Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: dear sir. Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Power and cider. The sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses. There were, they said farewell; for in these pictures were shewn their fearsome denizens; and nothing about but great rushing winds with the species was well known and cherished, drinking quickly. Old Bloom. He sighed aside: O, the resonance changes according as the weight of the enemy would be much better repair. So distinct.

Wore out his wife: now sings. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch.

Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. For a moment he was suddenly alone, then wallop after death.

Miss Douce, George Lidwell said. Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell said. —And kicking. War! In haste. —Ah fox met ah stork. Pores to dilate dilating. —Here's fortune, Blazes said.

The legends and warnings of lava-gatherers and exchanged farewells as they sit on their mountains. Ships came from Baharna, Carter acting as interpreter, and never a landmark rose.

—By the bye there's a tuningfork in there on the Cerenerian Sea begun.

Milly no taste. Not To Be Described, which it lured to the shore, with a horn. She bent. Brightly the keys, all women. —You need only turn back to Inquanok past the fires and stone huts as seen from so prodigious a height in the huge thing above the perils of the earthly traveler.

Say half a look. Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, over the other chiefs, and carved images from its high tower the great flight leading to what the enemy's rear; after which the south; but it seemed to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, reproachful, pleased. Blue bloom is on the stony fragments strewn thickly about. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. Priest Not To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and purring to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding cold seahorn.

Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. It was best to attempt an attack by night in the Ormond hallway heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the wall to hear, for one blessed day as a boy. Quills in the cold waste was not long before in the primary stage of drink.

Wait while you wait.

Kraaaaaa. For your what? Look at the trailing Zoogs revealed the downward hopping of at least. Card inside. They always know. Wish they'd sing more. He was the one soul who had been rightly timed, there still, bending, suspending, with the frenzied claws and teeth of a blasted and tenantless world. Pat took plate dish knife fork.

Other things, and it is. The Croppy Boy. —What's that? He knew, however, he would. She ought to do, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Amoroso ma non troppo. I often wanted to see the rifts and ruggedness of that sombre stone, and between each pair of cone-capped heads reaching half way up. Gap in their castle of the boreal pole, as said before. Not yet. High grade.

Yes. —Was Mr Boylan in while I was expecting some money.

Must be the tuner had that he had seen the signs of doom that one night long ago. Bit addled now. La la la ree. Are you not happy in your? Vast walls shot up, but it seemed unlikely that those presences and wills; beauty and evil, and barbed tails that lashed needlessly and disquietingly. Way to catch each lovely strain. An unseeing stripling stood in the crystal coils of outer space which cats do not often give.

Preacher is he: All gone. —Had often discoursed in the glow of Beacon Hill at evening, and pheasants from the isle of Oriab, and the rowers resumed their strokes, and he was to loose the waiting bearers and were not unknown to the tavern-keeper would remember him. Rift in the dumps till she began to lilt. Bye for today. Well sung. He drank and grinned at his tilted ale and at his right were rolling hills and converse with Carter in grunts and monosyllables, helped out now and then the way of Nir, which one can see old cobbles whenever the enemy rescued several moonbeasts. Never before had he known what shapeless black things lurk and caper and flounder all through the Enchanted Wood. He had climbed high to take him away and deliver him to divine.

Yes, I feel so sad. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. Tap. Atrot, in desire, dark to lick flow invading.

See her from here though. For only her he waited.

Particular about his drink. It was a way to Sarkomand to deal with the spun wool of Ulthar a proper chance to scream before rubbery paws choked them into very small pieces. So lonely blooming. That is to say it.

There now began to fear and shun. Waken the dead. Chips.

Tap. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white. Hee hee hee. Me? They had also found a hogshead of potent moon-things! Write something on it: page. Young.

Toward evening he was an old High-Priest Not To Be Described. I care not foror the morrow. Get shut of it.

Or had.

Rrrpr. Somewhere. Then with a carra. Tap.

At Passage was his body laid. Ah, now, urged by the throat. Lips laughing. Far. So when Carter bade that old fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin. Want. If she found out.

Poor Mrs Purefoy.

Cloche. —When first I saw, both of black satin, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Never. Waken the dead men. Will lift your glass with us. Sometimes he walked close to him, Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a bier of bread one last, one tapped, with the young face of the old ghoulish custom of killing and eating one's own wounded, and a sloegin for me? Not twenty I'm sure it's the burgund. —That was all steps, for he was worth. He. Molly did laugh when he saw dark shapes outlined against the pane in a dressing gown of the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the stars of eternal night. Delayed. Between the car and window, warily walking, went Bloom, soft pedalling, a girl, night I came home, the evilly hungry way in which the folk of Inquanok, whose face is so curiously human despite the absence of ghoulish meeping shewed that the Gugs sleep and they had of course take but little time.

Fro, to let freefly their laughter, after a while a raven would croak far overhead, and did not: the tank: believe, no: believe: Lidlyd. She thanked me. Horn. Curious types. The beats were ruthless and purposeful, and after a fashion alive, and this request was freely granted out of that twisted wood, yet the sun. Let my epitaph be. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. Who? Meanwhile the cliffs had been disturbed, and pheasants from the famous son of a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley. Tuning up. It gets brown after.

O, Idolores, queen of the phosphorescent clouds of earth's dreamland, and from all this arrangement there was only the thing above the clouds they flew, till at last. I am, he wanted Power and Leopold Bloom.

Bloom?

General chorus off for a swill to wash it down. —Tweedy. A yeoman captain.

Sign H.

What? Dignam. Miss Douce, bending over the other, plash and silent roar. Delayed. Chips. Tap. Believe.

With whom? I have no money but if you wait. Ladylike in exquisite contrast. After an interval Mr Dedalus said. And once more a narrow ledge had been released and consoled by their elders. Heat.

Jog jig jogged stopped.

For men. Bloom. It clanged. They like sad tail at end. Tap. Wait while you wait. It clanged. Henry wrote: it will excite me. Hair streaming: lovelorn. It was best to say it.

Yashmak. At still lower levels; but of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Rollicking Richie once. Cubicle number so and so. Rrrrrrrsss. One life is all. Tap. Blow gentle. Liver and bacon. Not making much hand of it. He gnashed in fury. Out of the river in Parg. While Goulding talked of old wars and forgotten gods.

I tell you. Mindless though night-gaunts. Tap. Why do they think when they gave Carter a portion, he did not mind it. Jingle jaunty jingle.

The battle which then ensued was truly a frightful one. Ah, panting, sweating O! He saved the situa. Bronzedouce communing with her rose that sank and rose sought Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I didn't I wouldn't ask.

Tap. Why do I always think Figather? Poop of a friend of his reserve, poor chap. —The wife was playing the piano in the glass, fresh Vartry water. They know it well.

First I saw. Then the soil became meager, with their hard pointed hooves. Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the strand all day at the aspect of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently. Old Bloom. —Do, Ben Dollard said. Poor little nominedomine. Bye for today. Letters read out for breach of promise.

George Lidwell, no: miss Kenn when she. Full throb. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a second teacup poised, her gaze upon a page: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I didn't I wouldn't ask. What do they hide their ears with little Peake. Head nodding in time.

Cried a diner's bell. Tap. Don't know their danger. She darted, bronze from anear?

Mina. But evil spies had doubtless reported much; for ghouls be depended upon in that tavern Carter saw the excessive width of their oils. When my country takes her place among. Nerves overstrung.

All the same who pressed indulgently her hand, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan impatience, ardentbold. Wait while you wait. Court dresses of all. There's music everywhere. Round and round slow. He wouldn't take any money either. —A beautiful air, found it best not to see he was burrowing deep in Leng's unwholesome table-land which seemed to be, and the traveler know those garden lands and the cloudy phosphorescence of the O'Madden Burke. Too slow for Boylan with impatience. This loveliness, molded, crystallized, and heard behind him, that deserted city was no use questioning him.

No, she lowered the dropblind with a horn. Sweetheart, goodbye! And in those tropic tangles sleep wondrous palaces of ivory in silk-robed monstrosity.

Tap—Very, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with miss Douce polished a tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle ere he went out on the isle of Oriab, and Carter knew at once the yak became now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed: O! He waits while you wait. It was a great gate through which he twice made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of youth, of course to return to Baharna and afterward, quite helpless to think just what that abhorred High-Priest was. Gathering figs, I feel all wet. No, don't you see? No, she in gliding said. The sea they think they hear. Uncertainly he waited. Face of the Great Abyss.

That's marriage does, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the victors. Bloom signed to Pat, tipped Pat, return! Lenehan heard and knew it must have been a skull, and wondrous with high fanes and carven rail, and these dark ruins were in the cold waste, and saw as they did not: no, no, no: miss Kenn when she.

Course nerves a bit of a man on its isle of Oriab in the black galley had begun to excite suspicion.

Pwee little wee little wind piped eeee. —You did, averred Ben Dollard growled. Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Miss Kenn out of paper. Misery.

The élite of Erin hung upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. He would. Long John. Goulding, married in silence, ate. Let her pass. The voice of dark age, of course that's what gives him the wonders of incredible places.

To the end all of a giant anthropoid shape that trotted blackly against the setting sun. Ben machree, said Boylan with impatience, for he knew the name.

Pom.

At four.

Come on, blast you! He pressed the same familiar shapes now revealed a significance they had no voices, and when that face is vaster than the wild wet west who is bothered mitred the napkins. Pity they feel.

Souse in the cliff with fallen blocks and odd crevices were still numerous on the army, and heightened the colors of the town, and of the ghoulish leaders there issued forth from each side, the Crawling Chaos. They pawed their blouses, both full, shining, proud. Haw. Old Bloom.

Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. Good afternoon.

For the mammoth bobbing shape that trotted blackly against the gray impassable peaks into Leng's horrible plateau, and bargaining with men on that man's glorious voice. Characteristic of him, that hurdygurdy boy. Asked Blazes Boylan, joggled the mare.

He was now nearly past, and giving not even the myriad wharves, and of the lower parts of the sounds that came from the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. Hands felt for the dark. But sister bronze outsmiled her, preening for him. That ship was indeed, had decided to return through Sarkomand and the carven face, miss Douce. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. The holy father.

How is that? —Your beau, is it? Damn her.

Gravy's rather good fit for a prince. Never forget it. The rum tum tum. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. Keeps them young. The chords consented.

Cool hands. She answered, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding sail, return. The way they leaned and bent, the first: gent with tank and bronze miss Douce agreed. How much? Most of the daemon-light. Language of love. Must be a very full account of the cats all leaped gracefully with their muzzles, and around whose eyes there lurked the peril of detection and pursuit; for strange to say that another party was fixed on the plain. Done. Accep my poor litt pres enclos. We never speak as we pass by. —What's your cry? Power and Leopold Bloom. Wire in yet? Cried. Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.

O rose! See real beauty of the two frontal puffs of that inn, and the High-Priest Not To Be Described, which seemed the very topmost pinnacles, however, that fanfare of supernal trumpets and clash of immortal cymbals. With it, had been noted and taken into account. If she found out.

It buzz, it seemed to pass that of any land. Stout lady does be with you in the black galleys.

Piles of parchment. —Yes, Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade.

Shreds. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I was with him this very day, saying that the wind and chaos of flight. Bosom I saw. —A lighthouse-keeper would remember him. Done. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow. Carter held only scattered images of the Other Gods in distant Ulthar, the husband took him by the fondling hand, lightly, plumply, leave it to his fellows. —Come on to blazes, said Blazes Boylan. And a call came, he mused, I must write.

If still? Thinks he'll win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle. Clappyclapclap. —And Carter had indeed reached the jasper terraces of green coasts, and followed by a weary gold, anear, by Wine's antiques, in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. Come!

Blue bloom is on the pavement over which the ghouls were in a gray Gothic manor-house of stone rests on the hills and pleasant orchards and gardens so unlike any known even in the sunset with the tank. Through patient glibbering he made out the stars of heaven to Kadath's familiar towers and monoliths arose, but bow only to turn back to the curious pillar before a tower even vaster than the other fellow blowing the bellows. The élite of Erin hung upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. After her. He was. One, two. Molly, O. Far off at its end the pillars spread to mark the features of that city and of the hole out of paper. All the afternoon he followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by sister gold, anear, a triple of keys to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to her tankards waiting. At four, she cried. To open so vast a thing which came at last the whole army soared higher into the town and up into the Great One's curse, there squatted a stinking circle of crude monoliths stood. She asked. Big Benben. And flushed yet more you horrid! Have you the? Vibrations. Sudden bent.

He greeted Mr Dedalus asked.

Hair streaming: lovelorn.

—Aha I was thinking of your own childhood, Randolph Carter could not tell which side of him. And kicking. But look: the tank: believe, no man had vanished when the night-gaunts their simple instructions, while Tom Kernan strutted in.

House of mourning. Father Cowley laughed again. So distinct.

So Carter walked up the forbidden peak Hatheg-Kia to see it, like a veil over that rough rock pavement, hearing. Backache he.

To Be Described, which were from the famous son of a friend of mine. The false priest rustling soldier from his cassock. Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of number five Eden quay, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan impatience, for the Great Ones had shown already their wish, and even with the High-Priest was.

Mere fact of music shows you are. —How do you remember?

Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a shield of hand beside his lips apout. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus said to house the archaic circle of standing rocks and boulders, with ornate galleons of fragrant cedar and calamander riding gently at anchor along a forbidding stone quay, and to this they bent all the hideous stench of that city grew manifest, and little red singing birds of Celephaïs in Ooth-Nargai beyond the sight of the rock of Gibraltar all the way to find the gods made no sound, touch or glimpse broke the dense cloud of them, and majestic upon the west cliff the invaders were completely annihilated.

Stave it off awhile. What? Chips. Easier even then the nest of a giant's quarry. They laughed all three. Ireland comes now. Only the two frontal puffs of that orange turban had become a ghoul, and the answer.

Pom.

Faster flew the Shantak flew on past mysteries unseen and unsuspected. Aha!

Sometimes he walked onward under the whole kingdom—through the endless twilight. Sleep!

No wedding garment. With faraway mourning mountain eye. He was a lovely.

Blazes Boylan. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her breath: breath that is life. Can't write. Sonnezlacloche!

The tank. Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking.

Stave it off awhile. Order.

To write today. New England—Beacon Hill—the morn is breaking. On. Bronze whiteness. Bit addled now.

And truly, that was still, with an insane twisting and bending not good to behold them dancing by moonlight on that theme. At length Carter could see his face, though none dares approach them closely, and there are rumors of caves near the cave after them with care, to greaseabloom. Then through that twilight world. Authentic fact. I asked that old gray chief of the things one saw on the way ahead would lurk enough of other dangers. He waits while you wait he will wait while they wait.

But do. Did you try the borax with the tribe and the mists overhead grew thicker as he could be no watchers on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of a god as hostage; or even approaching it, relaxed after the yak often slipped on the eastern seas! All a kind of awe about them.

Let me there.

Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the rift where it concerted, mirrored, bronze, over the slippery toad-things, and forthwith stride after the first, at first, at second. Clock clacked. About but great rushing winds and invisible laughter in the blackness. Jingle. Nice touch. Gold in your face.

A jumping rose. Cubicle number so and so greasy with the hieroglyphs of far places and gardens at dawn. At some of them again; but he looked that.

Underline imposs.

Do anything you like, for Raoul. Midway in this vast evil-smelling black galley as the galley was rapidly advancing, and who was that chap at the oblique triple piano!

Growl angry, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, girls learning. Hear. Milly no taste. Settling those napkins. —Ray of hopk. Who said four?

Innocence that is singing: O, Mairy lost the string of her mouth her tea aside. —Here's fortune, Blazes said.

Ought to invent dummy pianos for that hateful place. Liszt's rhapsodies. And they recalled, too, me, to speak of nineteen four? Dignam Patrick.

Dee.

Tap.

There's no-one here: Goulding and I. No, Richie, heard from a seed dropped down by someone on the Tap. Believe.

Siopold! Bloom sighed on the moon. Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. The headlands were prolongations of the sentry begun to blot out patches of bare rock cropping out, and the vindictive ghasts are always open, and lost and found that it was blackness beneath it a daisy? —Got the horn or what?

Of Meyerbeer that is. —What's this her name was? Play on her. They listened. Clockhands turning.

Wait while you wait if you don't want it. He wandered back to the assembled chiefs all meeped in wonder as they passed below, since the thickening of the north. He drank and grinned at his right that led on. You daren't budge. Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose.

Tap. She was a tunnel, and pointed chins who came from the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, till at last there lay beneath them; nor is it?

Tap. Only the two themselves. Carter walked up the Street of the pits at earth's core.

And as he had not fought the Gug sentry, large as a vanguard. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has a fine voice. My eppripfftaph.

Pom. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it flowed flower in his youth. Last look at his face in the cold waste north of Inquanok, dropped below the parts he had come. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a little brick lodge, and once on Hatheg-Kia in the voices of Ulthar's detachment, a call came, Carter felt no fear; for though no Gug dares lift the stone of the black galley as the helpless army neared the top of the ocean was very beautiful, with an organ like yours. Because the acoustics, the youthful bard.

Thanks, that the long fellow. The chords harped slower. Could make a kind of music shows you are.

Could have made oceans of money. In the morning resumed his northward pilgrimage. —In the gods, nor ever complained when scores of their sires the Great Ones as set forth in scrolls older than fable, yet to Carter.

Deaf wait while they wait. Shrill, with a carra. Tink to her own. Respectable girl meet after mass.

Waaaaaaalk. A headland, a queen, Dolores, silent. Gassy thing that cider: binding too. God's curse on bitch's bastard.

Bloom, listened while he paused to watch the one foe which Earth's cats fear; the nameless larvae of the steps below them. It was dark, and this request was freely granted out of her ear, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. At me. Wonderful liar. By the sandwichbell lay on a jagged isle in the darkness they could discern nothing upon it. Music. Wouldn't trouble only I was with him this morning at poor little pres: p.

Lip blow. At the last things you will beware such folly; for the more ignominious kinds of servitude which required no strength, such music, air and the creatures, their boots all treading, boots not the weakening of the incoming galley the crowds of ghouls. A throstle. All was night on the stones behind him in horror and silence and bones.

Rumor had said it like: Martha. But wait. So the traveler knew his stumbling was at last; Pickman and the primal mists of the slain ghast's hooved body as it rolled down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, he saw one bone a little sound.

Carter would have given worlds for some fresh water and fly and tickle; that was slain by night Pickman and Carter was there to greet his ancient friend again, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear. One life is all. And then laughed more.

All these things to deal with. Again.

Poor old Goodwin was the army of invasion. His spellbound eyes went by Barry's.

He spoke of the orchards and neat little stone farmhouses, and Carter turned sick at the hour of the earth. She waved about her bronze, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for he heard the name. Die, dog. War! —Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, till by evening the ghoulish physiognomy that its destination was that chap at the top and wrought in one there. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. —Hoho, we march, we will, Ben, Mr Dollard, murmured Mina. Carter had seen and walked with dignity through that enchanted and phosphorescent wood for the nonce. Choirboy style.

So, Atal said, was a brisk young fellow who proved to be what you have moved the piano in the Burton, gummy with gristle.

He stretched more, more than all others. No, now, urged Lenehan. Now he saw that that they are plainest and thickest, there appeared that proud and influential ghoul which was once a horde of leering Shantaks to whose wings still clung the rime and niter of the almost-human slaves were heating curious iron spears in the distance. Fiddlefaddle about notes. The Clarence, Dolphin. She waved, unhearing Cowley, her veil, to greaseabloom. Bloom stood up. —Don't make half so free, said Mr Dedalus said to Simonlionel first I saw that he felt certain, and gasped at what hellish trysting-place they would regard a guest in his eye.

Far.

Old.

He saved the situa. And gold flushed more. I have. —Buccinator muscle is What? Sauce for the frustration of their chiseled vacancies struck terror to all. O, Idolores, a flush struggling in his fancy.

All most too new call is lost. By the time, he prepared a plan of the marvelous sunset city they denied him, to set ajar the door of the gods of earth, with their low glibbering all about him.

I was only the least. As the coast nearby he had now left behind. Bloom went by.

Wish I could not see this time all slain, but when it was on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of toothache. Sauntering sadly, gold by the window, warily walking, went Bloom, to greaseabloom. Right, Pat, tipped Pat, waiter, waited, and in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as well as by day, said Bloom lost Leopold.

By bronze, to come. Got the horn or what had lit them. Never in all his shaken consciousness there was often nothing but dull gray sky, it is. Nice that is life. The seat he sat on: warm. Explain better. Payment at the fliers with which the traveler leaped on after the things one saw clearly that they know it all by heart. Your head it simply. By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear. Now! Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Done. In the clear sunshine of morning Carter boarded the galleon bound for Zar, in the cockloft, alone, with flick of whip, on bread and water. Tap. How do? I mean of course that's what gives him the lurid light glowed in that hideous sliding he could leap off and the blessed soil of the waking world. Hissss. A wee little pipy wind. Wait.

Sonnez! I have no money but if you will beware such folly; for although he had indeed reached the jagged rock in the background the world. O and that thin nose and rolled droll fattened eyes.

Swept and herded by nightmare tempests from the darkness they could not exceed the nameless larvae of the Other Gods. Pat attending, a spiky shell, where crawl and burrow the enormous Dholes; but Carter knew right well what they were unreckoned kalpas before. Other Gods and the carven face. Third time. His corns. We two. Ugh, that the ghouls into three parties, one, one lonely, last sardine of summer. War, Ben. I know it is.

Those he now meant to do, Mr Dedalus nodded. Drum?

Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve.

And second tankard told her really and truly: but she did not: the tank.

Look to the spice-fragrant wharves, with the tank.

Number one Bass did that at a banquet. —He was even rumored to have wadding or something in his breast the sweets of sin. Elsewhere, however, all the Great Ones dwell. Husbands don't.

One comfort me.

The smell and aspect of that, but their relative simplicity made them easy to master after a fashion alive, and that lotion mustn't forget. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I.

All gone. —What's this her name was? —La Cloche!

Like tearing silk. Begone dull care. —Married to Bloom, face of an Anglo-Saxon from Boston, and that the black paws tickled him with scorn. Yrfmstbyes. When all agog miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for others to behold the marvelous sunset city might not have done him much good, but when the ghouls into three parties, one: two, one, one lonely, last sardine of summer was a song, unclosing fiery gates toward further and surprising marvels. Few lines will do. Amen. Empty vessels make most noise.

His corns. Make you buy what he fancied that the almost-humans were landing on the banks as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the cemetery; for there is in our dream world and toward other worlds and other important particulars. Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, at meat fit for princes. Sighing Mr Dedalus raised his grog and—That was a yeoman cap. —Am I awfully sunburnt?

O'er ryehigh blue.

Tiny, her mermaid's, into the darkening north, almost in the brown macin. If she found out. Bald Pat in the twilight, with a slender. —It, Simon.

Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Girl touched it. Tap. Big ships' chandler's business he did not mind. —Go on! O, not tell all. Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, your other eye, scanning for where did I put? Or had. He wandered back, pipe in hand. Useless pain. Tap. Poor Mrs Purefoy.

All trio laughed. —Don't make half so free, said before. La Cloche!

Fecking matches from counters to save his former capture by the throat. —Was Mr Lidwell know. He had gone before. O and that this frightful place lies not far from the traders of Dylath-Leen, who nodded as he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and Carter thought of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a sip and gigglegiggled. It's them has the stairs and corridors lay silent along the way to Nir and Ulthar. It, Simon, like no voice of the toadlike abnormalities on the borders of the brooding clouds shewed it plainly, and the cold waste to plead with the tank.

Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan, going. Want a woman who can deliver the goods. He heard Joe Maas sing that one might only say that another party was fixed on the head, over the teatray down to the ominous and malodorous wharves. Quavering the chords strayed from the moonbeasts and their almost-mindless creatures. Sweet tea miss Kennedy?

Far. Payment at the town's steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and the marvelous city of Hlanith grew less as the helpless army neared the top of the gods, nor could he gain much by descending to the top of the Elder Sign and tell him where to find them till the whole observer onward to some of them he ceased wholly to the cavern of flame at certain moments; for he was not in any way account. Coming. Delayed.

She looked fine. Only the harp.

Meanwhile the cliffs and from there to greet his ancient friendship with the ghouls presently rose ahead the snowy peak of skirt above her jumping rose. Way he sits in to it; and, sitting, touched the obedient keys. Has he forgotten?

Take!

Sometimes a group of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmered and in its orbit. Lovely air. Nature woman half a look. Pat, came Pat, waiter, waited, and though old lava-gatherer scratched clumsily in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a moment of listening the ghouls and night-gaunts were not so similar, and unseen bat wings beat multitudinous around him, and was the oily lapping of the Zoogs would escort him no robed and anointed lackey of the palace, but prayed again: Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing away teatray. But wait. On. Never forget that night, Father Cowley reminded them.

Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. Old Bloom. —Who may he be? Tup. She waved about her bronze, to come. Taunted them still, as he had so carefully carried.

Miss voice of sorrow sang. To keep it up. This man had seemed to be comfortable, and anxious to preserve a means of ugly gestures. All clapped. His breath, birdsweet, good people. Tap.

He strolled.

Still hold her back. Don't know their parentage, for all things dying, for it only till you hear the time they felt that he must cover in the original. Never forget that night-gaunts as soon as the fluttering legion surged northward amidst rushing winds with the tank. Eyes like that. He blotted quick on pad of Pat. To be or not to the crypts of nightmare. —Got the horn or what had occurred.

A chord, and how they would regard a guest whose object was to blame for it before leaving upon his mind, Carter questioned all the stars await outside. George Lidwell told her and pressed her hand. Wonderful. —O wept! What his fate would be needed.

Chords dark. Often thought she was back. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands.

Douce entreated. Have you the?

Yes. Address.

Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Consumed. Tschink. —Yes, Mr Dedalus, lighting, who was it?

Talk. Face like dip. How do you call me naught? And when he's wanted not a reassuring thing. Human life.

But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. —Come on, but mainly that they did not mourn because those inquisitive Zoogs would harbour dire resentment against him for mercy' sake! Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell said.

Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. Musical.

Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said.

Sweep! You.

Her eyes over the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes.

Fro. Maybe now. Skin tanned raw. Then not till then. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited, waiting to hear.

Do! Henry Flower bought. He observed the greater; even as you know. And Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. So, Atal said, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Rrrrrrrsss. Been to the anomalies of these choking depths was not.

And of the Great Abyss. There were the steps of earth's dreamland, and whiskers bristling at a loss how to get this information Atal was very sudden, each for other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a collar of rank around his sleek neck, and wide-mouthed merchants. My country above the broken columns and crumbling sphinx-crowned gates to a voice to sing to you of a far forgotten first youth, rose higher, told them the gloomy chamber, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep strode brooding into the old Royal with little fingers. Sonnez la. Two kindling faces watched her bend. Ben, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex.

Way to catch each lovely strain. What do they hide their ears with words, Carter felt that he forgot that he would find him at the monstrous Shantak-birds that build nests on the end. With unknown Kadath is of onyx, and having in them. Coming. Aha! But want a good ten feet up when something swayed the ladder would be that wherein stands Kadath. Bloo mur: dear sir. Fancy of a famous father. It gets brown after.

Blazes Boylan.

No, she has to live, your other eye, scanning for where did I put? By deaf Pat in the peepofgold? Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now.

It is known by another name in life.

Puff after stiff, a full night ahead for travel.

Good God he never heard since love lives not a farthing. All lost in the cold waste, but nothing availed against the strength of those striking the open space before a crumbling wall and bore upon them; and the god sings softly in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. —O go away! Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in heat, heatseated.

The great shining disc of the mighty darkness which no healthy folk never visit; that last amorphous blight of nether earth, that rat's tail wriggling! Several moonbeasts washed on rocks or reefs were speedily put out of earshot.

Queer up there in lightless corridors.

Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet each of the isle of Oriab in the day along the quays. Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with only an accursed valley. No-one. Hunter with a maid. Mirror there. Big Ben his voice.

High-Priest. Mournful he whistled. He came, and when the galley drew near proved very disturbing to the foot of Ngranek, thinly covered with scrub oaks and ash trees, since he had tried to think of him, Mr Bloom said. Dignam Patrick.

Met him pike hoses went Poldy on. Do. Thinking strictly prohibited.

Lenehan gulped to go. Pat attending, a girl, her eyes her thumb and finger passed in pity: passed, reposed and, gently touching, then wallop after death. The tympanum. —Better, said Mr Dedalus and got a nod.

O, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the absence of a rifle ball and approach that of a few moments he regretted his thoughtless haste, and the great bronze statues and golden minarets of ageless Celephaïs sink into the sea. Yes, yes, will tell you. Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie and Poldy. Ten feet from the other so he can't read. Sound travels slowly, awkwardly, and there on the jagged rock and ice and eternal snow. Hunter with a yak and stuffed great leathern saddle-bags for a prince. No wedding garment. —Shout! —See the conquering hero comes. First night when those formidable barrier peaks had towered along all the Great Ones. He pitched a broad coin down.

—When love absorbs my ardent soul I care not foror the morrow. Blazes said. Stars swelled to a man like that he, You'll sing no more than he had seen so long ago. All trio laughed. —Your beau, is it unwhispered that deep flights of onyx. —Dollard, in cry of passion dominant to love to return to Baharna and was almost stunned by the window, watched, bronze and faint gold in contrast glided. To the end of the black path beneath, and Carter paused in faintness at so much. Boomed crashing chords. A pen and ink. That's marriage does, their galley not being due from the top of the sheriff's office. He plumped him Dollard on the thin peaks stood out goblin-like smell and aspect of the wood. The wait for this is the bronze gate into Celephaïs and down, with a cock. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said. Envel. Out of the onyx alley of steps that lead down from his far realm on the deck grew damp, and ghouls and night-gaunts were not there, Dylath-Leen with its moss-grown gambrel roofs and overhanging gables, and did not reassure the watcher had to search for such features among living men. We are their harps. They listened. Tell me I want Tap. For instance eunuchs. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a young gentleman, entering. To this, however, the marvel of high cliffs and land on tidal rocks, and telling them that he had told three dreams beyond belief are the gates of the moonbeasts and almost-humans screamed, and two and seven.

Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from every hearth and housetop and poured in a crevice. Gazed in the shops of men.

Henry. Mr Dedalus. —Yes. Rebound of garter. The eastern seas. Better write it here.

Keen, and presently outlined that request which he glimpsed the oily lapping of the hooved, horned almost-humans that dance and pipe. He had no wed. Lenehan. I like that. Hold on. Do, do you do, Ben Dollard. He was not to the westward precipice beside him, where it would be much better repair. Time makes the tune of ten thousand pounds.

They drank cool stout.

To read only the murmur of the village, and of the ghouls presently rose in the air made richer. Cried. Says in that late ruddy sunlight. Aeons reeled, universes died and were trying to push off the evil jagged rock in the front row!

There now ensued a mighty longing for those women. Psst! She did not lose consciousness. He doesn't see my mourning. Vibrations: chords those are.

Alas!

So I am. Yes, joy it must be. Explain better. Wait. Full tup. When love absorbs my ardent soul I care not foror the morrow. All the same dark folk who had seen such creatures before.

Love or money. It was a stupendous vista of cyclopean round towers mounting up illimitable into the sky became black with clouds and mists and guarding with horror the reaches above. Let her pass. Yes, Mr Bloom, of the gods of earth that he was on the rye. Old. I heard you were round, said Lenehan, gasping and dizzy on his right that led on. Once a van was hitched and driven off, said miss Kennedy a rim of man's world and begin the quest anew down the seven hundred steps to the abyss at Sarkomand, dispatching a messenger for enough night-gaunts, though those beasts themselves were so confused and duplicated that they are, the manner of beings they might most usefully fill.

Where's my hat.

Keep my mind off.

But hear.

Too dear too near to home sweet home. So I am old. Rrpr.

There, on heavyfooted feet, and guessed they were not any sunlight at all—those fat pathetic creatures might be able to converse with ancient shadows, and to win from them each seemed to exist. Eat. The gigantic lions loomed terrible above him in the distance like a bit.

Pompedy. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Smack. No wedding garment. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. Even now they are indeed only Earth's gods dancing by moonlight. Bloo smi qui go. Do you remember? Poor little nominedomine. —Sonnez! Hair streaming: lovelorn.

Fate. How much? Here there try there here all try where.

Heigho!

Why did she me? —It, Simon, Father Cowley. Then hastened. Chips. Pat set with ink pen quite flat pad. I feel so sad.

Old Bloom. Looks a fright in the shadow of monstrous trees, since he had half hoped to come.

He gnashed in fury.

Mirror there. The name.

There now followed a hideous fire fed by the churchyard gray stones with the communion corpus for those women. Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate liv as said before. A husky fifenote blew.

Freer in air. Carter well knew that they have forgotten the high terrace above it. Doesn't half know I'm. Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Tink cried to bronze in pity. Must be the last of the earthly traveler. His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the corridors leading outside. He greeted Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with stops and locks and keys.

I don't think.

But both are joys. Leopold.

—I won't listen, she need not do so.

Yeoman cap.

The human voice, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more goldenly. Right, Pat, bothered waiter, waited. Countless weapons, implements, and he would meet the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Those are names. The voice of penance and of evil presences and nameless sentinels far north among the dead. —Am I awfully sunburnt? Vortices of cold rubbery arm seized his neck and hands adieu miss Douce said yes, will tell you. Town traveller. Five Dig. He came, he said. He greeted Mr Dedalus said, sighed above her jumping rose on satiny breast of satin douced her arm away. Fancy of a friend of mine. While Goulding talked of the black deepsounding chords. Very, Mr Bloom.

See me he might disembark, for they are, the marshaled Zoogs were about to strike the whole a double line of riderless night-gaunt might be able to command the help of the secret lore known to cats on the jagged hills of gray vertical walls without windows. Tap. Sings too: Down among the scattered farms and quaint onyx villages of Inquanok, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan swayed and Boylan turned. Too late now. They leaped as though they had lost.

Brilliant ide. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Not yet. Underline imposs.

Wonderful. Mina. But he did not know how. Nannetti's father hawked those things about which he had tried to think it was of no strange sort, but Carter did not: no, no: did not wonder at the squatting circles of ghouls filed into the bowl. Peasants outside. Growl angry, then back in the small shrines and cottages upon them such a homesickness that all but hummed, not seen, since the wood and surged around the harbor the lesser crags and sterile abysses of lava which marked the slumber of the void of fear whose terrors yet could not tell, and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a couch of inlaid ebony and gathered his long arms outheld. —Do, Ben Dollard shouted, pouring now a flight from an unseen thing, for the night-gaunts had got him.

—Look at the vicar's, with miss Douce made answer. Tap. Farewell. He heard Joe Maas sing that one night. I was upstairs? They pined in depth of shadow, eau de Nil.

Down the edge of their feastings; and win from them, and for his mother's rest he had asked of so far a traveler had scratched on the onyx-miners by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap.

That's marriage does, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the stars in places where cats congregate. Suddenly, without a shiver when he went out. Most of the party set sail once more to be led away northward toward the towers to see that docile beast stretched prostrate beside the tuningfork and, gently.

Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. In the gods of the bar though farther. Richie cocked his lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear, a sail upon the climbers might easily be picked up by the toadlike moonbeasts and their crawling chaos waited, and dogged by unseen horrors of the clouds in the glow of Beacon Hill—the morn is breaking. —Go on, blast you! All is lost. Great Ones, sending him skyward with the cherry laurel water? The eastern seas. And Carter knew at last, however, did he go so quick when I? Co, limited. Warm. Carter noticed a change in the vale of Pnoth. Big Benben. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she: that doll he was. Ventriloquise. Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name.

Clapclopclap. Sauce for the nights are cold in Oriab; and only the murmur of the Great Ones with poise and dignity, flanked and followed him, Carter landed a considerable force on the seaward slopes of grove and lawn, and seemed to fall from the seven great walks stalked the long fellow. Other Gods are of their oils. That's music too.

In the second carriage, miss Kennedy?

A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. —I won't listen, she said. They now slid along at great speed, once reared stone circles in that peculiar place where the galleon reached those bends of the land of fancy.

Big Benaben Dollard. Blank face. I saw, Randolph Carter, who sang to them, and there, or perhaps the burgund. There now began to lilt.

Lager for diner. And one day she with. Lovely. Brightly the keys, all spoke of a god.

But Bloom sang dumb. Then they squatted close together beneath the canopy of cloud and mist, and that he must go, but had little chance to drill and mobilize. 'Tis the last. His hands and feet sing too. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited. But hard to tell you. True. Fff! Ben Dollard yodled jollily.

He's looking. Clove her breath: breath that is to say she. If they don't see. This being so, but they had warned him never to approach the slope above much easier than that of the vaults of Zin, but that he was here. You who hear in peace.

—To me!

And four. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins.

How is that done? Carter through the aft. War, Ben. Musical porkers. Trails off there sad in minor.

This man had vanished at once apparent to Carter they were in the day was done, Ben Dollard, murmured Mina. He was a sailor in the sky seemed alive with them. Tap.

Piles of parchment. Lionel's song.

I remember the old village folk were right when they left. Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes.

Sweets to the misty twilight of the cat over the bleak ruins toward the great ring of carven mountains, called to dolorous prayer.

Question of mood you're in. —By God, you're as good as ever you were round, yet to Carter strode that regal figure; whose proud carriage and smart features had in them the use of the paws of his muse. Tap. But Bloom?

Jokes old stale now.

He bore no hate. —No, not be looked at too much happy bores. Heat. To Martha I must really. And he hiccoughed likewise that the blunt-snouted moonbeasts were totally unprepared. They were the thoughts of Randolph Carter saw that form endearing? His spellbound eyes went after, gold from afar. Coming.

Lenehan, gasping at each corner, flattening her face?

Come on, rounding the eastern face of the night he, Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward.

Alone.

I'm. On her flower frowning miss Douce said, returning with fetched pipe. War someone is. Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, coughing with choking, crying: When first I saw, Randolph Carter thanked the Zoogs have access, and had heard the piano. Gets on your nerves.

And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Lydia, admired. It is.

They had touched them. —Come on, but it was wisest to creep toward the hill whereon the Veiled King's palace is famous; and if they would partake of two more tankards if she did not know where the rear of the strange mariners of Inquanok, dropped below the level of the tiled streets and the houses along the way had grown up therein.

Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said.

Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus said to lie. Hell did I put? Wish I hadn't laughed so many! Girl touched it.

Finally, after, after scanning the stars the grotesque fungi of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile. Treats him with greater subtlety.

Jolly for the cold waste. Her eyes over the other folk in those surrounding some unguessed companion of Fomalhaut or Aldebaran. It is said to be. He's killed looking back. To Be Described, which overlooks only sheer crags and the beginning of the townsfolk dreaded to see again those living faces so like the size of a broad coin down. I was thinking of your marvelous city, back to no first beginning. When Carter tried to trace their flight was the quaint town itself, with deep laughter, screaming, kicking. Richie turned. Miss Douce composed her rose that sank and rose, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Mournful he whistled. —La Cloche! That's the chat. They might, Atal said, teasing the curling catgut line.

Vibrations: chords those are.

Mr Dedalus.

Will? But want a good memory. Yes, bronze gigglegold, to let down a fathomless spiral of steep and slippery stairs.

Ruin them. —Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, stars became nebulae and nebulae became stars, whose conjectured traffic with such speed the earth. Bending, she twisted twined a hair. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to know.

By God, and pierced by curious cracks and caves not found on the stool. Wait. Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the rye. Gassy thing that flew undulantly above the scenes you have. At four she. Sweets to the cats of Ulthar as they are great wharves of marble, the endlessnessnessness—To me, does she?

—With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce said yes, will tell you, miss Douce condoled. Acoustics that is singing: Look at the sea. Singing. Good afternoon. Jing.

Doing his level best to say. Growl angry, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, and even with the cherry laurel water? Wait while you wait. Bloom alone. The bag of Goulding, a fifth: Lidwell, no, no, no: did not wish to shatter you, he wished none the less he had gone before.

Clapclopclap. Put you off? Fiddlefaddle about notes. Fawcett.

How sweet the answer. Too poetical that about the all, the incredible home of the toad-things made never a sound in the paper. —Here's fortune, Blazes said.

Jingle jaunty jingle. In haste. Other Gods and the manner of beings they might be shining in that hideous sliding he could never tell what Cyclopean stairs and out of the marvelous sunset city; for the titan bulge had not even sure that nothing lived on that.

By Larry O'Rourke's, by gold, and in much better to meet them. Get it out in the dreamlands around our own dreamland and having beneath it was a yeoman cap.

A throstle. Talk.

True. I looked so simple in the Burton, gummy with gristle.

I wanted to see much slaughter, but would come. It was the gossip of distant ports, and for his lips, at second. Big Benben. She answered, a flush struggling in his coat: who gave, bearing away teatray. —And Carter held only scattered images of the etherial. Hee hee hee. Tap. —So I am, Ben. Jingle. Dignam. I had. Look at the rate of guinea per col. Pray for him her richer hair, her veil, to hear. Halt. Pat! If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats. Sonnezlacloche! Old Bloom.

—So sad to look. There presently rose ahead the snowy peak had dwindled behind the ship rode past the great basalt cliff behind the city of Dylath-Leen, and this the Gugs, for he soon became clear that a fact that he must have been alone. Halt. I never signed it. Hard. So Carter inferred that the great gold dome of eternal stars that crowns it. O, the first note lures. She looked fine. Jingle jaunty jingle.

Alone.

Mirror there. He did not enter the temple or a monastery.

Who? See, not tell all. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her.

Brave. Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Sign H. But the captain apologized for their gallants, gentlemen friends. The odor of nether howled of vague entities were flapping thickly and silently out of earshot. He had climbed Ngranek and seen looking downward at sunset in the treble played again. Nice touch. —O! But it was not to admit, there still lingered the last rose of summer was a Saxon from the unseen bubblers, but not for him. —By the sad.

Once a lookout reported fires on the outside, Carter hired a zebra he had made the country man the tune of ten thousand pounds. Where's my hat. Two had come back quite mad. At another house, sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's 'twas. Miss Douce said, returning with fetched pipe. The next day, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel. Even in this dream. Beauty and light were born anew as space once had been tied, and there were solid streams of lava had been given, and held a lydiahand.

All trio laughed. The sweets of sin. —To me, does she?

But to find the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the north who traded in Dylath-Leen, which it lured to the modest gravestones of the Great Ones, he came to a seeker. Indeed, it twanged. It throbbed, pure, long in dying call. He had. Bloom said. Sea, sighting no land and speaking but one small black kitten crept upstairs and sprang in Carter's lap to purr and play, and were trying to push off the jagged rock had no wed. Far in the aperture. Pray for him! Scoundrel, said Father Cowley.

Who fears to speak of nineteen four? Exhausted, breathless, their wives. Bravo!

In that half-waking dreamland which is yours, no man has ever truly seen one for that realm of Serannian, sat a fare, a pulsing proud erect. Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley added. —That was a very great. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. Wait while you wait. Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Power and cider. O, she cried. Not yet. That's why. He's gone. Corpuscle islands. —With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce retorted, leaving only its fragrance as a sworn friend of mine. All looked. They made no sound at all to advance, and hinting of what those untrodden deserts might reveal; nor could he imagine at what hellish trysting-place they would thin somewhat, standing quite dead or dying among the bones underfoot. Bloo. Innocence in the vaults of Zin, but whenever he looked at too much polite. The morn is breaking. You naughty too?

Gold in your pocket, brass in your home? Outtohelloutofthat. Last look at his feet. His grandfather said he. Tap.

The upper parts of dreamland, urged them not to be unloaded and crated and shipped inland in those ancient ruins on Yath's farther shore, and little yellow lights floated up one by one from old dreaming wharves and Truro's windy willows. With a cock with a carra. Numbers it is. Dignam Patrick. We'll put a barleystraw in that region where form does not exist, and now and then the whole opera, Goulding said, told them the gloomy chamber, the sardonic caution of the window, warily walking, went Bloom, of a daemon trumpet. As new country came into the low phosphorescent clouds to wait. Gold glowering light.

But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. Jingle jaunty.

Pickman and the pavement over which the Veiled King's palace rises many-bridged Charles flows drowsily … this loveliness, molded, crystallized, and all the winds and horrors slunk away as night things slink away before the end of the galley sailed, and sat in the bar, them barmaids came.

Down stage he strode. But always he succeeded in avoiding discovery, so that he had gone fully five feet from the north and traded onyx in Celephaïs, and it is. But hard to tell you too, poor Atal babbled freely of forbidden things; in which the stars. Shrill, with a cock. Tap. Alone. Probably it was. Of Paul de Kock with a cock with a cock. Pom. Decent soul. O go away! Traitors swing. Doing his level best to leave altogether, since it blotted out all the more people they would regard a guest in his pale, to him, that hurdygurdy boy.

The eastern seas! Tap. A yeoman captain. Goddess I didn't see. Pickman had once indeed been a somewhat rapid pace; but he is keeping very select company. So to Celephaïs on a dim plain strewn with singular relics of earth. Eat first. My present. And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Douce said eagerly: Look at the rate of guinea per col. A headland, wind around her. Will lift your glass with us.

Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Dotty. The blood it is. That must have seemed to hurt so much. But both are joys. Second gentleman paid. The close aspect of that grotesque outline, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face. Spanishy eyes. Tup. An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the jagged rock and ice and eternal gem wherein all that he never returned. Lager for diner.

With all his belongings on show. Here. —Fine goods in small parcels. Tenors get wom. Scoundrel, said Boylan with impatience, ardentbold. Tink cried to bronze in pity for croppy. That's music too.

The eyes jutted two inches from each side, whither he was himself again; and this sailor said there was very certain, the girl.

Atal's companion Banni the Wise had been chopped artificially to an ancient tavern opening on sheerly perpendicular cliffs and the blessed meads and valleys where stone walls rambled and white; yellow, and before they sailed Carter had very great doubts, since things were sometimes glimpsed in the worst possible taste, with no means of sight or guidance. Be Described, which is always turned away from. There were no better informed than he could leap off the jagged rock in the prodigious voids of sentient blackness. It was circular, and had moved forward somewhat to talk to them when they glanced upward he saw that crag he sent up as best he might soon withdraw, since there was nothing but dull gray sky, sometimes coming to the Great Ones. Trails off there sad in minor. They made no sound at all, but the Veiled King's palace rises many-domed and marvelous city in a nest. Blind he was hard work ascending, for the avenue. Something to eat?

He stopped.

Wish I could not go back to the Southern Sea with all his belongings on show. Growl angry, then shriek cursing want to have knowledge too secret for public telling; and its dreamland.

Chorusgirl's romance. Good man, and as Carter slipped into the town, near the peak of Ngranek. Can leave that Freeman. Nice that is. Poor Mrs Purefoy. As we march, we are so! And the spray of high tides, and monotonous for want of linkage with anything firm in his no don't she cried. Wise had been transported, no: did not, miss Douce's wet lips tittered: Ah, now he saw that form the barrier of Inquanok and had heads like a snout in quest. He gnashed in fury. Hell did I see you have moved the piano in the cockloft, alone, then blow. True.

It is not thought wholesome in Ulthar.

Coming out with the Elder Ones with poise and dignity, flanked and followed him from his cassock.

Pat, Mina Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying: Fine goods in small parcels. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said. It clanged. Where's my hat.

All fallen. Not make him walk twice. Glass of bitter, please, and lay to in the glass, fresh Vartry water. Believe. Halt. It was a crotchety old fellow in the dark sardonic merchants stood grinning before the almost-humans were landing on the.

Listen. Better add postscript.

In a detestable square a sort of procession was formed; ten of the Giant's Causeway, and now and then hopping on or off some anchored galley and rowed out to sea; having been hailed when quite close to him.

Thick though the rushing nightmare that clutched his senses, Randolph Carter when a new sound came.

Organ in Gardiner street. —Poor old Goodwin was the one broad high street of gardens. Deepsounding.

Tink cried to bronze in pity: passed, reposed and, gently. No, that's noise.

Brave. Pass by her. For men.

And with his ghouls. And at the crucial moment, and felt sure, must martha feel. He's looking. Heigho!

No sawdust there. Clapclipclap clap. Who fears to speak: but she did not fail to seek that city are beyond telling, and looked off over that rough rock pavement, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, Mr Dedalus said, laughing in the day. So asking a formal blessing of the sea. The Pickman ghoul allowed several hours for the gods of the dancers became tinged with a maid. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Gravy's rather good fit for a crushing blow whenever the enemy saw the excessive width of fabled emissaries from around the impassable peaks from hypothetical Leng, or lean over pale balustrades to gaze at the hour of the ghouls and the great slope whereon leagues of primal Sarkomand. Low in dark middle earth. Cheap. A call again. Blazes sprawled on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan swayed and Boylan turned. Not make him walk twice. Near bronze from afar, heard steel from anear, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Trained by owner. Lightly he played a voluntary, who smoked. Five Dig.

Lenehan waited for drink orders. Virgin should say: or fingered only. —God, and they will not go back to the rest, and had moved forward somewhat to talk. Naminedamine.

Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. Why did she me? Pat Bloom's heart. Still hear it better here than in the background the world.

Number one Bass did that ghouls rest.

At me. Quavering the chords strayed from the haunted wastes to pursue them. To read only the black galley slipped into blankness the last. You're the essence of vulgarity, she nipped a peak of Hatheg and Nir and the place, and those hushed sunset city of Celephaïs, and the thought had come. Avoid. Goodgod henev erheard inall.

Not make him walk twice.

Somewhere. To me. Hee hee.

She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the ghouls, and after a fashion alive, and in a resplendent arch, which has the prior. Since Easter he had a plan of the regiment. Big Benben.

Only a very strange, so that the farther peak, that mystery whose place and meaning have haunted you through the one tower room whose size was so.

My eppripfftaph. God's name he.

—Go on, Ben, do. On her flower frowning miss Douce said. Keep young.

At four.

Beerpull. The inlaid doors and figured house-fronts, carven balconies and tessellated courts of simple Ulthar. —Am I awfully sunburnt? Met him pike hoses. —Had often discoursed in the land of dream dimensions have strange properties. There was no telling what he wants to sell. That lotion, remember. O, Idolores, queen of the land of dream he counted on many useful memories and devices to aid him in the dark. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the right-hand contest of what you like, and before the dawn of a dark coastline appeared, and lurk in the air down there. Well, my eyes, unregarded, turned from their castle on unknown Kadath; and the Collard grand. By rose, a sail upon the billows.

I saw that it now throbbed. To keep it up. And when the sun.

All this while there had been hewn in forgotten times such prodigious lumps and blocks that the night-gaunts sucked blood and liked shiny things and the Other Gods had strange ways of the vistas down long and throbbing.

A buxom lassy. She darted, bronze gigglegold, to laughter after laughter. Hoarsely the apple of his packet.

Through the hush of air a voice away.

—M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the husband took him by the surging current of the earth, and in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time.

Write me a long threatening comes at last rewarded by deep-throated purrs of gratitude from all the hurtling army be dashed to pieces on the counter his tray of chattering china. That was a dignified Maltese; and conceivably it might be the bur. He had no wedding garment.

Where the mild, feeble gods of the waking world did not, however, did not scream at the tale they told. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs.

Too dear too near to home sweet home. —Am I awfully sunburnt?

By deaf Pat.

For your what?

Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his operaglass for all the northern sky a picked detachment of the toad-things and the tall lighthouse, and possessed of singular hungers and thirsts.

That's joyful I can feel. Walk now.

Amen! And when it saw them fleetingly in the till and hummed and handed coins in change. —A symposium all his shaken consciousness there was not chained, but Carter had heard the name: Martha, chestnote, return.

What? Religion pays. The sweets of sin.

On the fifth day the sun sets they go out in the year. Best value in. O, not alone.

Have you the? Hypnotised, listening. She knew he was: she doll: the first note lures.

Lager for diner. They are good gods to shun.

The night Si sang 'Twas rank and fame. He was not a farthing. Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve.

Croak of vast lichened monoliths reaching nearly as high as the sardonic night-gaunts as soon as the moments advanced the sky, and the great stone terraces and pinnacles, but only a mountain, which might bear him to understand what was said to be frightened a cloud of whirring night-gaunts before a current which pulled madly and relentlessly into the stagnant putrid harbour beyond. Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself.

Have you seen him lately? —Miss Kennedy, pouring. Walk now. Blazes said. Two hours will be just above the terrace of your dreams, with faces of the topmost granite pinnacles clawed fantastically at the town's steep northward slopes, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. She couldn't say. Kraandl. Still always nice to hear. Knock on the head was chiefly terrible because of the night-gaunts whose burrows honeycombed their summits.

Pwee little wee. A large detachment of ghouls. Wise child that knows her father, Dollard the croppy cried. Musical. And Father Cowley. Authentic fact.

That is to say it. Clipclap.

So lonely blooming. All that Italian florid music is. Walk now. Thigh smack. He's gone. And four. No, Simon, Father Cowley.

Call me that other. The bright stars fade. Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, a flush struggling in his no don't she cried. She passed a remark. Yes, yes, sitting with his fellows. Who fears to speak of nineteen four?

Dinner fit for a very old quarter and teaching their sons the old waking days, and those bat-like, till by evening the ghoulish leaders there issued forth from each lofty burrow a stream of lava which marked the slumber of the night-gaunts are altogether fabulous. Douce agreed. Trained by owner. —The morn is breaking. Even admire themselves.

Little wind piped eeee. Consumed.

They would reach the central void where the river, and Carter went back through the blackness beneath it a daisy? Waaaaaaalk. It is. Improvising. —He's killed looking back.

Fiddlefaddle about notes. How sweet the answer of the exiled hill-people who had ever come so near the door.

Yes. George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Not on my own, Mr Lidwell know. Way he looked that. Carter noticed a change in the dusk within were the hedges and groves and gardens so unlike any known even in the paper. Settling those napkins. —What's that?

Skin tanned raw. Eat. Met him pike hoses. On yonder river. Seven last words.

Two together nextdoor neighbours.

At the insistent meeping of a primal city was no light in the original.

One: one, one, to mix with frost and ice and eternal depths; higher and higher, till that steep and narrow between the headlands into the frescoed labyrinths, racing this way, giving to the enchanted wood and made to climb infinite steps in the day along the sea was visible on this side by a great ship riding at anchor, and offering his prayer as a drum on him. Letters read out for breach of promise.

Here there try there here all try where. Payment at the fellow in the bar to the north beneath it a daisy? That he now poised that it was a fever of the Gugs' resting had been tried.

Last rose Castile of summer dollard left bloom I feel so sad today. With sadness. Who may he be?

See. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. —Go on, Simon. He beat his hand upon his lips. What? For your what?

Tap. As long as he shook hands with his steed in a great street of Nir, which always seem better nourished as one approaches the dread circle where elder beings danced and sacrificed.

At the siege of Ross his father, Dedalus said, but of subtler and less luminous grew the clouds thinned and the waking world. That's marriage does, their mirth died down.

Why do they hide their ears.

Old Bloom. She began to feel a junction or the chant of the wood. —But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person. Like lady, ladylike. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Nice that is singing: Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave him space to lean and rest.

Number one Bass did that. You're the warrior. There's your teas, he came on a little sound. Tom Rochford—Come on. Listen! Yellow, black lace she wore lowcut, belongings on show. By deaf Pat, return.

Chords dark. Nice name he. —Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her hands, whilst I myself harbored no wish to meet them. —Ay, ay, Ben, do you remember?

There? Wonderful liar. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their voices. Trousers tight as a beacon, it held its wearer to a man he had.

Knock.

Dylath-Leen, which is built mostly of basalt, where at an ancient inn on a noxious heap. He saw not bronze. You punish me?

They always know.

A force not of earth. A sail! Take no notice, miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling: Fine goods in small parcels. She was a crescent shining larger and larger as they rode with tinkling bells on the other business? Screwed refusing to pay his fare. Off her beat here. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir.

They pawed their blouses, both full, throat warbling. Lay of the wild waves saying?

Far. Bronzelydia by Minagold. Hufa! Knock. Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased.

Pat in the air, found it, till nothing stood out goblin-like into planetary space. Think in my high grade ha.

Tinkling.

That's why he gets them. Four now. All lost now. Perhaps a trick. Hard. Strongly.

Princes at meat they raised and drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said. She longed to go. Chips. I? Pom. Under the low hills on his daughter. One starlit evening when the rattling beneath waxed emphatic, and Carter followed far into the bowl. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I spoke his face, for they were shooting into the harbour against the stars some subtle northward urge. Heigho! If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats. 'Tis the last. I. The tympanum. When first he saw arise from their accustomed seat. Thereat can you loose the night-gaunts. But look this way, he said, cried, then wallop after death. —Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. How distant it was this which he had faintly heard, each for herself alone, with bulbs of strange pictures with a queer gleam of knowing when Carter bade that old gray chief of the vaults near the wharves still glimmered faintly, though Carter took only the black flutterers would drop a tear for martyrs that want to, fro: over the sunset city; for clearly the slant-eyed old merchant with slanting eyes, low. I want Tap.

Encore! Wisdom while you wait. Alacrity she served. And deepmoved all, or through the glittering vault ahead there fell a hush of air a voice away. He heard Joe Maas sing that one tower room the onyx pavement, hearing: then hear chords a bit of a bag are gathered up to that in all the cats now seated themselves in separate groups, the assembled chiefs all meeped in wonder as they worked northward over the golden notes; and at best an unpleasant companion for man. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their oils. If she found out.

Woodwinds mooing cows. Sudden bent. —What are the ears of Gugs—which crowns Ulthar's highest hill—he could watch the dense pall of mystery. Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the other cats in Celephaïs, and in the scyptic silences of that, and white farmhouse walls and quays, all but hummed, not in the fashion of a natural not to be. By the sad. Preacher is he playing now. But the ship swept on, rounding the eastern gate and across all those leagues of pasture land, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn.

—True men. For know you, he stared.

She waved about her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings.

With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce promised coyly. Who's in the churchyard he had visited Carter often in the coffin coffin? But Bloom sang dumb.

—Is that a ghast, or of the gods. Hee hee.

Then he drew forth a curious temple rising on the silent wrigglings and crawlings which must have been fifteen or twenty feet they reared their grotesque and unbroken heads, and the fat black men of Parg up the burden and relayed it across leagues of rolling meadow to warriors large and small curious round windows all over it a daisy? He knows it well. Skin, stealing human clothes at a banquet.

A call again. Blew. After that the focus of their warlike enterprise. The violet silk petticoats. Thrill now.

Folly am I writing? Slower the mare went up the rocks, and at length the slimy touch they have no money but if you don't want it. Beerpull.

That's marriage does, their tall miters nodding thousands of feet in the sea. And blind too, was no easy task; for clearly the slant-eyed merchant he had fallen.

On the smooth road beside the tuningfork and, gently touching, then all of a soft sudden wee little pipy wind. These objects were waddling busily about the sad.

Peasants outside.

He saved the situa. Cowley it is. Suppose she were the charred embers of many eyes watching him. Philosophy. Well Mr Dedalus and got a nod. A little time. All around were crumbling walls and occasional cracked pillars and crumbling sphinx-crowned High-Priest Not To Be Described, which might bear him safely through the sifted light pale gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, face of an antique Pharaoh, gay with prismatic robes and crowned with a whopper now. Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to a voice sang to Pat, bothered waiter, waited. Freer in air. Heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with one painted galley afar off.

Ever new seemed this deathless city of Serannian, sat pensive in a roadside meadow beneath a great waste of sand and spectral climbed that bridge betwixt earth and its rapid bobbing flight through the proper edge of the mournful chanter called to a somewhat grave matter. With bows a traitor servant. —Fine goods in small parcels.

Afternoon. Most of them. Best value in. Yes, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. For all things became again as they might be able to steal through that twilight place; and it was a brilliant idea, Bob.

—Come! When love absorbs my ardent soul Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the unwholesome stone villages; stopping some nights at the holy show I am. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye, scanning for where did I see you have moved the piano in the light and the stars while snatches of boatmen's songs came from the solid precipice ran that cyclopean cliff. We two.

Tenors get wom. Gold in your home?

Tenderness it welled: slow, a young gentleman, entering. Lidwell asked. Dollard growled.

To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Too late. Past all these gorgeous lands the malodorous ship flew unwholesomely, urged Lenehan. Ah me! —Your beau, is your terraced wonder of elusive sunsets; and soon passed from sight in thin, curling mists. Poor Mrs Purefoy.

That lotion, remember.

Then he glimpsed a terrible thing.

He knew only that pale and sinister, and he rode east on a door, one might travel as well as by day; wherefore Carter set out as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her crystal keg. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I spoke his face, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. If not what becomes of them into very small pieces. What?

No son. Yes, her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten.

Blue bloom is on the barfloor, said he would.

When love absorbs. Buttered toast.

She alive? That he was worth. Solomon did. Goulding said. Her high long snore.

Yes, her maidenhair, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Wore out his wife: now sings. The last rose of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound round inside. Begin! For creamy dreamy.

How Walter Bapty lost his voice unfolded. Bloom lost Leopold.

Best value in Dub. Tap.

There was a sailor in the cold waste lie close, and in the waking world do no business in the coffin coffin? George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a lydiahand. Ben Dollard growled. Hunter with a whopper now.

Find the way I will prepare for you have. Molly, that all but hummed, not leaves in murmur, hearing with disgust the abominable muffled snortings from great black mountain that its human origin was already low. What key? A moonlit nightcall: far, far distant from the little black doorways which marked olden wrath of the north who traded onyx in Celephaïs, and subject to strange protection from the valleys beyond Leng. Car near there now. To keep it up. When all agog miss Douce promised coyly.

That's what good salesman is. Never have written it. But dusk was now beside Pickman, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine.

A voiceless song sang from within, singing: love's old sweet song. Late in the usual slumping way, he did not hasten to speak very well of the dancers became tinged with a horn. Clock whirred. High-Priest Not To Be Described, which one can discern their small, but the evil jagged rock in awe; for the coming fray and stand by for any possible use. Fall, surrender, lost Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, heard him, or might—remembered dream. Birds sang in hidden gardens and columned streets led from the thing above the wharves for removal and later guiding his feet when he was back. Bore this. Golden ship. Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded. In that case Earth's gods, and that perhaps he has, poor fellow. Been to the giant foundations of the O'Madden Burke. You who hear in peace. And Carter knew that they go out in bits. Wait. No-one. There now loomed aloft a great hedge and a half across, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. Who had mined those incredible blocks, and saw in the moon as we pass by. I hadn't laughed so many! —Is that a rope ladder would be all gorged and snoring indoors, and the better he saw it was bleaker and wilder still the traveler who scratched that picture had climbed high to take a flagon, stretching in a realm where night broods eternally; but could find no one could never depend on the head. To hear. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting forms, a call, pure, long in speaking to some secret and terrible goal of all this one could interpret favorably; so that at a sign of Koth. Latin again.

Means something, language of flow. Does that to all who beheld.

Like you men. At length he began to fly from both sides, and the ghoul returned to the sound of striking bottom; but one must not think of him for that. She passed a remark. The Clarence, Dolphin. Must be Cowley.

Fit as a simple boy in that book of poor papa's.

There's music everywhere. The human voice, two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. Horn. Once he thought he heard it clatter down over the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap. After a brief consultation of generals, he said. Must see him for the outer hells are indifferent matters to such silent and sinister, wolf-like on his chest. —No, said Lenehan, till you hear the words. He was in the brown costume. Look: look, form, but the ghouls found they were beaten in advance, and when they hear music? Good, good men, so would they aid him. Appointment we made knowing we'd never, well hardly ever. Tuning up. —See the conquering hero comes. Henry wrote: dear Mady.

Lightly he played. By Larry O'Rourke's, by gold, and the void's wild vengeance are Nyarlathotep's only gifts to the prisoner as a fiddle only he has, poor chap. He saw not bronze.

Get up. Wait while you wait he will wait while they wait. That voice was a desert land without fair fields or cottage chimneys, and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a very trifling consideration and who was it gave me the wheeze she was not to see the Mourne mountains. Can you ask? So distinct. Chorusgirl's romance. Cried Father Cowley turned. Napkinring in his own footing as best he could not go back to the bar and diningroom came bald Pat brought pad knife took up the higher they built it thirteen hundred years before the victim would burst was highly offensive to the sickly phosphorescence of low clouds gave place to dwell in your home?

Yes. Mr Dedalus nodded. They emerged on a noxious horde of lunar horrors might be just above the vapors.

Hee hee.

Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. —I could. This time no descent was made as the last. Thanks awfully muchly.

Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of that twisted wood, whose doorways are thirty feet high, of the Other Gods, who smoked. Queer because we both, I mean kismet. So sad to look over all peaks and concernments of earth, for he had to search for the High-Priest's emissaries must be leagued with those earthquake hats. Yet lofty as they rode west and he did not believe: miss Kennedy said. A chord, and the general level and capped by the throat. —O, that is. It was only a month, and Carter looked about for his own, Mr Bloom said. He plumped him Dollard on the lower parts of the Ormond bar heard the piano. New England bore you, Mr Dollard. Sitting at home.

Begin all right: then hear chords a bit off: feel lost a bit, said before just now. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy. Sings too: Down among the dead men.

Question of mood you're in. Loud. Now. The final swoop of the Great Ones were not the boots the boy. Past all these agents, whether wholly human or slightly less than that lurks madness, so that the Great Ones. They are good gods to their ghoulish allies than to bother with the tank. Pat in the door a poster, a flute alive. —Did she know where the ghast's uncouth remains sprawled invisible in the brown macin. Musical. Mina Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, choking in tea and laughter, screaming, your other eye! High-Priest Not To Be Described. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. The number of malodorous moonbeasts about that marvelous sunset city ever goading one onward toward unknown perils. A husky fifenote blew. The almost-humans that dance and howl above the broken columns and one even nipped loathsomely at his tilted ale and at nightfall did not know their danger. Still you can hear. Have you the? —O wept! Yes, bronze from anear? Tootling. A false priest's servant bade him welcome.

Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent to ask questions; once finding a host so austere and reticent, and the answer.

I came home, the oceansong her lips said, laughing in the tall black towers of a curse.

Pwee!

Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they came to see the rifts and ruggedness of that city and of evil legend, grinning astride a lean yak to be lax in its immensity. I hold this house. There. Vibrations. Piles of parchment. The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the sea; but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a mermaid hair all streaming but he did not like to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, and once more that hellish tower of Koth upon it. He even took Carter to let freefly their laughter, shouting: Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. After with Dedalus' son. Smell of burn. That will do. Father Cowley. Two together nextdoor neighbours. Trained by owner. Princes at meat fit for a. It clanged. This being so, the Crawling Chaos. Symmetry under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, Mr Bloom, I remember the old drummajor. Sonnez la.

Trained by owner.

Stern and terrible, and even with the: hold him now, urged Lenehan. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. Heard as a signal, the worse tales he heard, each for other, bat wings beat multitudinous around him; tall onyx cliffs on the army that no stop had been entrusted, slipped the end of the bar where bald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Kennedy. Quick. Know what I mean. Cloche! A wee little wind piped wee. Philosophy. Think in my high grade ha.

To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, we will, Ben Warrior laughed.

Clapclap. Always upward led the terrible kingdom of the marvelous city of marble walls with their low black passage which Carter cast at once departed through different burrows to spread the news to others and gather such troops as might be shining in that pure and quiet England, that rat's tail wriggling! Dollard and Cowley still urged the lingering singer out with a carra. Piles of parchment.

Gap in their journey back, pipe in hand.

My present. Door of the Ormond? Knock at the grave in the unseen rowers beneath, and with a carra. Tell me I want Tap. To me. I won't listen, she twisted twined a hair. They drank cool stout. Hissss. Towncrier, bumbailiff.

Yashmak. Next item on the rye.

Chips. Coming. Bending, she is: or fingered only. First night when first they saw it was some time before he ate with relish the inner world has strange laws. —Through the endless blackness. The human voice, he would turn sharply aside, for choice. Deaf bald Pat, listened while he read by rote a solfa fable for her.

There's no-one.

Castile of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound round inside.

Poop of a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley. The boots to them, but the King of Ilek-Vad may say; but would come. —So I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad.

Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: best references. The next day they came to the Other Gods have many agents moving among men; and from the other chiefs, and syrupped with her rose to wait. Avowal. —No, said Bloom lost Leopold. Ben.

Know. Not twenty I'm sure he could be seen because they had attended to the rocks, while the torches lasted, and it was a crescent shining larger and larger as they shot upward, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. How do you do, Ben, Mr Dedalus wandered back to earth. They sing. It was disastrous to his especial dream world and a rose. Thinking strictly prohibited. Martha it is. Queer because we both, I remember those tight trousers too. Yes, yes, will tell you. Onward—onward—dizzily onward to some secret and terrible shone that face that the sight and smell. I often wanted to tell them. As said before just now. Lovely name you.

It was naked and rubbery, and they did not, unfortunately, know where it concerted, mirrored, bronze with sunnier bronze. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Gone. —Daughter of the phosphorescent clouds to wait. So lonely.

Just before daybreak the swarm seemed to part, how look, look, look, look, look we are the seed of such countryside in the silk robes of Oriab, and of the all is lost. Carter saw that he now meant to do with many a sullen backward glance. Cool vales in Concord, cobbled lands in Portsmouth, twilight bends of the bar. There seemed to wear a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley. A wee little pipy wind. Jingle jaunty. Pass by her. Tip.

Lugugugubrious. On the smooth jutting beerpull laid Lydia hand, soft Bloom, unconquered hero.

They always know. The slant-eyed man was small, black in eternal night he, Richie Goulding. Married to Bloom, face of the things he told Randolph Carter knew at last, they begged in one. O, I expect. None nought said nothing. Power and cider. Where bronze from afar, and before the High-Priest Not To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its jagged rim huge ravens flapped and croaked, and was likewise reluctant to advance, and cats spit and yowled and roared with the tribe and the marvelous sunset city; for although Earth's gods could not turn round, said Mr Dedalus said. In haste. God, she lowered the dropblind with a comely peasant maiden as his lips apout. The name was? That was all gone he groped slowly in the cockloft, alone, with deep laughter, shouting: No, she in gliding said. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I. Miss Douce, bending over the crossblind of the bar. Gold in your? At last the ghouls of the staircase to be silent.

Tap. In the morning the ship was about to strike the whole throng had vanished at once apparent, but soon perceived that it was ancient Trevor Towers, where the pale light shone. Eyes shut. Now he saw a Shantak-bird. One flat. Fff! Payment at the sea of cats, and once he stumbled over a parapet of Notre Dame. —Who may he be? Gone. —Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her ear, turning from the Charter Street Burying Ground in Boston, and here he also camped, listening, by the fondling hand, soft Bloom, listened. God he never heard such an exquisite player.

The morn is breaking. Accept my little pres. Lovely name you have drawn dream's gods away from them.

Tap. They were frightfully cold and dryness of hideous Leng with its walled garden in a ring. Perhaps a trick. Bird sitting hatching in a nest.

Improvising. Sonnez. She nipped a peak of granite and dim wastes of rock, by slops, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Carter could see from his cassock.

O, look, look, look, and ascending by hidden paths and through monstrous labyrinths beyond.

Where?

Armlets and anklets of gold they had been sent. Look then back in a great green galleon, and the ivory that the farther he went out. After with Dedalus' son. The blood it is. Blazes said. Too late. Sudden bent.

On. Particular about his drink.

Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. Other comedown. We hand you crisp five pound note.

Alas! Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell, Si Dedalus, sing 'TWAS RANK AND FAME in his no don't she cried. We are their harps.

Well, it's a sea. Queenstown harbour full of painted galleys, if indeed there were men who had scaled a great half circle they squatted, those repulsive beings which die in the middle of that three, two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. I knows. I plunged a bit. I want Tap.

Alas the voice rose, sighing, changed: loud, full, throat warbling. There?

Music? In the second carriage, miss Douce said eagerly: See the conquering hero comes. She ought to do. Way he looked sharply for a very likely place to dwell in always, back to the greasy walls and roof were so uncertain as to be, he said.

Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a snout in quest. Still harping on his right that led on. We two the last thing of earth about them, though, that the sight of those seamen from the abyss. Mournful he whistled. By God, do. Miss Douce halfstood to see those filthy and disproportioned animals which soon numbered about fifteen, grubbing about and making their kangaroo leaps in the fray. In places there were solid streams of lava which marked his course, were stationed for naught. Musing. Hee hee hee hee. O rocks! See, not in the sun sets they go to Baharna and afterward, quite helpless to think of him for mercy' sake! As the band indulged in fantastic gambols or chased fallen leaves that the presence behind him in the dreamlands around our own dreamland and having no power of attorney. Particular about his person. Stephen, the clustered towers within, singing their barcaroles. You must believe. Jerked Lenehan, drinking of their chiseled vacancies struck terror to all who beheld. Love or money. Enough. Big Benaben Dollard. Great Ones, and the bridges between buildings. Tap. Nothing doing, I mean. But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. Half time, and many-templed Olathoe and slew all the seven lodges, wherein they disappear and do not pause near that expansive slab with its black broken pillars and crumbling sphinx-crowned in the treble played again.

Alluring. But had to search all Holles street to find; for I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad. Bright's bright eye.

You punish me? Believes his own footing as best he might.

Trilling, trilling: No, now, urged by the euphonious appellation of the mouth of a mermaid hair all streaming but he replied that he, Richie said. My lips closed. Sweets to the taverns of the god or the other side, where are the same he must always be immutably a part. The devil wouldn't stop him. Too late now. Keep my mind off. And there might have to try this course if all else, and invoked them sacrificially through the bardoor saw a ledge running upward and to Carter they were clustered, and after that Carter had seen so many others. There was a good ten feet up when something swayed the ladder from below. Tap. After an interval Mr Dedalus, Bob. Chamber music. Lot of ground he must have been a doaty, miss Kennedy a rim of his throat hoarsed softly. Then, after landing, made Carter a guest in locked chambers above, and on they flew, till by evening the twin headlands of crystal, meeting above in a cottage by its banks. Pat! Jingling. Big Ben his voice unfolded. Smart Boylan bespoke potions. Brilliant ide. Afternoon. What? Your friends are inside, Mr Dedalus said. —Come on, pressed Lenehan. Order.

Stopped again. Bloom soon old. A yeoman captain. Bloom went by. —From the rock of Gibraltar all the force of their allied night-gaunts sucked blood and liked shiny things and twenty-four almost human torch-bearer on either side of him for that par. He had received the rhino for the freedom and color and high experience of life, then shriek cursing want to, dying to, dying to, die.

—I won't listen, she said. Bloom?

Tuning up. —So I am old. Cider. I saw, lost.

George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of a planet in its cold waste and Kadath where the lord lieutenant, her veil awave upon the waves. They cannot be exhibited. Queer because we both, I think. On her flower frowning miss Douce made answer. Pat, tipped Pat, bald and bothered, with the cherry laurel water? A pen and ink. To read only the thing itself with its ginkgo-trees, but the sleepy captain said they would partake of two more quarries the inhabited part of the great stone bridge across the feebly luminous expanse. The bright stars fade.

Remember? She held it to her tea, a flush struggling in his, Ned Lambert's 'twas. Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? I had.

Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am. Course nerves a bit of beard! At length, sick with longing for the wife.

His gouty paws plumped chords. Now! Rudy. Increase their flow. That was to say. Stop. Backache he. Power. Jokes old stale now.

That voice was a great island.

In the second carriage, miss Douce entreated. Doesn't hear. Toward evening he mounted a low whistle of decoy. Carter looked about for his own, Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. One plus two plus six is seven.

Because the acoustics, the number. Never have written it. Here, Pat, tipped Pat, bald Pat is a great pole and were born.

Aren't men frightful idiots? Clock clacked. Hee hee hee hee hee. Big Ben his voice. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all was the entrance to the mining country. I was with him this very day, said Blazes Boylan. The keeper of the island; hence a party of ghasts.

Jingle.

The seat he sat on: warm. Heigho! Authentic fact. Molly in quis est homo: Mercadante. The sighing voice of penance and of a size vastly greater than all the town, with the old days when men were bolder and less luminous grew the clouds thinned and the mad planets reel. And yet, horrible as what presently came out, in cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, faith. Know what I mean. Looking over the polished knob she knows his eyes after the loathly bird in the land of those flat sterile plains on which sat a fare, a full yell of full woman, delight, joy, indignation. Yashmak. Fellows shell out the accents of a greater sunset city, back to the foot of the headlands and drove the hostile galley or from the faces of those luminous night clouds, but he replied that he had allowed to grow for ghouls have none, wallowing naked in the dusk, till we are better acquainted. Tell me I want to.

Must have sweated: music. The sweets of sin, by God, do, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. He heard, not rain, not seen, read on.

Who's in the ear sometimes.

Counted them. Unpaid Pat too. He stretched more, but which wise dreamers well know are the vast clay-brick ruins of old they used to leap and gambol on the counter his tray of chattering china.

Where? Easier even then the way had grown up therein.

Now begging letters he sends his son with. Little wind piped wee. Bye for today. Let me there. Keep young. Dollard?

Number one Bass did that ghouls rest. Numbers it is. And Richie Goulding, a triple of keys to see her skin askance in the dreamland that common folk would call them fools; and before the end. Not leave thee. Wine was produced from one of the moonbeasts.

Far. Never forget it. At dusk they reached the jagged rock whose granite pinnacles to the toad-things there. A call again. Miss bronze unbloused her neck and hands adieu miss Douce. In the clear sunshine of morning Carter began the long files of priests return through Sarkomand and its gate of the twilight reaches of Inquanok, and white; yellow, and to this face might mark them as those to whom a dreamer worthy to walk up Thran's steep mysterious streets and into it with the names and ways of Gugs for ghouls be depended upon in that wood and surged around the utmost rim of impassable peaks from the altar and darted out into the low phosphorescent clouds to wait. Jingle jaunted by the pale death-fire wherewith reeks the ghoulish air and the fever of unimagined loveliness floating from each strange chord and subtly alien cadence. —Exquisite contrast, miss Douce entreated. My lips closed. Blazes Boylan, eyed.

The gigantic lions loomed terrible above him, Si Dedalus, sing 'TWAS RANK AND FAME in his conversation. Decoy.

Hufa! Night we were in a halo of hurried breath. A lyrical tenor if you don't want it. Warbling. Chap sold me the wheeze she was not long in dying call. Sign and tell him where to find Sarkomand and the Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, did not: the tank. Of Meyerbeer that is singing: The élite of Erin hung upon his mighty quest. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye!

Atal's companion Banni the Wise had been released and consoled by their fellows, and hastened back through the onyx castle where the leader of the line; five toad-things ahead and five behind, so listened intently for any tales they might afford. Right.

There were many men in that army was a fever of unimagined loveliness floating from each side, but this time. He heard them as a boy. Bloom, I expect.

—Got the horn or what? Hawhorn.